“She’ll fatten up soon, I’m certain,” Aunt Twice ventured palely, not sounding at all certain of anything. “Bearing in mind that the child has just suffered a terrible loss—”
A thin, interrupting eyebrow slithered up Mrs. Meeching’s forehead. “We bear in mind what we choose to bear in mind, Mrs. Luccock. I pray, for her sake, as well as yours, that she will fatten up soon, but I warn you, it will not be at my expense. She will not be pampered either in the kitchen or at any dining table and will eat exactly what the others eat. Furthermore, she will earn her keep. That is clear, is it not, Mrs. Luccock?”
Although Mrs. Meeching addressed these grim orders to Aunt Twice, there was no doubt as to what person was intended to profit by hearing them. Her glance never flickered away from Emily for an instant.
“I suppose she is wearing a silk dress under that coat? Well, there will be no need for silks and velvets in scrubbing sinks, scouring pots, and emptying slop jars, eh?” There was a brief pause to allow this to settle. “Has she other clothes, Mrs. Luccock?”
“Two trunks coming—” murmured Aunt Twice.
“Two?” The same thin eyebrow rose a trifle higher. “All filled with the same frivolous garments, I venture. Well, we’ll have to attend to that, just as we shall have to attend to the hair. Long golden braids take entirely too much attention, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Luccock?”
If Aunt Twice agreed to this observation, it was hard to tell it from the small sound that escaped her throat.
“I collect,” continued Mrs. Meeching smoothly, “that we might encounter some difficulty in having this matter attended to. Alas!” The alas came out sounding as far from what was originally intended for the word as anything imaginable. “Mrs. Plumly, the scissors, please!”
“Oh no!” breathed Aunt Twice. “Not her beautiful hair!”
“The scissors!” repeated Mrs. Meeching. Her eyes still fastened on Emily, she uncoiled a white, boneless hand in the direction of the plump lady with the knitting needles.
The knitting was arrested for a moment as Mrs. Plumly dipped into a capacious rose-embroidered knitting bag and handed Mrs. Meeching a pair of gleaming silver scissors, long as a dagger. With a flick of a pointed finger, Mrs. Meeching directed Emily to turn around. Then the scissors hissed open, and with a solid crunch, the silver jaws snapped together over one of her golden braids. Hiss! Crunch! Snap! went the scissors again, and she felt a sunny braid part from her head with a faint, farewell sigh and fall to the floor with a thump.
From the moment that Emily had walked through the doors of Sugar Hill Hall into its spectral parlor, she had half believed that she had stepped into a nightmare and would soon wake from it. But the sound and the feel of the silver jaws biting through her hair were all too real. Her heart was still pumping with fear, but with the loss of her braid, somewhere deep inside a large amount of terror was suddenly replaced by an equally large amount of anger.
How dared this wicked woman remove from her something she had owned most of her life and which had been so precious to Mama and Papa! One of her happiest memories would always be the one of skipping in to say good night to them in her pink nightdress. And how Papa had loved her hair, unplaited for the night, floating about her shoulders like a golden cloud! Now half of it was already lying lifelessly on the floor, and the rest soon to follow.
Why was Aunt Twice allowing this to happen? Why did she not put a stop to it at once? But when Emily looked at her aunt, she knew why. Though Aunt Twice’s eyes were brimming with tears, her face was ashen with fear. So Emily stood still as a stone statue, without making a sound.
Thin as a thread, strong as wire! Papa had said that once about her, she remembered, and everyone had laughed. But now she intended to prove Papa’s words true. She would not cry and make a scene, for Aunt Twice’s sake. This monstrous person wielding the scissors would not bring tears to her eyes.
Hiss! Crunch! Snap! Hiss! Crunch! Snap! A second braid lay beside the first, its bright red ribbon trembling like a butterfly on a dead branch. Emily dug her fingernails into her hand in a tight fist, but her eyes remained dry.
“There now, Mrs. Luccock, I believe she is ready to go to work. She will be expected to serve in the dining room this evening and to help Tilly so that you may be relieved for your other duties. And on the matter of dinner, I presume it will be served on time? You were very late returning, were you not, Mrs. Luccock?”
“I had to wait such a long time for the cablecar, you know, Mrs. Meeching. The fog must have held it up.” Aunt Twice twisted her fingers together nervously.
“But I noticed that you arrived in a cab. Cabs are for the very rich.” Mrs. Meeching’s voice suddenly took on a sly quality. “We must be paying you too well, eh, Mrs. Luccock?”
“I didn’t want to be late. It took all the money I had,” said Aunt Twice faintly.
“Well, we shall see!” The scissors still in Mrs. Meeching’s hand hissed open and snapped shut. “You may go now, and take the orphan brat with you.”
Aunt Twice started to reach for Emily’s travelling bag, but a
