The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria Page 3

  “I helped Lady Wisteria dress,” Momoko said, “and then she made her procession to the Owariya. We got there about an hour later.”

  A tayu’s procession to meet a client at an ageya was an elaborate affair that involved some ten or twenty attendants. It moved very slowly, so even though the brothel and the Owariya were but a few blocks apart, the journey would have been long. Sano had a sudden vivid image of Wisteria dressed in brilliant kimono, walking past admiring spectators, kicking each foot in a semicircular, ritualistic pattern as she stepped. She must be in her mid-twenties now, but still small and slender and graceful, with unusually round eyes that gave her delicate face an exotic charm….

  “What happened then?” Sano asked.

  “I took Lady Wisteria to the parlor, where Lord Mitsuyoshi was waiting,” Momoko said. “I served them their sake.”

  The greeting ritual between tayu and client resembled a wedding ceremony, in which the couple drank from the same cup to seal their bond. Sano pictured Wisteria seated at a diagonal from Mitsuyoshi, neither speaking to him nor showing emotion, as tradition required. She sipped her draught, while Mitsuyoshi gazed upon her with anticipation….

  Sano refocused his attention on the yarite. Her hands maintained their grip on each other, and the nervous movement of her eyes quickened. “It was their third meeting, so I took them upstairs,” she said.

  No tayu made love to a new client on his first visit, nor his second. Wisteria would have rejected Mitsuyoshi twice previously, as custom dictated. Sano envisioned Momoko, Lady Wisteria, and Lord Mitsuyoshi climbing the stairs to the bedchamber, where Mitsuyoshi would finally claim his prize. He imagined their expressions: Mitsuyoshi’s eager, Momoko’s sly, and Wisteria’s carefully blank. Had any of them known how the tryst would end?

  “I showed them into the room,” Momoko said, “and Wisteria dismissed me. Lord Mitsuyoshi closed the door.”

  “Was there anyone else present then besides Wisteria, Lord Mitsuyoshi, and you?” Sano asked.

  “No. I brought them up by myself. It’s the custom.”

  And Yoshiwara custom was inviolable.

  “Then I went downstairs. I had to watch over the courtesans who were entertaining the guests at the party. What a hard time I have with those wretched girls!”

  Momoko’s speech accelerated into chatter again, betraying her wish to avoid discussing what had later happened. But this was what most concerned Sano. He said, “Did you see Lady Wisteria again after you left the room?”

  “No; that was the last I ever saw of her.” The yarite interlocked her fingers so tightly they turned white.

  “Have you any idea where she went?”

  “No. She certainly wouldn’t have told me, because she wasn’t supposed to leave.”

  “Whom might she have told?” Sano said.

  Momoko pondered, biting her lips. “Wisteria isn’t close to the other courtesans. She keeps to herself.” An aggrieved expression came over Momoko’s features. “She never even speaks to me unless she has to, because she hates me. These girls today have no respect for their elders. I work hard training them, and how do they repay me? By treating me as if I were a mean old slave driver!” The brassy tone returned to her voice. “Well, of course I have to punish them for disobedience. And they suffer no worse than I did in my day.”

  The cruelty experienced by Yoshiwara courtesans at the hands of their chaperones was legendary, and the incident Sano had witnessed today was minor compared to the routine beatings and humiliation. Probably, former courtesans like Momoko enjoyed inflicting the same wrongs done to them upon the next generation. And Sano suspected that enmity lay on both sides of the relationship between courtesan and yarite—especially when one was beautiful and sought after, while the other had lost her glory.

  “Do you hate Wisteria as much as she hates you?” he asked Momoko.

  “Of course not. I love all the girls as if they were my daughters.” But the yarite’s indignation rang false. She said sharply, “Something bad has happened to Wisteria, and you think I did it?”

  Sano observed how quickly Momoko had responded to the implication that Wisteria had been hurt or killed, then perceived an accusation. “Did you?” he asked.

  “No! I don’t know where she is, or what’s happened to her. I swear I never saw her after I left the room!”

  “Let’s talk about Lord Mitsuyoshi. How did you feel about him?”

  “Feel about him?” The yarite’s face reflected puzzlement, although whether feigned or genuine, Sano couldn’t tell. “Why, I hardly knew the man. I only saw him at parties, and when I brought courtesans to him for appointments.”

  “Did you see him again that night?”

  “No—that is, not until I found him—” Momoko averted her gaze from Sano and murmured, “Dead.”

  “How did you happen to discover his body?” Sano said.

  “Well, I went upstairs, and I noticed that the door to his room was open. I glanced inside, and I saw him lying there.”

  “Why did you go upstairs?”

  “I needed to check on another courtesan who was entertaining a client. These girls behave better when they know someone is listening. And I wanted a moment alone. The party was noisy, and I had a headache, and it was quieter on the second floor.”

  That she’d offered multiple reasons when one would suffice warned Sano to doubt them all; yet Momoko was so agitated that he couldn’t tell if she was lying, or just nervous. And anyone would be nervous while facing the threat of execution.

  “Your hairpin was the murder weapon,” Sano said. “Can you explain that?”

  “My hairpin? It was?” Momoko gave a shrill titter of confusion and surprise, but Sano guessed she’d recognized the hairpin when she’d discovered Mitsuyoshi’s body. “Oh, well, I lost that hairpin ages ago—I don’t remember when. I have no idea how it got there.”

  A scornful male voice from the doorway halted her stammering: “I suggest that you stabbed it through Lord Mitsuyoshi’s eye.”

  Sano looked up to see Police Commissioner Hoshina stride into the room, followed by Yoriki Yamaga and Yoriki Hayashi. They must have been listening all along. Now Hoshina loomed over the yarite, who recoiled in terror.

  “You went upstairs last night,” he continued, “and when you saw that Lord Mitsuyoshi was alone and asleep, you killed him. Then you ran downstairs and pretended you’d found him already dead.”

  “No! That’s not what happened!” Though clearly aghast, Momoko smiled and batted her eyes at Hoshina, employing flirtation in self-defense. “I didn’t kill him!”

  Anger rose in Sano, because he needed information from Momoko, not frantic denials produced by intimidation. He said evenly, “Hoshina-san, I am conducting this interview. Stop interfering, or leave.”

  Hoshina didn’t bother to reply. “Arrest her,” he told Yamaga and Hayashi.

  The policemen advanced on the yarite, and she scuttled backward, crying, “No! I’m innocent.” She simpered in a desperate attempt to ingratiate herself with them. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

  Sano stood between Momoko and the men. “The evidence against her isn’t proof that she murdered Lord Mitsuyoshi,” he said, glaring at Hoshina.

  “It’s enough for a conviction,” Hoshina said.

  This was an accurate statement: In the Tokugawa legal system, virtually all trials ended in guilty verdicts, sometimes based on less evidence than that against Momoko. Sano had to forestall persecution of someone who might be innocent. “She has no apparent motive for killing Lord Mitsuyoshi. You’ll not arrest her, at least until I’ve finished questioning her.”

  A sneer twisted Hoshina’s mouth. “I’ll finish questioning her at Edo Jail.”

  At Edo Jail, prisoners were tortured into talking. “Forced confessions aren’t always true,” Sano said, enraged by Hoshina’s attitude. Hoshina was well aware of the realities of Tokugawa law, but so eager to show Sano up and impress their superiors that he would risk mistakes. “And t
he investigation has barely begun. There may be more to this crime than is apparent, and other suspects besides Momoko.” He saw the yarite looking from him to Hoshina, and hope alternating with fear in her eyes. “Lady Wisteria must be found and questioned, as must all the people who were in Yoshiwara last night. That will take time.”

  “All the more reason to speed things up,” Hoshina retorted. “We both know the shogun expects quick action on this case, and what will happen if he doesn’t get it.” The shogun would punish everyone associated with failing to find his cousin’s killer, and exile or death were likely penalties. “If you wish to drag your feet, don’t expect me to follow your bad example. Besides, if this woman is guilty, I’m doing you a favor by applying pressure to her.”

  Hoshina nodded to his subordinates. They seized the yarite by her arms, dragging her upright. She didn’t resist, but quaked in their grasp, her eyes wild with terror as she appealed to Sano: “I told you the truth about what happened last night. You believe me, don’t you? Please don’t let them take me!”

  Sano found himself torn between prudence and his desire to conduct a fair, honest investigation. He risked incurring the shogun’s wrath by showing sympathy toward anyone remotely connected with an attack on the Tokugawa, and therefore mustn’t prevent the yarite’s arrest, even if he wasn’t convinced of her guilt. Yet Sano believed that justice would be subverted unless he curtailed Hoshina’s overzealous actions. Thus, he settled on compromise.

  “Arrest her, then,” he said.

  Momoko let out a wail of despair. As Hayashi and Yamaga dragged her toward the door, Sano steeled himself against pity. “But if she’s hurt—or if you send her to trial without my permission—I’ll publicize that you are sabotaging my investigation because you’d rather find a scapegoat than allow me to identify the real killer.”

  Hoshina stared at Sano, his eyes black with anger because Sano had not only impugned his professional honor but threatened to bring their antagonism out in the open. And the latter was a step that neither of them could take with certainty of surviving. A long moment passed; the room seemed to grow colder. Sano waited, his heart racing with fear, because he had much to lose, while Hoshina had Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s protection.

  Then Hoshina reluctantly lifted his hand at the two yoriki. “Take her to jail,” he said, “but make sure no one harms her.”

  As he walked out of the room with his subordinates and their prisoner, his malevolent glance backward said that Sano had scored only a temporary victory. Sano expelled his breath in a gust of revulsion for the strife that always complicated his duties. These seemed insurmountable because the Black Lotus case had severely reduced his stamina. The final disaster at the temple had comprised the worst violence he’d ever seen, a senseless carnage. His involvement made Sano feel sick, as though the spiritual disease of the Black Lotus had infected him. Sano couldn’t even draw strength from a happy domestic life, for the Black Lotus had robbed him of that, too. Lately, the thought of Reiko caused him more worry than solace.

  Now Sano mustered his flagging energy. With Hoshina probably thinking up new ways to plague him, he must move fast to prevent the investigation from slipping entirely out of his control. He set out to obtain the names of Wisteria’s clients and the guests present at last night’s party, and begin looking for other suspects besides the yarite.

  He stifled the fear that he’d lost control of the investigation even before he’d begun.

  3

  News of the murder had reached the Large Interior—the women’s quarters of Edo Castle—and interrupted an afternoon party hosted by Lady Keisho-in, mother of the shogun.

  Moments ago, Keisho-in, her ladies-in-waiting, friends, some of the shogun’s concubines, and their attendants had been talking, eating, and drinking while musicians played a flute and samisen. The news had sent Keisho-in rushing from her chamber to comfort the shogun; the musicians’ instruments lay abandoned amid forgotten plates of food. Women now huddled in nervous clusters around the bright, overheated room. Servants rushed in and out, bringing rumors that incited much whispered chatter:

  “The shogun is so furious about his cousin’s murder that he won’t stop ranting and cursing.”

  “He’s sworn to execute the murderer with his own hands!”

  Sano’s wife, Lady Reiko, listened to the talk while holding her son, Masahiro. Not quite two years old, Masahiro didn’t understand why the women had suddenly lost interest in him. He squirmed in Reiko’s arms and whimpered, “Me want to go home!”

  “Shh,” Reiko said, wanting to hear more news about the murder.

  Her friend Midori, a lady-in-waiting to the shogun’s mother, hurried over to kneel beside Reiko. “Everyone says that the ssakan-sama must find the killer fast,” Midori said, breathless with excitement. At age eighteen, she was girlishly pretty, dressed in a red kimono. “If he doesn’t—” Her dramatic pause and look of distress alluded to the persistent threat of death that shadowed Sano. “Oh, Reiko-san, how frightening! Can you help him?”

  “Perhaps,” said Reiko.

  Around her, the buzz continued: “The enemies of Lord Mitsuyoshi had better beware.” “Everyone in the bakufu is afraid they’ll be blamed for the murder and executed.”

  Cuddling her son, Reiko listened to the rumors of intrigue, thinking how much she longed to be a part of it.

  When she had married Sano, she’d persuaded him to let her help on his investigations instead of staying home as most wives of her class did. Sano had at first been reluctant to defy social convention, but he’d grown to appreciate Reiko’s unusual nature. She was the only child of Magistrate Ueda—one of two officials responsible for maintaining law and order in Edo—and her father had given her the education normally accorded a son. Reiko had spent her girlhood listening to trials in the Court of Justice, learning about crime, and although her sex restricted her freedom, it conferred advantages. Reiko could move easily through the insular world of women, where clues and witnesses often abounded, but male detectives couldn’t go. Her network of women associated with powerful samurai clans had provided crucial facts to Sano, and their unique partnership had nurtured a passionate love between them for three years of marriage.

  Then had come the arson and triple murder at the Black Lotus Temple. Reiko had found herself and Sano on opposite sides of the case. The investigation had turned into a battle that had almost destroyed their marriage, and the repercussions still haunted Sano and Reiko.

  Although they’d vowed to do better in the future, this was easier said than accomplished. They’d not worked together in three months because Reiko had avoided taking part in any new investigations. She had always valued her instincts, but the Black Lotus case had proved they could be wrong. She’d made up for her mistakes in the end, but she couldn’t forgive them or trust herself again; and she was afraid Sano no longer trusted her, although he’d never said so.

  Now Reiko and Sano lived suspended in a state of mutual caution. Their marriage reminded Reiko of a bubble, enclosing them in a surface that was shiny and perfect, yet so fragile that the slightest touch could rupture it. She longed to work with Sano again, and sensed that Sano was no happier than she, but feared upsetting their tenuous equilibrium for the worse.

  “I hope the investigation won’t take long,” Midori said, her expression worried. “Hirata-san and I won’t be able to marry until it’s over.”

  Midori had been in love with Sano’s chief retainer for years, but Hirata hadn’t realized that she loved him and he loved her until recently. Having since declared their feelings for each other, they’d begun the process required to arrange their wedding.

  “Just be patient,” Reiko soothed her friend. Masahiro keened, and she bounced him on her lap. “There’s no need to rush. You and Hirata-san have your whole lives to be together.”

  Inconsolable, Midori chewed her thumbnail; her other fingers were already bitten raw. “I can’t wait,” she fretted. “We must marry soon. But Hirata-san’s
parents weren’t very pleased when he told them he wished to marry me.” Midori’s round face was thinner, its usual rosy color turned pallid; her blissful glow had faded soon after she and Hirata had pledged their love. Her eyes were bright with anxiety instead of joy. “And my father wasn’t pleased when I asked him for a miai.”

  A miai was the formal first meeting between a prospective bride and groom and their families. A ritual of exchanging gifts, negotiating a dowry, and eventually a wedding, would follow—if both families consented to the marriage.

  “You know my husband has already arranged the miai,” Reiko said. Sano, acting as Hirata’s go-between, had convinced both families to attend.

  “But it’s scheduled for tomorrow. What if Hirata-san is so busy with the murder investigation that he can’t go?” Midori wailed. “What if his family doesn’t want me, and mine doesn’t want him?”

  These were distinct possibilities, given the circumstances, but Reiko said, “Just hope for the best. Don’t worry so much.” Though preoccupied with her own troubles, she tried to comfort Midori, and wondered why her friend was so upset.

  The exterior door slid open, letting in a rush of cold air. A somber, elderly maid entered. She announced, “I present the Honorable Lady Yanagisawa and her daughter, Kikuko.”

  Conversations died as everyone turned toward the newcomers who stepped hesitantly into their midst: a woman in her mid-thirties, and a little girl of perhaps eight years.

  “The chamberlain’s wife and child?” Midori whispered.

  “Yes.” Curiosity leavened Reiko’s spirits. “But why are they here? They’ve never attended these parties.”

  Lady Yanagisawa was utterly plain, with legs so bowed that they curved the skirt of her black brocade kimono, and a dour face so flat that all her features seemed to lie on the same plane. Her eyes were horizontal slits, her nostrils wide, her lips broad. In striking contrast, her daughter was a beauty, resplendent in a lavish pink kimono embroidered with silver birds. Kikuko had inherited her father’s tall, slender body, luminous black eyes, and sculpted features. She gazed at the assembly, her face oddly vacant.