“Your daughter is very beautiful,” she said.
“A thousand thanks for your kind compliment.” Lady Yanagisawa sighed as she watched Kikuko and Masahiro begin happily chasing each other around the room. “But alas, I fear Kikuko will never grow up.”
Reiko felt a stab of pity for the woman, and ashamed of her own good fortune to have a normal child. “Masahiro is so glad to have Kikuko for a playmate,” she said.
“… Yes.” Lady Yanagisawa’s gaze followed Kikuko. “I am glad to have her, too.” A fierce maternal love intensified her quiet voice. “Kikuko is a good, affectionate, obedient girl… in spite of everything.”
Could she mean, in spite of having Chamberlain Yanagisawa for a father? The chamberlain usurped the shogun’s authority; he’d slandered, persecuted, and assassinated his rivals. Did Lady Yanagisawa know? Did she wonder, as Reiko did, if his evils had damaged his child?
Courtesy forbade Reiko to ask these personal questions. “Kikuko-chan is the image of her father,” she said, hoping that mentioning him would prompt revelations.
“… Her father. Yes.”
Lady Yanagisawa’s expression was ambiguous, her tone neutral. Reiko supposed that the marriage between Chamberlain and Lady Yanagisawa had been arranged for the same social, political, and economic reasons as most marriages, yet she wondered whether the woman loved her husband. Despite the chamberlain’s bad character, many women found him attractive, though it was no secret that he preferred men, and his status as the shogun’s longtime lover had elevated him to power. Certainly Lady Yanagisawa must know about his affair with Police Commissioner Hoshina, who lived with him. Yet she must share some intimacy with him, for the marriage had produced a child. The couple’s private life did indeed interest Reiko.
Masahiro had picked up a chopstick, and he wielded it like a sword, darting about on his short legs while Kikuko giggled and applauded.
Lady Yanagisawa said, “Your son is the image of his father.” An inflection in her voice suggested to Reiko that Lady Yanagisawa was interested in her life, too. “I hope the sōsakan-sama is well?”
“He is, thank you,” Reiko said. How much did Lady Yanagisawa know about her husband’s relationship with Sano? This was another subject not easily broached. Kikuko and Masahiro began wrestling together, rolling on the floor and laughing. To fill the awkward silence, Reiko said, “Look at them-they’re friends.”
“As I hope we can be,” Lady Yanagisawa murmured, and gave Reiko a look of cautious appeal. “In spite of everything.”
Reiko realized that the woman did know about Sano and her husband, and had a sudden flash of insight. Lady Yanagisawa obviously had no charm to attract friends, and she must be quite lonely if she welcomed an association with the wife of a man who had a history of conflict with the chamberlain. Reiko’s heart wait out to her, and to Kikuko.
“I hope so, too,” Reiko said.
A timid smile and a flush of pleasure illuminated Lady Yanagisawa’ s plain face. “May I call upon you someday?”
“I would be honored. And Masahiro would love to see Kikuko again,” Reiko said. But although she welcomed a chance to satisfy her curiosity about the woman, misgivings tempered her enthusiasm.
Lady Yanagisawa inclined her head, signaling her dismissal of Reiko, who politely withdrew. After the introductions concluded, the musicians began playing again, and the party resumed; but Lady Yanagisawa’s presence inhibited festivity. The women made stilted small talk instead of discussing the murder, because everyone feared the powerful chamberlain and didn’t want to say anything about a controversial subject that might get them in trouble if his wife reported it to him. Lady Yanagisawa maintained her dour countenance, only spoke when directly addressed, and showed no interest in anyone. She sat isolated in the crowd.
“Why did she come, if she thinks she’s so superior to us?” Midori whispered to Reiko.
“I think she wants company, but is too shy to join in the party,” Reiko said.
Presently, Lady Yanagisawa rose to leave and called to her daughter. As soon as they’d gone, the women burst into eager conversation about them. Masahiro, bereft of his playmate, hurled himself into Reiko’s lap and pouted.
“Lady Yanagisawa is rather dull,” Midori said. “Do you really want to see her again?”
“It might be better not to,” Reiko said.
“Why?” Midori asked.
Reiko hesitated to speak of delicate matters in public, but the other women were talking loudly and paying no attention to her and Midori. “Even though my husband and hers are at peace for the moment, I don’t trust anyone associated with the chamberlain,” Reiko said. “And my husband might not approve of my befriending Lady Yanagisawa.”
The Black Lotus case had taught her that an unwise attachment could wreak havoc upon a marriage.
“I hope Hirata-san’s family approves of me, and mine approve of him,” Midori said, her attention focused on her own problems. “But what harm could the friendship do to you?”
“Maybe the war between my husband and Chamberlain Yanagisawa is about to begin again. Lady Yanagisawa could be a spy for her husband, and trying to get close to me, as part of a new plot against my husband.”
“Maybe my family and Hirata-san’s will become friends at the miai tomorrow.” While pursuing her own train of thought, Midori said, “But I didn’t notice any sign that Lady Yanagisawa is mean enough to hurt you.”
Nor had Reiko. But the Black Lotus had conditioned her to disbelieve what her own eyes, ears, and intuition told her. She’d begun to perceive threats everywhere, and hidden malice in everyone. Now Reiko experienced a stab of fear. How could she ever be a detective again, if she couldn’t distinguish between imagination and reality?
The room around her suddenly seemed too small and full of noisy women. Was this trivial, petty, feminine world to be her whole life from now on? Fear turned to panic in Reiko; she involuntarily clutched Masahiro, until he yelped in protest. The craving for adventure remained in her blood, even after she’d faced her death at the Black Lotus Temple. She almost thought she would rather face death anew, in a thousand different ways, than resign herself to her present uneventful, suffocating existence.
“I must ask my husband if I can work with him again,” she decided.
“I’ll be happy for you if he says yes, because I know how badly you want that.” Sighing, Midori contemplated the blood that welled from her bitten cuticles. “And you can be happy for me if my miai goes well.”
Yet even as Reiko had spoken, opposing concerns agitated her. She yearned to resume her partnership with Sano, and she couldn’t bear to sit by while a difficult case threatened their lives. She had useful talents that might help him, as they had in the past. She wanted excitement instead of boredom, action instead of idleness, renewed passion with Sano instead of cautious restraint. But the terror of making mistakes, and shattering what remained of their marriage, hollowed out a dark, ominous void in her heart.
“I hope Hirata-san and I can marry soon,” Midori said.
Still, her samurai spirit wouldn’t let Reiko bow to fear, nor accept defeat without a struggle. She said, “I hope I can join the investigation into the murder of the shogun’s heir.”
4
The hunt for Lady Wisteria led Hirata into areas of Yoshiwara that few visitors ever saw. Accompanied by the proprietor of the Great Miura-who would recognize Wisteria on sight-Hirata searched every teahouse, shop, and brothel.