Dusk was falling upon the quarter; the western sky glowed copper. As Sano walked up a road of brothels toward Ageyacho, the lanterns seemed brighter, the crowds louder, and the music gayer in the gathering darkness. He saw Yoriki Yamaga and a group of other police officials, presumably hunting the same facts he needed. He thought of Reiko, who’d gone out this morning in search of clues to the whereabouts of Lady Wisteria. He hoped that Wisteria was still alive, because she might be the only person who could tell him what had really happened in that bedchamber.
10
Inside the courtyard of Sano’s estate, bearers set down a palanquin, and Reiko alighted in the chilly dusk. Midori burst out the door of the mansion and ran toward Reiko, sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” Reiko said, embracing her friend.
“Oh, Reiko-san, it was awful!” Midori poured out the tale of her miai, and Reiko exclaimed in dismay at how Lord Niu had insulted Hirata’s father and the two men had fought. “They’re enemies now,” Midori mourned. “They’ll never allow my marriage to Hirata-san.”
Although Reiko feared this was true, she said, “Don’t give up hope yet. I’ll ask my husband to speak to your families and help make peace between them.”
“Oh, thank you!” Smiling, Midori wiped her nose on her sleeve and hugged Reiko. Then more tears flowed. “I spent the afternoon at my father’s estate. He kept raving about how Hirata-san’s family is trying to destroy him and he must fight back. Then he locked himself in his chamber. I didn’t have a chance to beg him to make amends to Hirata’s father or reconsider the match.”
A sob choked Midori. “And I haven’t seen Hirata-san since he left the theater. No one here knows where he is. Why doesn’t he come to me? I’m afraid he doesn’t love me anymore.”
“Of course he does,” Reiko said soothingly. “Hirata-san is faithful. He’ll understand that your father’s behavior wasn’t your fault. He’s probably just busy working. Now cheer up-you don’t want him to come in and see you like this.”
Midori bit her quivering lips and breathed deeply in a visible attempt to pull herself together. “Please forgive me for imposing my troubles on you, when you’ve just gotten home. Were you out investigating the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi?”
Nodding, Reiko felt the despair in her own heart.
“And you’ve discovered lots of clues?” Midori said with flattering confidence in Reiko’s ability.
“I wish it were so.” Reiko sighed. “I’ve spent the whole day visiting my cousins and aunts and friends, talking to servants and shopkeepers. Everyone is so afraid to speak ill of the shogun’s dead heir that no one will talk about Lord Mitsuyoshi. And as for Lady Wisteria, everyone was full of gossip about the clothes she wears and the lavish parties she gives. Everyone has a theory of how she got out of Yoshiwara-she turned into a bird and flew away, she drank a magic potion that made her small and she sneaked under the gate. But no one has any real idea where she went.”
“Oh, Reiko-san, that’s too bad,” Midori said.
Reiko dreaded admitting her failure to Sano. Cold, tired, and hungry, she couldn’t bear to think about what that failure meant. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm,” she said. “Have you eaten yet? We can have a meal together while you wait for Hirata-san.”
Midori looked tempted, then shook her head regretfully. “I’d better go. Lady Keisho-in will be looking for me.”
They parted, and Reiko entered the house. There, Masahiro toddled down the corridor, calling, “Mama, Mama! Come see what I made.” He grabbed her hand and tugged.
One of his nursemaids, a girl named O-hana, trailed after him. “The young master has been working hard today,” O-hana said. She was nineteen and pretty, with a glint of cleverness in her eyes and a pert smile shaped like an inverted triangle. Though she wore the customary indigo kimono of a servant, she always added a personal, stylish touch. Today it was a paper butterfly perched on her upswept hair.
“Let’s go see what you’ve done, Masahiro-chan,” said Reiko.
The three went to the nursery. On the floor stood colored building blocks arranged in the rudimentary shape of a house.
“That’s wonderful!” Reiko exclaimed, as her pleasure in her son eased the disappointment of the day.
“Now the young master is the little lord of his own castle,” O-hana said fondly.
Masahiro laughed and jumped up and down. Reiko wished she had as much accomplishment to boast. She was so afraid she would let Sano down and prove herself unworthy of his trust.
“Excuse me, mistress,” said the housekeeper, entering the nursery, “but you have visitors.”
“Who are they?” Reiko said, surprised because she wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Lady Yanagisawa and her daughter, Kikuko.”
“Merciful gods.”
Reiko hadn’t thought the chamberlain’s wife would call on her this soon. Now she jumped up in a flurry of agitation, for she’d never received such an important guest. She smoothed her hair and clothes as she hurried to the parlor, where she found Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko kneeling side by side.
“Good evening.” Reiko knelt opposite them and bowed.
Lady Yanagisawa echoed the greeting. She wore drab, brownish mauve, and her plain face was as dour as before. “My apologies for arriving without notice,” she murmured. “I hope I am not inconveniencing you?”
“No, not at all,” Reiko said nervously. “I’m glad you came. Hello, Kikuko-chan. My, how pretty you look.”
The little girl giggled and hid her face behind the sleeve of her aquamarine kimono.
“Say, ‘You are too kind, Honorable Lady-I am not worthy of your praise,’ ” Lady Yanagisawa gently instructed her daughter.
Kikuko obeyed, stumbling over the words. When Reiko provided refreshments, the girl slurped the tea and spilled some on her kimono. She gobbled the cakes and got sugary crumbs all over her face and the floor. Lady Yanagisawa wiped Kikuko’s face with a napkin, picked up crumbs, and gave Reiko a look of embarrassed apology.
“This winter is particularly harsh,” Reiko said, seeking to initiate a conversation and put her guest at ease.
“… Yes.”
Lady Yanagisawa cupped her tea bowl in her hands; her gaze flitted around the room, taking in the wall mural, the alcove where a scroll of calligraphy hung above a celadon vase of dried flowers, and the shelves that held figurines. Reiko wondered if she didn’t realize she was supposed to say something to keep the talk going, she couldn’t think what to say, or she expected other people to carry the burden of conversation.
“Having to stay indoors in cold weather makes me restless,” said Reiko. “How do you pass the time?”
“I read poetry. I sew clothes for Kikuko. I try to teach her a little reading and writing. We play together.” Long pauses separated Lady Yanagisawa’s sentences. “Sometimes we go out to a temple.”
“How nice.” Reiko thought Lady Yanagisawa’s life sounded circumscribed, dull, and lonely. Perhaps she didn’t want to expose Kikuko to people who might mock her.
Lady Yanagisawa glanced at Reiko, then away, then back again, repeatedly, scrutinizing her hair, figure, clothes, and face. Although Reiko could detect no malice in Lady Yanagisawa’s narrow eyes, she grew uneasy.
“Does your husband share your interest in poetry?” Reiko said.
“My husband is very busy.”
This reply told Reiko that the chamberlain, like many a man, paid his wife little attention, but Lady Yanagisawa gave no hint of whether she minded. Reiko began to feel as though the other woman’s gaze were taking small bites out of her, and at a loss for how to entertain Lady Yanagisawa. Then Reiko noticed Kikuko fidgeting restlessly with her hair ornaments.
“Maybe Kikuko-chan would like to play with my son,” Reiko said. “Shall we take her to the nursery?”
“That would be fine.” Lady Yanagisawa spoke in a tone of indifference, but rose and held out her hand. “Come, Kikuko-chan.”
The way to the nursery took them past Sano’s office, Reiko’s study, and the bedchamber. Lady Yanagisawa
