Page 63 of Trouble

‘I wanted it .?.?. short,’ she said. ‘But not too short. Like Father’s.’

‘Not too short,’ Emily repeated incredulously. ‘Just like aman’shair.’

‘Yes,’ Aster said, catching Emily’s eye in the mirror. ‘Exactly like a man’s hair.’

Emily sighed, and picked up one of the badly shorn locks.

‘Fine. But you are not to complain. I am not an expert.’

‘In this or anything else,’ said Aster, with enough of her usual fire that Emily didn’t feel too guilty about roughly shoving her head into place so that she could start cutting.

She had cut her own hair before, and Amy’s, but this was different. It felt like there was a lot riding on it. She didn’t knowwhatexactly, but she knew that it was important. Aster closed her eyes and stayed absolutely, rigidly still the entire time she was cutting, and when Emily rapped her on the shoulder to indicate that she was finished, she stayed as she was, as if she were too frightened to look.

When she finally did, it was like watching a fire catch when you were freezing, or the very first peek of a blazing dawn. Aster lit up entirely. She reached up to touch her hair and then stayed like that, running her fingers through it, marvelling at how quickly she ran out of length.

Emily wasn’t sure how even it was, but Asterdidlook more like her father than ever, so she supposed that was something.

‘You are a terrible hairdresser,’ said Aster.

Emily rolled her eyes and let the scissors drop onto the dressing table, making to leave.

Aster stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

‘But .?.?. thank you.’

Emily gritted her teeth and didn’t yank herself away. She just nodded.

‘I’m sure some people will still think you look .?.?. beautiful,’ she offered.

Aster shook her head, turning back to look at herself in the mirror again.

‘Well. Dashing, at least.’

That seemed more like it. Aster almostgrinned. She was still holding on to Emily’s wrist, as if it were a lifeline.

‘I need to go and talk to Father,’ she said, perfectly balanced between nerves and steel. ‘Will you .?.?. ? Can you come with me?’

Emily’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. Aster’s grip on her arm suddenly felt too much.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I have to go to .?.?. I’m expected somewhere. It’s my day off.’

Aster let go of her. Her face shuttered. Her shoulders bunched.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘That’s fine. You can go.’

‘Aster.’

‘Just go, please. I don’t .?.?. I don’t actually recallinvitingyou into my room.’

It was half-hearted, but Emily didn’t bother arguing. She left, and went downstairs to the back entrance, feeling sick with indecision.

She wasn’t going to go. Or .?.?. perhaps she would, but she wouldn’t give everything away. No. This was foolish. She wouldn’t go at all.

But what did Captain Edwards owe her, really? A few weeks at Fairmont House and it was as if she was forgetting why she was here .?.?. who shewas. Nobody else would make that mistake, and she would do well to remember that.

She arrived at the pub at a little after two o’clock, and found Charles exactly where she’d left him after their last meeting. She could almost have believed that he’d never left the place; that he was tied to it like a ghost with a narrow haunting jurisdiction.

‘Good afternoon, Emily,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a bit of hair stuck to your chin. Not yours, I’d wager, unless you are growing a beard.’