The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (21 page)

Excuse me,
Sōsakan-sama
, but you have visitors.”

Sano looked up from his desk, past the detectives gathered in his office for the morning meeting at which he issued orders for the day. In the doorway stood the manservant who’d interrupted the meeting.

“Who are they?” Sano asked, surprised because callers rarely arrived so early.

“The Council of Elders.”

“The Council of Elders!” Sano rose in amazement. He dismissed his men, then hurried to the reception room. There he found three of the five officials seated in a row before the alcove. Pallid daylight and cold air seeped through the windows; the charcoal braziers emitted whiffs of heat that dissipated at waist level. Sano knelt and bowed.

“Welcome,” he said. “This is an honor.”

The elders had never called at his house. Whenever they wanted to see him, they summoned him to their chamber at the palace. This visit had a clandestine air, underscored by the absence of Senior Elder Makino.

The man at the center of the row spoke: “I hope we are not inconveniencing you.” This was Ohgami Kaoru, in charge of the regime’s relations with the daimyo. He had white hair and pensive, youthful features.

“Not at all,” Sano said.

“How kind of you to receive us so promptly,” said the elder seated at Ohgami’s right. Uemori Yoichi was short and squat, with baggy jowls. He was the shogun’s chief military adviser.

“It’s my privilege,” Sano said, as he wondered why the council had come, particularly the third man, Kato Kinhide, who was an expert on national finance. Ohgami was Sano’s sometime ally, and Uemori had never overtly opposed him, but Kato was an outright foe. Sano turned to Kato, appraising the broad, bland face with eyes and mouth like slits in worn leather. A suspicion formed in Sano’s mind.

“We’re glad you’re available,” Kato said, “when you must be very busy with the murder investigation.”

Sano saw his suspicion confirmed. Kato would never favor Sano with his presence, unless to talk about the important topic of the moment.

After tea and cakes had been served, pipes lit, and pleasantries exchanged, Ohgami said, “
Sōsakan-sama
, we’ve come to bring you news.”

This surprised Sano, because information customarily flowed from him to the elders, not the other way. He understood why Ohgami might help him, but not the others. And why did they want to talk here instead of at the palace?

Ohgami carefully tapped ashes out of his pipe, forming a line on the smoking tray in front of him. He looked toward Uemori, who said, “You may be aware that Lord Matsudaira Dakuemon was in Yoshiwara the night of the murder.”

Sano nodded, because Lord Dakuemon was on his list of people to interview.

“Dakuemon is a member of a Tokugawa branch clan,” Uemori continued. He sucked greedily on his pipe, and a deep, phlegmy cough shook his loose jowls. “He’s a bit older than Mitsuyoshi was, and not quite as personable nor favored by the court.” Uemori paused, then spoke in a tone laden with significance: “But now that Mitsuyoshi is dead…”

Lord Dakuemon was a strong contender for the position of heir to the regime, Sano thought.

“Perhaps you should pay special attention to Lord Dakuemon’s movements on that night,” Uemori said.

That Uemori had handed him a new suspect alarmed as much as intrigued Sano, since this one was a Tokugawa clan member and therefore off-limits to him because of the shogun’s prohibition against investigating Lord Mitsuyoshi’s family, background, or enemies.

“You might also check into Sugita Fumio,” said Kato. He refilled his pipe, measuring in the tobacco grain by grain.

“The head of the Judicial Council?” Sano said. This was the body that ranked just below the Council of Elders and supervised various government departments. “But Sugita wasn’t in Yoshiwara that night.”

“Perhaps you missed him,” Kato said.

“Why might he be considered a suspect?” Sano hid his dismay at seeing another prominent man implicated in the murder.

“Many years ago Councilman Sugita wanted to marry a certain lady, but her family married her off to Lord Mitsuyoshi’s father.” Kato used the tongs on his smoking tray to search through the metal box of hot coals and drop precisely the right size ember into his pipe. “But Councilman Sugita still loves the lady and bears a grudge against her husband. Might his grudge not have extended to Mitsuyoshi, the offspring of her marriage?”

This story sounded far-fetched. “Is there other evidence to say that Councilman Sugita killed Lord Mitsuyoshi?” Sano turned to Uemori. “Or any that Lord Dakuemon did?”

“It’s your duty to find evidence,” Uemori said with stern reproof.

That personal interests lurked behind the men’s guise of altruism became obvious to Sano. He knew that Sugita wanted a promotion to the Council of Elders, and had begun a campaign to oust Kato and take his place. What better way for Kato to defend himself than by incriminating Sugita in treasonous murder? Sano also knew that Uemori had a longstanding feud with Lord Dakuemon’s father, who constantly lobbied the shogun to expel him from the council. Uemori wouldn’t like Dakuemon to become the shogun’s heir, because his father would gain power to ruin Uemori. That the elders wanted to enlist Sano in their war against their enemies didn’t necessarily mean he should disregard their theories; yet he foresaw difficulties in determining whether Councilman Sugita or Lord Dakuemon were involved in the murder.

“You’re aware that His Excellency has forbidden me to investigate Lord Mituyoshi’s connections,” Sano said. Of course the elders knew: They’d been present when the shogun issued the order. “How am I to use the information you’ve given me?”

A smile shifted the baggy skin of Uemori’s face. “That is for you to decide.”

Ohgami nodded. He’d added more ash to his smoking tray, in a pattern of crisscrossed lines.

A rush of anger flashed through Sano as he comprehended the elders’ intentions toward him. They knew his tendency to place justice above duty. They expected him to defy the shogun’s order and pursue Councilman Sugita and Lord Dakuemon as suspects. Whether or not either man was guilty, the scandal would ruin the reputations of both. Whether or not Sano solved the case by investigating them, he would suffer harsh punishment for his disobedience. But the elders would manipulate him without caring what happened to him.

Stifling his resentment, Sano addressed Ohgami: “Is there another suspect that you want to bring to my attention?”

“Oh, no,” Ohgami said mildly. He regarded his ashes with the air of an artist contemplating his creation. “My only purpose here is to help my colleagues help you.”

Sano’s resentment turned to indignation because he understood Ohgami’s real purpose. Ohgami was battling Senior Elder Makino for control of the Council. He must have promised his two colleagues that he would help them destroy their enemies if they allied with him. Hence, he’d brought them here, safely away from Makino and the shogun, to draw Sano into his scheme.

“Many thanks for your concern,” Sano forced himself to say.

He wasn’t surprised that his ally would exploit him so callously, for self-interest dominated all relationships in the
bakufu
. Yet a powerful rage clenched his hands on the empty tea bowl he held. Sano stared at his guests, sitting smugly confident before him. He’d saved them and the entire city from the Black Lotus, but they would use him as if he were a rag for cleaning up messes, then crumple him and throw him away! Hatred tinged his vision with blood.

But his habit of maintaining outward calm was so strong that the men seemed to notice nothing amiss. They took their leave, and Sano sat alone, immobilized by fury, until a sharp pain in his left palm startled him. He looked down and saw that he’d crushed the fragile porcelain tea bowl. Blood oozed from his cut hand.

“Excuse me,
Sōsakan-sama
,” the manservant said, bowing and entering the room.

“What do you want?” Sano said. His rage dissipated, leaving him shaken by his near loss of control. Since the Black Lotus case, his temper had gained a force that he found increasingly harder to discipline.

“More visitors are here to see you.”

The women’s quarter of the palace hummed with the chatter and bustle of the concubines and ladies-in-waiting as they bathed, dressed, and groomed themselves. Midori sat in the chamber of the shogun’s mother, Lady Keisho-in. While other attendants combed Keisho-in’s hair, Midori applied a mixture of white rice powder and camellia wax onto the old woman’s face. Her hand automatically smeared and dabbed the makeup, but her thoughts centered on her urgent need to see Hirata. He’d not come to her last night, and the hours since she’d seen him at the
miai
yesterday seemed like an eternity.

“Aaghh!” Lady Keisho-in cried, recoiling from Midori; her round, wrinkled face bunched up in pain. “You’ve gotten makeup in my eye again. Can’t you pay attention to what you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry!” Midori snatched up a cloth and wiped at her mistress’s eye, but Lady Keisho-in shoved her away.

“You’re so absentminded lately,” Keisho-in complained. “I can’t bear to have you around me.” She made a shooing gesture. “Get out!”

Glad of a reprieve from duty, Midori fled the palace. She was racing across the garden when she saw Hirata coming toward her.

“Hirata-
san
!” she called. He smiled; she hurled herself into his arms. As they embraced, she burst into tears. “I thought you would never come. I was so afraid you’d changed your feelings about me.”

“Why would you think that?” Hirata said, his voice roughened by affection.

In this chill early morning, they had the garden to themselves, but he drew her into the pine grove where they’d met so many times before. The air was redolent with the clean, tangy scent of resin, the ground covered with a soft blanket of pine needles upon which they’d lain.

“You’re shivering,” Hirata said. He wrapped his own cloak around Midori and held her tight.

She basked in his nearness, sobbing. “After what my father said to yours, I was sure you must hate me.”

“Nothing can change my love for you.” Hirata held her shoulders and gazed at her with a sincerity that banished her fear. “What happened at the theater wasn’t your fault.” As she wept in relief now, he said, “Please believe that my family means no harm to yours. Why does your father think we’re his enemies?”

Overcome by shame, Midori pulled away from Hirata, averting her face. “He gets all upset when it comes to the Tokugawa or anyone associated with them,” she whispered. “Because of what they did to our clan in the past.”

“I see.” Hirata’s dubious tone said he didn’t understand the eccentricity that made Lord Niu resent what other daimyo accepted. “Would he really try to kill my father?”

A sob choked Midori.

“Oh.” Hirata paused. “Is he always like that?”

“Not always.” Midori couldn’t bear to tell Hirata that Lord Niu’s bad spells were often worse. “Is your father still angry, do you think?” she ventured timidly. “Is he very much against the match?”

“… I didn’t have much chance to talk to him.”

She could tell Hirata was trying to shield her from painful truth, and panic filled her because their marriage seemed even more impossible than ever, despite the increasing necessity of it. Every day Midori suffered from nausea; every day her body swelled larger with the new life growing in her.

“What are we going to do?” she cried.

“Maybe if we wait awhile,” Hirata said, “the whole thing will blow over.”

He spoke without hope, and the idea of delaying alarmed Midori. “How long should we wait?”

“At least a few days. Or maybe a month would be better.”

“A month!” By then the pregnancy would be apparent to everyone. Midori feared that her disgrace would make both families even less amenable to the marriage. “That’s too long!” Her voice rose in hysteria. “We have to do something now!”

“Forcing the issue right away would only hurt our chances.” Hirata looked puzzled by her agitation. “We must be patient.”

“I can’t!”

“It’s no use getting so upset,” Hirata said. Taking her in his arms, he caressed her hair, her face, her bosom; passion strengthened his grip. “Calm down.”

The amorous attentions she’d once welcomed now alarmed Midori. “No! Don’t!” She tore free of Hirata.

“I’m sorry,” Hirata said, chastened. “Forgive me.”

She saw that he didn’t understand why she’d rejected him, and she’d hurt his feelings. But she was scared to tell him about the child, or let him touch her and guess. Although refusing him now wouldn’t protect her from what had already happened, she couldn’t bear more forbidden intimacies.

“I should go,” he said, backing out of the pine grove.

“No. Wait!” Midori lurched after Hirata and clung to him, weeping again.

He held her cautiously, but he spoke with a determination that gave her hope: “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to make everything all right.”

Hirata climbed off his horse beside a wooden notice board that stood at the foot of the Nihonbashi Bridge. As pedestrians streamed across the bridge, he pinned up a notice that read, “Anyone who has seen, heard of, or knows any man from Hokkaido, presently living in or formerly a resident of Edo, is ordered to report the information to His Excellency the Shogun’s
Sōsakan-sama
.”

Contemplating the notice, he frowned in frustration, because he’d already spent hours searching teahouses in Suruga for Lady Wisteria and her lover, but found naught. He began to doubt that the many notices he’d posted along the way would bring success. Tired, cold, and hungry now, he bought tea and a lunchbox of sushi from a passing vendor and perched on the bridge’s railing.

Barges drifted down the canal below him. Crowds thronged the lanes and stalls outside the fish market on the bank. The smell of rotting fish permeated the moist, gray air; seagulls winged and squawked in the overcast sky. As Hirata ate, the problems of love and work weighed upon his spirits. He had little hope that time would heal the offense caused his father by Lord Niu, and if he didn’t find Wisteria’s lover, he and Sano might never solve the murder case.