The 101 Dalmatians (2 page)

“Isn't she a bit showy?” said Mr. Dearly, and would have turned back. But the tall woman had seen Mrs. Dearly and come down the steps to meet her. So Mrs. Dearly had to introduce Mr. Dearly.

“Come in and meet my husband,” said the tall woman.

“But you were going out,” said Mrs. Dearly, looking at the chauffeur who was waiting at the open door of the large car. It was painted black and white, in stripes—rather noticeable.

“No hurry at all. I insist on your coming.”

The Nannies said they would get back and see about dinner, and take the dogs with them, but the tall woman said the dogs must come in too. “They are so beautiful. I want my husand to see them,” she said.

“What is your married name, Cruella?” asked Mrs. Dearly, as they walked through a green marble hall into a red marble drawing room.

“My name is still de Vil,” said Cruella. “I am the last of my family so I made my husband change his name to mine.”

Just then the absolutely simple white mink cloak slipped from her shoulders to the floor. Mr. Dearly picked it up.

“What a beautiful cloak,” he said. “But you'll find it too warm for this evening.”

“I never find anything too warm,” said Cruella. “I wear furs all the year round. I sleep between ermine sheets.”

“How nice,” said Mrs. Dearly politely. “Do they wash well?”

Cruella did not seem to hear this. She went on, “I worship furs, I live for furs! That's why I married a furrier.”

Then Mr. De Vil came in. He was a small, worried-looking man who didn't seem to be anything besides a furrier. Cruella introduced him and then said, “Where are those two delightful dogs?”

Pongo and Missis were sitting under the grand piano, feeling hungry. The red marble walls had made them think of slabs of raw meat.

“They're expecting puppies,” said Mrs. Dearly happily.

“Oh, are they? Good!” said Cruella. “Come here, dogs!”

Pongo and Misses came forward politely.

“Wouldn't they make enchanting fur coats?” said Cruella to her husband. “For spring wear, over a black suit. We've never thought of making coats out of dogs' skins.”

Pongo gave a sharp, menacing bark.

“It was only a joke, dear Pongo,” said Mrs. Dearly, patting him. Then she said to Cruella, “I sometimes think they understand every word we say.”

But she did not really think it. And it was true.

That is, it was true of Pongo. Missis did not understand quite so many human words as he did. But she understood Cruella's joke and thought it a very bad one. As for Pongo, he was furious. What a thing to say in front of his wife when she was expecting her first puppies! He was glad to see Missis was not upset.

“You must dine with us—next Saturday,” said Cruella to Mrs. Dearly.

And as Mrs. Dearly could not think of a good excuse (she was very truthful) she accepted. Then she said they must not keep the de Vils any longer.

As they went through the hall, a most beautiful white Persian cat dashed past them and ran upstairs. Mrs. Dearly admired it.

“I don't like her much,” said Cruella. “I'd drown her if she wasn't so valuable.

The cat turned on. the stairs and made an angry spitting noise. It might have been at Pongo and Missis—but then again, it might not.

“I want you to hear my new motor horn,” said Cruella as they all went down the front-door steps. “It's the loudest horn in England.”

She pushed past the chauffeur and sounded the horn herself, making it last a long time. Pongo and Missis were nearly deafened.

“Lovely, lovely dogs,” Cruella said to them as she got into the striped black-and-white car. “You'd go so well with my car—and my black-and-white hair.”

Then the chauffeur spread a sable rug over the de Vils' knees and drove the striped car away.

“That car looks like a moving Zebra Crossing,” said Mr. Dearly. “Was your friend's hair black-and-white when she was at school?”

“She was no friend of mine, I was scared of her,” said Mrs. Dearly. “Yes, her hair was just the same. She had one white plait and one black.”

Mr. Dearly thought how lucky he was to be married to Mrs. Dearly and not to Cruella de Vil. He felt sorry for her husband. Pongo and Missis felt sorry for her white cat.

The golden sunset had gone now, and the blue twilight had come. The park was nearly empty, and a park-keeper was calling, “All out, all out!” in a far away voice. There was a faint scent of hay from the sun-scorched lawns, and a weedy, watery smell from the lake. All the houses on the Outer Circle that had been turned into government offices were now closed for the night. No light shone in their windows. But the Dearlys could see welcoming lights in their own windows. And soon Pongo and Missis sniffed an exquisite smell of dinner. The Dearlys liked it too.

They all paused to look down through the iron railings at the kitchen. Although it was in the basement, this was not at all a dark kitchen. It had a door and two large windows opening onto one of the narrow paved yards which are so often found in front of old London houses. The correct name for these little basement yards is “the area.” A narrow flight of steps led up from the area to the street.

The Dearlys and the dogs thought how very nice their brightly lit kitchen looked. It had white walls, red linoleum, and a dresser on which was blue-spotted china. There was a new-fashioned electric stove for the cooking, and an old-fashioned kitchen fire to keep the Nannies happy. Nanny Cook was basting something in the oven, while Nanny Butler stacked plates on the lift which would take them up through the dining-room floor as if delivering the Demon King in a pantomime. Near the fire were two cushioned dog-baskets. And already two superb dinners, in shining bowls, were waiting for Pongo and Missis.

“I hope we haven't tired Missis,” said Mr. Dearly as he opened the front door with his latch-key.

Missis would have liked to say she had never felt better in her life. As she could not speak, she tried to show how well she felt, and rushed down to the kitchen, lashing her tail. So did Pongo, looking forward to his dinner and a long, firelit snooze beside his dear Missis.

“I wish we had tails to wag,” said Mr. Dearly.

CRUELLA DE VIL's dinner party took place in a room with black marble walls, on a white marble table. The food was rather unusual.

The soup was dark purple. And what did it taste of? Pepper!

The fish was bright green. And what did
it
taste of? Pepper!

The meat was pale blue. And what did
that
taste of? Pepper!

Everything
tasted of pepper, even the ice cream—which was black.

There were no other guests. After dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Dearly sat panting in the red marble drawing room, where an enormous fire was now burning. Mr. de Vil panted quite a bit too. Cruella, who was wearing a ruby satin dress with ropes of emeralds, got as close to the fire as she could.

“Make it blaze for me,” she said to Mr. de Vil.

Mr. de Vil made such a blaze that the Dearlys thought the chimney would catch fire.

“Lovely, lovely!” said Cruella, clapping her hands with delight. “Ah, but the flames never last long enough!” The minute they died down a little, she shivered and huddled herself in her absolutely simple white mink cloak.

Mr. and Mrs. Dearly left as early as they felt was polite, and walked along the Outer Circle, trying to get cool.

“What a strange name ‘de Vil' is,” said Mr. Dearly. “If you put the two words together, they make 'devil.‘ Perhaps Cruella's a lady-devil. Perhaps that's why she likes things so hot!”

Mrs. Dearly smiled, for she knew he was only joking. Then she said, “Oh, dear! As we've dined with them, we must ask them to dine with us. And there are some other people we ought to ask. We'd better get it over before Missis has her puppies. Good gracious, what's that?”

Something soft was rubbing against her ankles.

“It's Cruella's cat,” said Mr. Dearly. “Go home, cat. You'll get lost.”

But the cat followed them all the way to their house.

“Perhaps she's hungry,” said Mrs. Dearly.

“Very probably, unless she likes pepper,” said Mr. Dearly. He was still gulping the night air to cool his throat.

“You stroke her while I get her some food,” said Mrs. Dearly. And she went down the area steps and into the kitchen on tiptoe, so as not to wake Pongo and Missis, who were asleep in their baskets. Soon she came up with some milk and half a tin of sardines. The white cat accepted both, then began to walk down the area steps.

“Does she want to live with us?” said Mrs. Dearly.

It seemed as if the white cat did. But just then Pongo woke up and barked loudly. The white cat turned and walked away into the night.

“Just as well,” said Mr. Dearly. “Cruella would have the law on us if we took her valuable cat.”

Then they went down into the kitchen to receive the full force of Pongo's welcome. Missis, though sleepy, was fairly formidable too. There was a whirling mass of humans and dogs on the kitchen hearthrug—until Mrs. Dearly remembered, far too late, that Mr. Dearly's dress suit would be covered with white hairs.

It must have been about three weeks later that Missis began to behave in a very peculiar manner. She explored every inch of the house, paying particular attention to cupboards and boxes. And the place that interested her most was a large cupboard just outside the Dearlys' bedroom. The Nannies kept various buckets and brooms in this cupboard, and there wasn't a spare inch of space. Every time Missis managed to get in, she knocked something over with a clatter and then looked very ill-treated.

“Bless me, she wants to have her puppies there,” said Nanny Cook.

“Not in that dark, stuffy cupboard, Missis, love,” said Nanny Butler. “You need light and air.”

But when Mrs. Dearly consulted the Splendid Veterinary Surgeon, he said what Missis needed most was a small, enclosed place where she would feel safe, and if she fancied the broom cupboard, the broom cupboard she'd better have. And she'd better have it at once and get used to it—even though the puppies were not expected for some days.

So out came the brooms and buckets and in went Missis, to her great satisfaction. Pongo was a little hurt that he was not allowed to go with her, but Missis explained to him that mother dogs like to be by themselves when puppies are expected, so he licked his wife's ear tenderly and said he quite understood.

“I hope the dinner party won't upset Missis,” said Mr. Dearly, when he came home and found Missis settled in the cupboard. “I shall be glad when it's over.”

It was to be that very night. As there were quite a lot of guests, the food had to be normal, but Mrs. Dearly kindly put tall pepper-grinders in front of the de Vils. Cruella ground so much pepper that most of the guests were sneezing, but Mr. de Vil used no pepper at all. And he ate much more than in his own house.

Cruella was busy peppering her fruit salad when Nanny Butler came in and whispered to Mrs. Dearly. Mrs. Dearly looked startled, asked the guests to excuse her, and hurried out. A few minutes later Nanny Butler came in again and whispered to Mr. Dearly. He looked startled, excused himself, and hurried out. Those guests who were not sneezing made polite conversation. Then Nanny Butler came in again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said dramatically, “puppies are arriving earlier than expected. Mr. and Mrs. Dearly ask you to remember that Missis has never before been a mother. She needs absolute quiet.”

There was an instant silence, broken only by a stifled sneeze. Then the guests rose, drank a whispered toast to the young mother, and tiptoed from the house.

All except Cruella de Vil. When she reached the hall she went straight to Nanny Butler, who was seeing the guests out, and demanded,
“Where are
those puppies?”

Nanny Butler had no intention of telling, but Cruella heard the Dearlys' voices and ran upstairs. This time she was wearing a black satin dress with ropes of pearls, but the same absolutely simple white mink cloak. She had kept it round her all through dinner, although the room was very warm (and the pepper very hot).

“I must, I must see the darling puppies,” she cried.

The cupboard door was a little open. The Dearlys were inside, soothing Missis. Three puppies had been born before Nanny Butler, on bringing Missis a nourishing chicken dinner, had discovered what was happening.

Cruella flung open the door and stared down at the three puppies.

“But they're mongrels—all white, no spots at all!” she cried. “You must drown them at once.”

Dalmatians are always born white,“ said Mr. Dearly, glaring at Cruella. ”The spots come later.“

“And we wouldn't drown them even if they
were
mongrels,” said Mrs. Dearly indignantly.

“It'd be quite easy,” said Cruella. “I've drowned dozens and dozens of my cat's kittens. She always chooses some wretched alley-cat for their father, so they're never worth keeping.”

“Surely you leave her
one
kitten?” said Mrs. Dearly.

“If I'd done that, I'd be overrun with cats,” said Cruella. “Are you sure those horrid little white rats are pure Dalmatian puppies?”