The Peony Lantern by Frances Watts

and looked at the floor. It was none of my business.
    â€˜A fire,’ she said briefly.
    Had she been burned before or after Lord Shimizu married her? I wondered. I was deciding whether I had the courage to ask when she ordered, ‘Come do my hair.’
    â€˜Yes, my lady.’
    I moved to stand behind her as she kneeled on the tatami . Taking a comb from the dressing table, I beganto pull it through Misaki’s hair, a river of black as silky-smooth as one of her kimonos.
    Should I tell her I didn’t know what I was doing? She’d probably send me home at once. My father would be disgraced, angry. And Shimizu: he was counting on me to watch over his wife; I didn’t want to let him down. No, I would have to do her hair. How hard could it be? I had seen my mother and sister putting up their own hair. But a lady like Misaki wouldn’t wear her hair like my sister, I reminded myself, glancing at the array of pins and combs and hair ornaments scattered across the dressing table. She’d had it in a large roll the night before, but that had come loose during the night. And given her complaints about Ishi, she was probably desiring a more elaborate style. Well, Father had said I had an active imagination; I’d just have to use it.
    Closing my eyes, I tried to picture how a glamorous Edo woman might wear her hair. I’d seen those women in gorgeous kimonos as we’d entered the city gate the evening before. One of them had had hair that stood out from her head like two graceful wings. With a beautiful kimono and her hair in wings, Misaki would resemble a butterfly, I thought. Perfect — I’d do that.
    But how did one turn long straight hair into butterfly’s wings? I’d had a vague impression of rolls of hair and combs and pins.
    â€˜I think you’ve combed enough,’ Misaki spoke up.
    I was startled to realise that as all these thoughts had been running through my mind I’d still been combing. ‘Yes, my lady.’
    I couldn’t put it off any longer. I parted her hair in the middle, then wrapped one section of hair around myhand to make a wing. It didn’t look too bad. Reaching for hairpins I pinned it securely. Uh-oh; now my hand was stuck.
    Discreetly I removed a few of the pins till I could extract my hand. The wing flopped to the side. Perhaps I could pull it into place with a comb. Holding the wing erect with one hand, I worked a comb into it and then let go. The wing drooped. Hmm. I’d deal with that later.
    I turned my attention to the other side. With a bit of deft pinning and combing, I manoeuvred the roll of hair into place. Feeling quite pleased with my handiwork, I moved to the front to see how she looked.
    One wing stood straight up while the other fell flat, broken. It didn’t look full and rich. It looked . . . bizarre. Eye-catching, but not in the right way.
    I stepped away, trying desperately to think how I might salvage this disaster.
    Taking the broken wing in one hand, I pushed a pin through it firmly.
    â€˜Oh!’ Misaki cried, flinching.
    â€˜I’m sorry, my lady,’ I said, mortified. ‘I didn’t mean to —’
    â€˜What are you doing back there?’ Before I could stop her, Misaki reached for a hand mirror. I watched as her reflected expression moved from quizzical to horrified.
    â€˜I’m, er, not quite finished,’ I said. ‘I still have to . . .’ I glanced at the dressing table, hoping for inspiration. ‘I have to add more hair ornaments.’
    An ornament with trailing wisteria in purple silk, pins with red silk tassels, a black-lacquered comb painted with gold — I put these things in at random, thinking that atleast they would distract from the misshapen lumps I had fashioned from her hair.
    When at last I had finished, Misaki, who still held the mirror, regarded herself in silence.
    At last she said in a hard voice, ‘Is this some kind of