The Peony Lantern (11 page)

‘It's a picture of Tanabata, isn't it?' The festival of the Weaver-maiden and the Cowherd would be celebrated in a few days' time, just before Obon, the festival of the dead.

‘Your collection must be enormous,' I said. ‘What would your uncle say?'

‘He —' Isamu broke off, looking troubled.

‘Actually I don't think he'd mind,' I said, suddenly recalling the catfish prints. ‘Look what I found.' Kneeling to open the door of the cabinet, I reached behind the shell-matching box for the prints. ‘You see?' I handed them to Isamu. ‘You don't need to worry about your uncle; he's a secret collector as well.'

‘Oh . . .' As he looked through them, his expression was sombre. ‘I wouldn't show these to anyone else, Kasumi, or mention them to my uncle. This collection — it's personal.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You recognise the catfish, I presume.'

‘Of course. It's
namazu
, who causes the earthquakes.'

He tapped some writing. ‘These pictures are from Ansei 2.'

‘Ansei 2? So they have something to do with the Edo earthquake,' I realised.

‘My uncle lost his wife and daughter in one of the fires that started after the earthquake. Lady Aimi was the youngest daughter of the daimyo. She and Aya were staying in the domain mansion while my uncle was travelling on business for the daimyo.'

‘I didn't know.' So that was what had happened to Lord Shimizu's previous family. I remembered him telling my father he hadn't been blessed with children. It turned out he had, but his child had been cruelly taken from him — so cruelly he couldn't bear to talk about it.

‘My uncle must have kept these as a reminder of that terrible time.' Isamu gazed at them for a moment longer before handing them back to me.

I put them back where I found them, my heart full of sorrow for what Lord Shimizu had suffered and the pain he bore in secret. No wonder he was so protective of Misaki. And no wonder Isamu had been gladdened by his uncle's remarriage. Then I remembered the letter. I only hoped that neither Misaki nor Isamu would do anything to cause Shimizu more pain.

Two stars kept apart

By the river of heaven —

One night together

The seventh day of the seventh month dawned clear and cloudless, so after Lord Shimizu had left for Daimyo Alley, and we had been through the routine of hair and makeup and dressing, Misaki and I had the gardener carry tables and cushions outside for us, and we spent the morning painting in the garden.

‘What will you wish for today, Kasumi?' Misaki asked idly as she ground her ink.

I knew I should wish to be better at sewing or weaving or some useful household craft, as girls were meant to do on Tanabata, but I looked instead at the brush in my hand. Boys usually wished for better handwriting; silently, I wished to improve my painting.

Rather than confess this, I looked up at the sky. ‘I hope the fine weather holds till this evening.' Today was the only day that the Weaver-maiden and the Cowherd, lovers who were separated by the Milky Way, were able to reunite. If it rained, they would be apart for another year.

Misaki shuddered. ‘How awful to be separated like that. Imagine if Minoru and I . . .' She looked stricken at the idea.

My first thought was satisfaction: I had been right; she wasn't in love with Isamu. I had no idea what had been in the letter she had given him, but I felt sure that its contents were innocent. My next thought was for Misaki. How easily she and her husband could be separated if their secret was discovered: the daimyo's former son-in-law married to a commoner, deceiving the daimyo . . .

As if she too was recalling her previous life, Misaki said dreamily, ‘At home, we used to clean the well for Tanabata.' As soon as the words had left her lips, she reached out with her hand as if to take them back. She glanced at me nervously, perhaps hoping I hadn't grasped their significance; no high-ranking samurai lady would be cleaning a well.

What should I do? I could pretend I hadn't heard. But maybe, subconsciously, she had wanted me to hear. Maybe she needed someone to share her secret. It must be such a burden to have to pretend when we spent so much time together.

I wasn't at all sure if it was the right thing to do, but without looking up from the painting in front of me, I said, ‘I know, my lady.' I did my best to convey respect and deference with my tone.

‘Know? Know what?' She was trying to sound casual, but I could hear the strain in her voice.

‘I know the truth — I know that you're not from a samurai family.'

Misaki gasped. ‘How? My husband said he hadn't told you, that I shouldn't tell you either. Oh, is it something in my manner? Did I do something wrong? How could you tell?' The distress in her voice made me sorry I had said anything, but it was too late to take it back now.

‘I overheard the master confessing to Taro-san,' I explained. ‘I never would have guessed otherwise. There's nothing in your manners that can be faulted.'

Misaki sagged and put her face in her hands. ‘I'm scared all the time,' she said. ‘The trouble he would be in if anyone found out . . . it's almost too much to bear. I worry that I'll bring shame to him. That I'll act inappropriately. And there's this . . .' She gestured to her scar. ‘That I'm disfigured would just be a further disgrace.'

My heart went out to her — and to Lord Shimizu, who saw beneath the blemish on her surface to the beautiful spirit within. ‘I promise you, you can't see it beneath the makeup,' I assured her. ‘And even with the scar you're still more beautiful than any of the women from his domain.' I thought of the
obaba
s from the fireworks festival, faces twisted by envy and malice. ‘Are all the women from Morioka as beautiful as you?'

She lifted her face to look at me, eyes glistening with tears. ‘But I'm not . . .'

‘You
are
beautiful,' I said. ‘Just accept it.'

She shook her head and the tears spilled down her cheeks.

‘Perhaps I shouldn't have told you,' I said.

‘It's all right. Actually I'm relieved. You know who I really am now. It's been hard keeping it from you when we've become so close.'

I was moved by this acknowledgement of her affection for me.

‘I can understand why my husband felt the need to confess to his oldest friend. Deceit doesn't come naturally to him.' She was dabbing her eyes with the cloth we had brought for the brushes.

‘My lady, no.' I reached for the cloth, but it was too late. ‘You've got ink on your cheeks.'

‘Oh!' She threw her hands up, half laughing, half crying. ‘What a mess I am.'

‘Let's go to the well and wash your face.'

We walked around the side of the house to where the well stood not far from the kitchen door. I lowered the bucket into the cool depths, thinking how I'd like to plunge in. The heat in Edo was like nothing I'd ever experienced.

‘All we're missing are the scrubbing brushes,' I observed as Misaki splashed water over her face and rubbed at her swollen eyes.

She looked up, her face dripping. ‘Are the stains that bad?'

‘No, I mean to scrub the well — for Tanabata. Hang on, I'll fetch you a cloth to dry your face.' I went to the kitchen, returning with a clean cotton cloth.

‘Is Tanabata celebrated on the seventh day of the seventh month where you're from?' I asked.

She looked puzzled. ‘Of course. Why wouldn't it be?'

‘In the Kiso Valley, because the seasons are slower to arrive, many of our festivals are held a month later. The boys' festival is in the sixth month, not the fifth.'

Misaki gave a mischievous smile. ‘No, where I'm from they're not so backwards as in your valley.'

‘How dare you!' Without thinking, I scooped up water in my hand and threw it at her playfully.

When I saw the surprised expression on her face I couldn't believe what I'd done. Whatever I now knew about her background, she was still my mistress. And here I was treating her like I'd treat Chiyo or Ayame.

‘I'm so sorry, my lady.' Mortified, I took a step towards her. ‘Let me . . . I'll fetch another cloth.'

She looked at me coldly. ‘You will be punished for that, Kasumi.'

Oh no, I'd overstepped the mark. My father was right: I had no sense of my place, I was too bold, too outspoken; I was — completely wet!

Misaki had taken the bucket and sluiced me with water. As I stared at my drenched kimono, she burst into laughter. ‘I'm sorry, Kasumi. I —' But she couldn't speak for laughing. ‘Oh, what will the servants think?'

I was laughing too now. I'd longed to plunge into the cool water of the well; now it looked as if I had.

Ishi appeared at the kitchen doorway, probably drawn by the commotion.

‘My lady, is everything all right? The two of you — you're soaking wet.' She stared at us in astonishment.

‘Don't worry, Ishi,' I said, trying to control my laughter. ‘Where Lady Misaki comes from it's traditional to bathe on Tanabata.'

‘I've never heard of anyone bathing in a fine silk kimono.' But she was smiling. ‘I'd better fetch you some more cloths.'

‘Thank you, Kasumi,' Misaki said as we dried ourselves. Her face had been scrubbed clean of makeup and her scar was vivid on her cheek. ‘I haven't laughed like that for a long time. I'm glad you know my secret — but I think it would be better if we didn't tell my husband. It would only worry him.'

I hesitated; it was one thing to conceal it from him when I was the only one who knew that I knew, but it seemed worse to be conspiring to keep it from him. Then again, it was something he'd never meant for me to know. And the reason for that, no doubt, was my inability to keep my mouth shut, as I'd proved with the
tanuki
incident on the day we'd met. Well, I'd prove my discretion now. ‘I won't breathe a word,' I promised.

Inside I changed into a dry kimono and we began again the routine of dressing Misaki that we had performed only a few hours before. ‘It seems ridiculous sometimes,' she mused as I tied her obi, ‘to dress like this every day when I never go out. But I suppose it's what ladies do . . .'

We hadn't been outside the gate since the fireworks festival. ‘Has Lord Shimizu said anything to you about Tanabata celebrations?'

‘He's celebrating with his friends tonight. I know — let's ask Ishi to fetch some sushi for our dinner. What could be more appropriate for Tanabata, with its theme of water?'

But when we sat with our trays in front of us early that evening, I couldn't help but make a face. At home the fish
from the river was grilled or dried or smoked; we never ate it raw.

Misaki was eagerly identifying the glistening pieces of fish: ‘Tuna, bonito, halibut . . .' She looked up at me. ‘Don't you like it?'

‘It's not bad, but it takes some getting used to.'

‘I love it,' she declared.

‘You've been in Edo longer than me.'

‘Only by a couple of months,' she pointed out. ‘But perhaps where I'm from we're quicker to try new things — not like you mountain folk.'

I snorted at this joking reference to the backwardness of my village, thinking how much Misaki reminded me of my friends there. She was like a mix of the two: she had Chiyo's teasing humour, but Ayame's sweetness.

‘Isamu told me that in Edo there are twice as many sushi stalls as stalls selling soba noodles,' I remarked.

‘If Isamu said it, then it must be true,' she replied.

I looked at her sharply. I had the feeling she was teasing me again. Had I betrayed my feelings for Isamu?

Fortunately I was saved from responding by the sound of voices outside.

‘We're not expecting anyone, are we?' I asked. Maybe it was Isamu . . . Surely it would be a sign of some sort if I had managed to conjure him up merely by saying his name.

But it was Lord Shimizu who entered. His face, normally so composed, was dark with an expression I hadn't seen before.

‘Is everything all right, Minoru?' asked Misaki.

He started as if surprised to see us.

‘Everything is . . .' He trailed off and something flashed across his face. Anger? Despair? ‘Everything will be fine.' He brushed Misaki's shoulder lightly with his hand. ‘It's nothing for you to worry about. I'll go change.'

As he walked towards his bedroom to change into the cotton kimono he wore at home, Misaki and I looked at each other wordlessly. Clearly something had happened to disturb him.

I knew what Misaki was thinking, what she must always be dreading: that their secret had been exposed.

When her husband returned he was composed once more.

‘May I bring you some sake?'

‘Thank you, Kasumi.' He gave me a quick smile.

When I had brought the sake on a tray he picked up the cup and held it between his hands.

‘I met with my poetry circle tonight.' He cleared his throat. ‘Some
rōnin
raided the teahouse I was in.'

Rōnin
were samurai whose masters had either died or sent them away, leaving them masterless and often destitute. I had heard of
rōnin
becoming mercenaries and bandits.

‘There was a fight,' Shimizu continued. ‘Two from Owari were badly injured.' I gasped: Owari was my domain. ‘Another government official was killed, along with one from my own domain. We were in Yoshiwara, so we had no swords with us to defend ourselves.'

‘Swords are forbidden in Yoshiwara,' Misaki explained for my benefit.

‘How did they attack without swords?' I asked.

‘They had knives concealed.'

I tried not to let my alarm show as I asked, ‘Is this kind of disturbance normal?'

‘They've been increasing. Many young, low-ranking samurai are leaving their domains and becoming
rōnin
in order to join the movement to restore the Emperor to power.'

He drained his cup and replaced it on the tray. ‘I'm going to turn in early. I have no appetite for this day any longer.' His face was etched with lines of fatigue.

Misaki jumped up. ‘Let me prepare the futon for you.'

The next morning, Lord Shimizu did not head off to the domain mansion straight after breakfast, as was his custom. Instead, Misaki and I watched from the reception room as he practised his swordsmanship in the garden.

He moved fluidly, a look of intense concentration on his face as with two hands he lifted the sword above his head and brought it down in a swift movement.

He lowered the blade to his side, glowering at the air as if he could see the
rōnin
who had killed his compatriot, then performed another series of movements that ended in a horizontal slash.

I couldn't tell if the practice was done with a purpose or served as a form of meditation.

We were still watching when Isamu arrived. He looked unusually serious and I noticed that he had neglected to leave his swords in the rack by the entrance. ‘Is my uncle at home?'