Laura Rowland - The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria

Yuya nodded too quickly, as though willing to agree to anything just to get rid of Reiko.

“Send me a message at Edo Castle,” Reiko said, then hurried past the glaring tattooed attendant and out of the house.

She met her guard captain in the street, and he accompanied her back to the palanquin. Climbing in, she ordered her escorts to take her home. She must tell Sano what she’d discovered, so he could begin the search for the new murder suspect.

What do you mean I can’t come in?” Hirata demanded.

“The palace is off limits to the sōsakan-sama and everyone in his retinue,” said the guard stationed at the door of the Edo Castle women’s quarters. “The shogun has ordered you kept out.”

Hirata stared in amazement and horror. That Sano had been barred from the palace meant the shogun thought him guilty of murder and treason, even though he’d received a chance to prove he was innocent. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi feared Sano as a threat to himself! This seemed the first stage of an inevitable downfall for Sano and everyone associated with him.

“I just stopped by to see Lady Midori,” Hirata said. “Will you tell her to come out?”

The guard shut the door in Hirata’s face. Hirata stood momentarily paralyzed by helpless outrage, then hurried around the building. The grounds lay vacant in the wet afternoon. Raindrops glittered on bare branches, stippled the pond, and pelted Hirata as he trudged through damp grass to the window of Midori’s chamber. Taking shelter beneath the eaves, he rapped on the wooden bars that screened the window.

“Midori-san!” he called.

The shutters and paper pane inside the window opened. Midori appeared, her eyes huge and scared. “Hirata-san!” she exclaimed in a whisper.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Hirata whispered, “but the guard won’t let me in.”

Midori pressed her face up against the window bars and spoke with breathless urgency: “The ladies say the sōsakan-sama killed Lord Mitsuyoshi so that Masahiro-chan can be shogun someday. They say he’s a traitor, and so are you because you’re his chief retainer. Tell me it’s not true,” she pleaded.

“Of course it’s not,” Hirata said, alarmed to learn how fast the news had spread around the castle. “Don’t listen to the rumors. The sōsakan-sama has been falsely accused.”

A sigh of relief gusted from Midori; her lips quivered in an eager smile. “That’s what I’ve been telling everyone who criticizes him or you.” Then her face crumpled. “But the palace officials told me I should stay away from you because you’re in trouble, and I could get in trouble, too. They said that if you and the sōsakan-sama are condemned, I could be thrown out of the castle, or even put to death along with you.” Midori’s voice quavered with fear. “Things aren’t that bad, are they?”

As Hirata searched for words to tell her gently and console her, his face must have revealed the awful truth. Midori whimpered, “Oh, no,” and began to sob.

“I’m sorry,” Hirata said. “I’ve brought you nothing but unhappiness.” Although the idea of giving up Midori appalled him, he had to think of her welfare. He forced himself to say, “Maybe we’d better not see each other anymore. That would please our families. And you’ll be safe.”

“No!” Midori’s protest was immediate and vehement. Her streaming eyes filled with horror; she grasped the window bars.

She was making this so much harder that Hirata almost couldn’t bear to continue. “I love you,” he said brokenly. “I don’t want to give you up. But I can’t let you suffer because of me. We must say goodbye before my troubles destroy you.”

He backed away from the window while Midori darted back and forth sideways, like a caged, frantic animal. “Don’t leave me!” she cried. “If we can’t marry, I’m doomed!” Her weeping rose to a hysterical pitch, and she hunched over, sobbing into her hands. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!”

The force of her reaction halted Hirata. She was even more upset than the occasion merited. “What is it?” he said.

Midori shook her head violently, still sobbing. Hirata stepped up to the window. “Tell me,” he said, bewildered.

He leaned close, and after a moment Midori’s answer emerged in a tiny squeak: “I’m with child.” Then she dissolved into weeping again.

“Oh,” Hirata said, his stomach jarred by shock. Now he understood Midori’s panic. He rued the consequences of their forbidden pleasures.

“I couldn’t tell you before,” Midori whispered. “I was so ashamed. I was so afraid you’d be angry at me.”

Hirata reached through the window bars. “I’m not angry,” he said. “It’s my fault. I should have controlled myself.” As Midori pressed her wet, teary face against his hand, he ached for them both; yet she would suffer more than he from bearing their child out of wedlock. He feared for the child, whose prospects were dire.

“What are we going to do?” Midori wailed in desperation.

Although their circumstances had never been worse, Hirata felt an unexpected pang of hope. “We’ll find a way,” he said. “The child is proof that we’re destined for each other.”

“Are we?” Midori gazed longingly at him.

“Yes,” Hirata said. “Our love is stronger than ever.” It swelled his heart, renewed his confidence. The child gave him added reason to persevere. “We’ll be married soon. I promise.”

Doubt vied with hope in Midori’s expression. “But how?”

“First I’ll find evidence to clear the sōsakan-samas name,” Hirata said. “Then everything else will turn out fine.”

Midori nodded, calmed by his reassurances. Hirata wished he had more faith in them. Restoring his master to the shogun’s good graces wouldn’t automatically solve the other problems that stood in the way of his marriage to Midori.

“I have to do some more investigating now,” he said. “I’ll come back with good news as soon as I can.”

As Hirata withdrew his hand from the window, Midori let go reluctantly, as though she feared she would never see him again.

Hirata arrived in Yoshiwara with two of Sano’s detectives, when the evening’s festivities were already in full sway. They interviewed the courtesans whom Lord Mitsuyoshi had tricked into believing he would marry them, but all three had been able to prove they’d been elsewhere the night Mitsuyoshi died at the Owariya, When Hirata and his companions left the brothel, the rain had ceased; wet roof tiles and streets reflected the lanterns in streaks of gold. Servants hauling trays of food from cookhouses to banquets rushed through the noisy crowds. Maids led clients to the brothels; a vendor sold rice crackers mixed with love poems. As Hirata neared the Owariya, a courtesan and her entourage promenaded up to the door. He experienced a peculiar illusion that he’d been transported backward in time, and the courtesan was Lady Wisteria, arriving for her appointment with Lord Mitsuyoshi.

The illusion grew stronger when Hirata entered the ageya and found a party in progress. The guests weren’t the same men who’d been here when Mitsuyoshi died, and the hokan singing for them wasn’t Fujio, but Hirata recognized the courtesans he’d interviewed the morning after the crime. A magic door to the past had opened, and his heart beat quicker with a premonition that he would discover new, important evidence tonight.

The proprietor circulated through the parlor, chatting with guests. Hirata walked over to the squat, gray-haired man.

“Greetings,” the proprietor said, smiling uneasily. “How may I serve you?”

“I want to know if you or your staff have remembered anything more about the night of Lord Mitsuyoshi’s death,” Hirata said.