"Thank you, Reverend," she said, bobbed a quick curtsey, hastily walked up the path and onto the promenade.
Sir William was waiting for her, Babcott with him, muffled like everyone against the gusts. "Glad to see you up and about," Sir William said sincerely, "particularly here. We're rather proud of Holy Trinity and you're very welcome, very, and we're all happy you're here. The Vicar was a bit off today, sorry about that, he's usually quite good and not too much fire and brimstone. Did you enjoy the service?"
"It was so different, Sir William," she said. "To worship in English and not Latin was exotic."
"Yes, I suppose it was. May we walk with you?"
"Please." They set off briskly, exchanging pleasantries and genial questions, avoiding the issue central to their mind with: the weather's shocking, isn't it? the football match yesterday afternoon was grand--may we escort you next week; have you seen the latest papers, or heard the Yokohama Players were putting on a performance of Romeo and Juliet--Mrs.Lunkchurch has kindly consented to play the starring role against Mrs. Grimm's Romeo. "Have you ever been on the boards, have you performed, Ma'am?" "Only children's Nativity plays in the convent," she said. "And not very well... oh!"
A gust had seized Sir William's top hat and sent it twirling, Babcott just managed to hold on to his, she was not quick enough and hers went sailing away with hats all along the promenade to curses, wails, cheers and laughter. She joined the melee and scurried after hers, but Babcott retrieved it just before it went rolling down onto the beach, Sir William's was stopped by Phillip Tyrer who hurriedly handed it to him then charged after his own.
"My best beaver," Sir William said sourly, brushing off mud that looked suspiciously like manure. Her hat was undamaged and, smiling, she put it back on firmly, adjusted her hat pin. "Thank you, George, I thought it was going for a swim."
"So did I. Can we entertain you at lunch?"
"Thank you but no, I'm staying indoors today."
Soon they were at the Struan gateway. Both men kissed her hand and she disappeared inside.
"Lovely lady, good sort, good sport,"
Sir William said.
"Yes." Babcott was frowning, looking out to sea.
Sir William followed his intent look.
Nothing amiss in the bay that he could see.
"What's up?"
"Her period's begun."
"Christ Almighty, you've examined her? Or Hoag, why the devil didn't you tell me?"
"We haven't examined her. I just know, that's all."
"Eh? How d'you th--" he stopped as MacStruan and Dmitri went by, "'morning, 'morning to you," he said impatiently, then took Babcott by the arm and started him down the street to the Legation, "How d'you know? Eh?"
"I'm a doctor for God's sake. I saw her yesterday and today when I saw her without the veil it leapt into my head. Her face was a little puffy and when she ran after her hat I noticed she ran awkwardly."
"Damned if I did! God Almighty!
You're sure?"
"No, but a hundred guineas says so against a farthing."
Sir William frowned. "Will Hoag know just by looking at her too?"
"I can't say."
"In that case don't tell him."
"Why on earth not?"
"Let's leave it private between us, that's best." Then Sir William said kindly, "Let's leave Angelique to play her cards as she wants. It is her game, hers and Tess Struan's, not ours. It's ours no longer."
Four Bakufu Enforcers, including a sergeant, stomped through the Yoshiwara gateway.
They were like any other patrol of samurai except the men were tougher, meaner and more alert. It was early afternoon. In spite of the weather, the traditional, leisurely procession of courtesans, trailing maids, paraded up and down, showing off their finery one to another and to the groups of gai-jin gawking and drinking at the caf`es and Teahouse, laughing as the wind sent a few decorative umbrellas sailing.
From time to time one of the Enforcers would stalk up to the doorman of an Inn, or patron of a Teahouse, or restaurant maid. At once the person would bow and grovel and say, "No Sire, the traitor Hiraga has not been seen, oh no Sire, thank you Sire, yes at once Sire, no I don't know him, Sire."
Almost all of them knew where he was but kept their peace, hating Enforcers, knowing, also, no reward was big enough to prevent shishi vengeance, or Floating World disgust, at a betrayal. In their world, secrets were the spice and currency of life, adding to the day's excitement.
The patrol's progress seemed to be haphazard. Then the Sergeant changed direction, turned into the alley of the Three Carp and hammered on the door in the fence.
Hiraga was trapped. Whenever patrols were in the vicinity, lookouts alerted him in good time to flee to his underground hideaway in the tunnel where he now had a rough bed, candles, matches, food, his swords and pistol, and Katsumata's explosives. Today when the alarm reached him, Hiraga discovered other samurai searching that garden so there was no chance to reach the well.
In panic, he had rushed for the kitchen area and had barely enough time to assume a disguise, secreted there, that Katsumata had given him as, a few metres away, masked by a hedge, the Sergeant shoved past the bowing doorman, kicked off his sandals and stomped onto the veranda of the main house.
Unaware Hiraga was above ground and so near, Raiko came out to greet the Sergeant, knelt and bowed, her face all charm, her insides fluttering for this was the third day of searches--too many for comfort. "Good afternoon, Sire, so sorry the ladies are resting and not ready to receive clients."
"I wish to search."
"With pleasure, please follow."
"Go to the kitchen."
"Kitchen? Please, please to follow." She led the way pleasantly. When she saw Hiraga head down in the dirt amongst the dozen cooks and workers, her knees almost failed her.
Hiraga was filthy, his head covered by the matted wig Katsumata had worn in Hodogaya, and naked except for a soiled loincloth and ragged singlet. "Tie a pebble under your instep, Hiraga," Katsumata advised.
"Your walk as much as your face will give you away, smear dirt on your face and armpits, dung is better, pretend to be a scullion, do not act, be one. Meanwhile make incendiaries, instruct Takeda how to do it, and be ready for when I return..."
The leather-faced sergeant stood with his hands on his hips in the silence and looked around.
Painstakingly. Every corner, cupboard or storeroom was scrutinized. Rows of rare spices, teas, barrels of sak`e and bottles of gai-jin liquor and bags of the finest rice.
He grunted to hide his envy.
"You! Head cook!" The portly, terrified man raised his head. "Stand over there! Line up, all of you." In their haste to obey they stumbled over one another, Hiraga limping badly, dirty, naked but for the grimy loincloth and ragged singlet, shoved his way into line. Muttering curses, the samurai stared at each man as he went down the line. When he came up to Hiraga his nostrils wrinkled with disgust at the stench, then he moved to the next man to the next man and the next, vented his pent-up rage by shouting at the last man who collapsed in a petrified heap.
Then the Sergeant stalked back and stood in front of Hiraga, feet planted.
"You!" he bellowed. "You!"
Raiko cried out and nearly swooned, everyone stopped breathing, Hiraga fell on his face, grovelling and moaning, bracing his feet against the wall to hurl himself forward at the Sergeant's legs. But the man began raving, "You are a disgrace to a kitchen, and you," he whirled on Raiko who backed against the wall, terrified, Hiraga just managing to stop his lunge in time, "You should be ashamed to have a dung-covered scum like this in a kitchen for the rich." His iron-hard toe kicked the befouled in the neck and shoulder joint and Hiraga cried out in real pain, the wig almost came off and he grabbed it in panic, hands over his head. "Get rid of him. If this lice bag is here or in the Yoshiwara by sundown, I will close you for filth! Shave his head!" Another kick and he stalked out.