Читать книгу The Hundred and One Dalmatians Modern Classic - Dodie Smith - Страница 7

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?’

‘Quite sure,’ snapped Mr Dearly. ‘Now please go away. You’re upsetting Missis.’

And indeed Missis was upset. Even with the Dearlys there to protect her and her puppies, she was a little afraid of this tall woman with black-and-white hair who stared so hard. And that poor cat who had lost all those kittens! Never, never, would Missis forget that! (And one day she was to be glad that she remembered it.)

‘How long will it be before the puppies are old enough to leave their mother?’ asked Cruella. ‘In case I want to buy some.’

‘Seven or eight weeks,’ said Mr Dearly. ‘But there won’t be any for sale.’ Then he shut the cupboard door in Cruella’s face and Nanny Butler firmly showed her out of the house.

Nanny Cook was busy telephoning the Splendid Vet but he was out on another case. His wife said she would tell him as soon as he came home and there was no need to worry – it sounded as if Missis was getting on very well.

She certainly was. There was now a fourth puppy. Missis washed it and then Mr Dearly dried it, while Mrs Dearly gave Missis a drink of warm milk. Then the pup was put with the other three, in a basket placed where Missis could see it. Soon she had a fifth puppy. Then a sixth – and a seventh.

The night wore on. Eight puppies, nine puppies! Surely that would be all? Dalmatians do not often have more in their first family. Ten puppies! Eleven puppies!

Then the twelfth arrived and it did not look like its brothers and sisters. The flesh showing through its white hair was not a healthy pink but a sickly yellow. And instead of kicking its little legs, it lay quite still. The Nannies, who were sitting just outside the cupboard, told Mr and Mrs Dearly that it had been born dead.

‘But, with so many, its mother will never miss it,’ said Nanny Cook, comfortingly.

Mr Dearly held the tiny creature in the palm of his hand and looked at it sorrowfully.

‘It isn’t fair it should have no life at all,’ said Mrs Dearly, with tears in her eyes.

Something he had once read came back to Mr Dearly. He began to massage the puppy; then he tousled it gently in a towel. And suddenly there was a faint hint of pink around its nose – and then its whole little body was flushed with pink, beneath its snowy hair. Its legs moved! Its mouth opened! It was alive!

Mr Dearly quickly put it close to Missis so that she could give it some milk at once, and it stayed there, feeding, until the next puppy arrived – for arrive it did. That made thirteen!

Shortly before dawn, the front door-bell rang. It was the Splendid Vet, who had been up all night saving the life of a dog that had been run over. By then, all the puppies had been born and Missis was giving breakfast to eight of them – all she could manage at one time.

‘Excellent!’ said the Splendid Vet. ‘A really magnificent family. And how is the father bearing up?’

The Dearlys felt guilty. They had not given Pongo a thought since the puppies had begun to arrive. He had been shut up in the kitchen. All night long he had paced backwards and forwards and only once had he heard any news – when Nanny Cook had come down to make coffee and sandwiches. She had told him that Missis was doing well – but only as a joke, for she had no idea he would understand.

‘Poor Pongo, we must have him up,’ said Mrs Dearly. But the Splendid Vet said mother dogs did not usually like to have father dogs around when puppies had just been born. At that moment there was a clatter of toenails on the polished floor of the hall – and upstairs, four at a time, came Pongo. Nanny Cook had just gone down to make some tea for the Splendid Vet, and the anxious father had streaked past her the minute she opened the kitchen door.

‘Careful, Pongo!’ said the Splendid Vet. ‘She may not want you.’

But Missis was weakly thumping her tail. ‘Go down and have your breakfast and a good sleep,’ she said – but nobody except Pongo heard a sound. His eyes and his wildly wagging tail told her all he was feeling, his love for her and those eight fine pups enjoying their first breakfast. And those others, in the basket, waiting their turn – how many were there?

‘It’s a pity dogs can’t count,’ said Mrs Dearly.

But Pongo could count, perfectly. He went downstairs with his head high and a new light in his fine, dark eyes. For he knew himself to be the proud father of fifteen.