“She came along at a most critical moment, you see.” Cork sniffed disdainfully. “The Crown had just placed that perfectly absurd tax on wig powder, which caused the demand for powdered wigs to plummet. When they went out of fashion, so did the taste for the truly grand coiffeurs. It was a sad passing. Very nearly ruined Mr. Todd and myself Lavinia caught Tobias’s eye and made another attempt to interrupt the wig-maker. “Mr. Cork, what we would like to know”

“Ah, yes, those were the days,” Cork said reverently. “I have a nasty suspicion that we shall never see another such golden era for wigs in my lifetime. Back then every great house possessed a special wig closet where the false hair could be curled and papered and powdered. The hairdressers had to be extremely skilled. And they rose to the occasion, I must say. Why, I knew some who could create headdresses of such enormous height and magnificence that the ladies who wore them could not travel in their carriages unless they knelt on the floor or stuck their heads out the windows.”

“Mr. Cork.” Lavinia injected a bit more firmness into her tone. “We want to know”

The door of the shop opened at that moment. A dapper-looking man, of about Mr. Cork’s age but less than half his girth, entered. He carried a package under his arm.

“Mr. Todd.” Cork greeted him with a familiarity that spoke of an old friendship. “There you are. I was wondering what had become of you.”

“Lady Brockton changed her mind at least three times about whether or not her daughter should have braids or ringlets.” Todd snorted. “It was obvious to me that what the chit really required was a great many curls in front to conceal her rather high forehead. But convincing Lady Brockton of that obvious fact required the most extreme diplomacy and a good deal of my time. Luckily I had no other appointments this afternoon.”

“I know you find Lady Brockton quite trying, but she is a regular client.”

“Yes, yes, I am well aware of that.” Todd peered at Lavinia and Tobias. “I say, I did not mean to interrupt.”

“Charles Todd, allow me to introduce Mrs. Lake and Mr. March,”

Cork said. “They called to ask some questions. I was just telling them about the grand old days of our profession.” He turned back to Lavinia and Tobias. “As I was about to say, there was no need to worry overmuch about the exact shade of the false hair in those days, because one knew that it would all be covered in powder and pomade.”

Todd put his package down on the counter. “And what lovely stuff the powder was.” He put his palms together and closed his eyes against what was evidently an excess of strong emotion. “The variety of the tints one could create was nothing short of inspiring.

“When I mixed them I knew myself to be a true artist.”

“Todd here had a master’s touch with the powder,” Cork confided.

“I vow, he had recipes for the most delicate shades of pink and blue, yellow, lavender, and pale violet. And the exquisite intricacy of his chignons had to be seen to be believed. At night in the ballrooms one could always identify his work. His headdresses outshone those of every other hairdresser in London.”

“Those were the days,” Todd agreed.

“I was just telling Mrs. Lake and Mr. March how Madam Tallien saved us when she set a new fashion for natural-colored wigs,” Cork said. “And now we do very nicely with chignons, puffs, and toupees and such. But the wig business has never been quite the same.”

“There was another bit of uncertainty a few years back when the ladies all insisted upon cutting their hair very short to suit the taste for Greek and Roman fashions. But the demand for skilled hairdressers rebounded once more when they all wanted long hair again,” Todd said, not without a good deal of satisfaction.

“Thank heaven for the ever-changing tastes of fashion,” Cork added. “Mr. Todd is, I am happy to say, one of the most distinguished hairdressers in town. He has a very elegant clientele. His designs are truly unique and original works of art. The trained eye can spot them immediately on the street or in the ballroom.”

“Is that so?” Tobias said with very little interest.

“Indeed. Many of his competitors have attempted to copy his chignons, but they have all failed. No one can imitate a true artist.”

“A hairdresser is only as good as his chignon, I always say,” Todd declared. “It is the basis upon which the entire headdress must rest.

“It is what gives the creation its true distinguishing elegance. If the chignon is uninspired in design or poorly situated on the head, no amount of frizzing or curling will save it.”

Lavinia thought about the designs Mrs. Dove’s hairdresser had created for Emeline and herself for certain important balls during the recent Season. The chignons had, indeed, been works of art, she thought, almost architectural in design.

“It is not just the design of the chignon that is critical,” Todd continued. “The ornaments that are used to decorate the finished work of art must be chosen and placed with an eye to the overall effect. I regret to say that many in my profession are inclined to overdo the pearls and flowers, to say nothing of the feathers.

“Restraint must be a hairdresser’s motto in such matters, just as Lafoy says.”

“Who the devil is Lafoy?” Tobias asked, apparently having abandoned any hope of regaining control of the interview.

Todd and Cork looked at him as though he were a barbarian at the gate.

“You are not acquainted with Lafoy?” Charles opened the package on the counter with a flourish and produced a book. “I refer to the Lafoy.”

“Never heard of him,” Tobias said.

“Lafoy is not only an artist in the world of hairdressing, he is a great poet.” Todd opened the book. “He published this excellent volume on the art of the coiffeur last year. This is my second copy. I was obliged to purchase another because I had quite worn out my first.”

Cork winked. “He fell asleep while reading it in the bath one evening last month. The book was ruined.”

“Just listen to these verses on the noble art of hairdressing,”

Charles urged. “The sensitivity and the intensity of the emotions quite overcome one. Why, Lafoy’s ode to his comb alone brings the tears to my eyes every time I read it.”

He cleared his throat, preparing to read aloud.

“Another time, perhaps, Mr. Todd.” Cork held up one hand to silence his associate. “Mrs. Lake and Mr. March are here on business.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me.” Todd closed the book and surveyed Lavinia with pursed lips. You were right to come to us, madam.

There really is nothing one can do about red hair except conceal it.

“I have some dyes that will darken hair, but nothing that is strong enough to tint yours. Once you have made your selection of a wig, I would be delighted to dress it for you. I see you in black hair, don’t you, Cork?”

“Yes, indeed.” Cork beamed. “Madam would be stunning in black.”

Todd circled Lavinia, assessing her hair very closely. “I believe I will use one of my chignons a la Minerva. It will add height. What do you say, Mr. Cork?”

“As always, when it comes to such matters, you are correct, Mr. Todd,” Cork said. “But, sadly, madam has made it clear that she does not wish to make a purchase today.”

“A pity,” Charles murmured. “There are possibilities, you see. If only…

“About the matter of blond-wig sales in recent months,” Tobias said evenly.

“Yes, indeed.” Cork clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “I believe you said you would make it worth my while to discuss recent sales of yellow false hair?”

Tobias glanced at Lavinia, one brow elevated. “My assistant will handle the negotiations.”

Lavinia cleared her throat and prepared to make the same bargain she had struck with the other helpful wig-makers. “Like yourself, we cater to a very exclusive clientele, Mr. Cork. Only the most elegant sort apply to Lake and March for private inquiries.”