The Peony Lantern (5 page)

‘I think so. Thank you.' I tried to keep the tremble from my voice.

Ishi retreated back to the kitchen.

With her hair done, it was time to do Misaki's makeup, and this time she didn't leave me to my own devices. Speaking to me as if I were a dull-witted child, she instructed me on how to mix white powder and water into a paste, which she brushed over her face, neck and chest, after which I carefully did the nape of her neck. She then patted and blended the makeup with a sponge until it was smooth. By the time she was done, her scar was invisible. She nodded in satisfaction at the mirror, then painted her lips red with safflower.

Finally we were ready to dress her in a kimono. Here in Edo, summer had really begun, so Misaki selected a cool design, pointing to an unlined kimono in blue silk with a design of streams and grasses.

She slipped her arms through the sleeves then stood perfectly still while I wrapped the right side of the robe across her body, overlapped it with the left, and tied a thin belt around to fasten it. I pulled up the fabric so that the hem of the kimono fell exactly to her ankles, then arranged the excess material so it covered the belt. Over this I put the wider belt, the obi, which tied behind, making sure as I did that the seam at the back was straight.

I managed to dress her without any mishaps, but I was still feeling tense and anxious from the hair disaster as I followed Misaki back to the reception room. She sank to her knees on the
tatami
and I did the same, waiting to see what we would do next.

As Misaki sat poised and aloof, staring out into the garden, I wondered why she had not brought an attendant with her from Morioka. Perhaps her father hadn't
approved of her marriage, and she had been banished from her home; maybe this was the secret the couple had been discussing the night before. Or Misaki had been promised to another man, but she had met Lord Shimizu when he visited their domain and . . . and I was sounding like Ayame. More likely my mistress had not brought a lady-in-waiting of her own because her husband thought it better that she have an attendant from his own domain. That made perfect sense. Except . . . he had given the position to me. Which made no sense. I sighed. There was no point wondering and questioning; I should accept things as they were.

Misaki stood abruptly. ‘I'd like to take some air.'

I sprang to my feet. ‘Yes, my lady.' Even with the side of the house open to the breeze, it felt close in the reception room. It was much more humid here than in the mountains, and I felt the moist air pressing at me insistently.

Outside the sky was low and heavy with clouds. They looked as ripe and swollen as the plums the rain would feed.

I fetched our sandals from the entrance, and then we stepped from the deck onto an area of raked gravel. The gravel narrowed to a path which crossed a manicured lawn dotted with shrubs that had been trimmed with such precision they were as round and smooth as eggs. Misaki walked without speaking so I kept my exclamations to myself as the path wound to our left through a cluster of maple trees and black pine and opened to a clearing with a pond in which I glimpsed the golden shimmer of koi. A series of stepping stones led to a
small stone bridge, which we crossed into a cool glade of ferns, at its centre a large stone lantern covered with moss. A grove of tall straight bamboo rustled to my right as the path continued, curving through plum and cherry trees, which had finished flowering, and a patch of pale mauve and purple iris which had just begun. Whoever had designed the garden had ensured there was a colour for every season, I noted. It was like the world in miniature.

By the time we returned to our starting point, Misaki still hadn't said a word. Was she always this reserved? Or was it just me? She had seemed happy enough to see her husband the evening before, so it must be me, I concluded. I had probably shown myself to be so gauche and inexperienced that she was wondering how to get rid of me without offending Shimizu.

As we neared the house, fat drops of rain began to fall.

We retreated to the reception room and resumed our positions on the
tatami
, watching in silence as the drops came thicker and faster until there was a torrent of water drumming on the deck. The rains had come.

And so my fate was sealed. There was no possibility of travel now; the rains would fall for the next six weeks, turning the highways from the city to mud. As much as she might wish to send me away, I had nowhere to go. I was stuck in this still and silent house, shut up with its secrets.

Strands of silk streaming

Light steps on quivering leaves

Dance of the plum rains

My first day in Edo set the pattern for the days and weeks to follow. We served breakfast to Lord Shimizu, I dressed Misaki and did her hair, and then we went to the reception room. Outside it rained; inside we sat and watched it.

It wasn't that I missed the never-ending work of the inn exactly, but it was strange to have nothing to do. At home my hands had always been busy, and my legs and mind too. Most days I'd spent at least a few hours in the forest, and every time there had been something new to see. But in the weeks since I had been in Edo I had rarely left the house. We would occasionally wander through the garden, in the intervals between rain showers — me walking behind Misaki, carrying an umbrella — but we
had never once ventured beyond the gate and no one other than Shimizu came in. I thought of the young man I had seen the night we arrived in Edo. He had been staring at the gate with such intensity, as if wishing himself inside it, and now I was his mirror reflection, wishing myself out of it. At times it felt almost as if I was being held captive here.

It would have been better if my mistress conversed with me occasionally — I remembered Ayame's description of the gossiping ladies-in-waiting — but Misaki didn't seem at all inclined to talk to me unless it was to issue an instruction. And no wonder: what could an innkeeper's daughter have to offer a fine lady by way of companionship and conversation? Misaki's aloof manner was an eloquent answer: nothing. She would as likely strike up a friendship with Otami the maid.

Shimizu had asked me to be observant, and so I watched my mistress like a hawk — but there was nothing to observe. She spent the day gazing into space. If there was a reason for her faraway air, she never spoke of it. Perhaps she was just naturally melancholy in the same way Hana had been naturally sharp? I'd never thought I'd miss Hana and her stinging comments, but at least she was lively company. Maybe Misaki had a thorny-tongued sister of her own whom she missed?

This line of thought led me to ask one morning, as I was combing out her hair, ‘Do you miss Morioka, my lady?'

‘Excuse me?' She turned a blank face to me, as if surprised to find I was capable of speech.

‘I was just asking if you missed Morioka. I suppose all your family is there.'

‘Oh. Yes, I do miss my family.' I thought she might say something more, but she didn't.

I supposed she missed her husband too. Lord Shimizu was rarely at home. He left early for the domain mansion and most evenings he didn't return until after we were in bed. My father, who had frequently complained about the laziness of samurai, would have been impressed to see how much time Shimizu devoted to his work.

I'd been in Edo for about three weeks when, as he was finishing his breakfast one morning, Lord Shimizu said, ‘I've invited Isamu to join us for dinner tonight.'

I felt a funny catch in my chest at the mention of his name. It was because he was the only person I knew in Edo, I told myself. I was just longing for a familiar face.

But all that day I anticipated his visit as eagerly as I longed for plum blossoms when the snow was still crisp underfoot. Like a sign of spring after the long winter, his coming was a promise of warmth and life in this unfriendly place. Misaki was roused to activity, consulting with Ishi about the menu, sending Otami to the storehouse to fetch dishes.

‘These have been in my husband's family for many generations,' she said, showing me white porcelain painted with cobalt-blue hydrangeas. Then she added in a stern voice, ‘If you break any, there will be big trouble.' I thought of Chiyo's story about the servant and the broken plate, which had ended in her being killed and her body thrown down the well, and shivered.

I was in the kitchen when the men arrived, though I heard Misaki greeting them at the door, that sweet note in her voice that seemed to be reserved for her husband alone.

Ishi had laid out four trays and now began filling bowls that I arranged on them.

Misaki entered the kitchen to fetch the sake cups and glanced over.

‘Just the three trays, thank you, Ishi,' she said crisply without acknowledging me.

I felt the burn in my cheeks as blood rushed to my face. The fault was not Misaki's, I knew, but mine for presuming that I would eat with the family. Once again, my father had known me better than I had known myself:
She has always been too bold
, he had said.
But the stake that sticks up gets hammered down
. I had just been hammered down — and, I realised with a surge of disappointment, I wouldn't be seeing Isamu after all.

‘Like the moon and the turtle,' Ishi muttered as Misaki returned to the dining area.

I gave a start at hearing my father's words repeated.

‘Not you,' Ishi said. She nodded at the sliding screen separating the kitchen from the rest of the house. ‘Her.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Never you mind.' She clamped her lips shut.

I was left pondering her words. Misaki couldn't be both. She was like the moon, so cool and beautiful. But then who was the turtle?

Misaki returned for a tray of food, which she carried to her husband, while I picked up a tray for Isamu.

I had just kneeled in the entrance to the room when Misaki bustled over to take the tray for Isamu herself.

‘Now serve me,' she hissed.

When I entered the room with the third tray she was saying, ‘It is good of you to visit us, Isamu.' She might be
reserved and standoffish with me, but with her husband's nephew she was all charm and soft smiles, I noticed. Isamu was gazing at her with undisguised admiration as she picked up her chopsticks. ‘How are you finding Edo?'

As much as I would have liked to hear his answer, I could think of no excuse to linger. I bowed to the trio then slid open the door to the kitchen. As I slid it shut behind me, I heard Isamu ask, ‘Isn't Kasumi going to eat with us?'

‘Kasumi?' Misaki echoed, as if puzzled by the suggestion.

‘At the mansion the ladies-in-waiting eat with their mistresses,' he said, then added apologetically, ‘I understand they may do things differently in Morioka.'

‘Naturally I will follow the customs of Matsuyama,' Misaki said, a little stiffly I thought.

‘I'm sure Kasumi would enjoy seeing Isamu again,' Shimizu said. ‘They became good friends on our long walk.'

‘Of course. I didn't think. Please excuse me.'

I quickly moved further into the kitchen so she wouldn't know I'd been listening.

A few seconds later the screen slid open. ‘Ishi, arrange a tray, quickly. Isamu wishes Kasumi to dine with us.' It was clear from her tone that she was not in favour of the idea.

Ishi gave a nod of grim satisfaction as she hastily began to assemble a tray for me.

When I carried it in, careful to keep my eyes on the floor, Isamu was describing his days.

‘In the mornings I study with my painting teacher. And I have to take my turn at guard duty several nights
a week.' He paused to pick a piece of sashimi from his tray, dipping it in soy sauce. ‘You know, I'm really getting a taste for raw fish.' When he'd finished chewing he continued, ‘Sometimes in the afternoons I go to see exhibitions of paintings by local masters and students from other domains. Plus I've joined a group that meets once a week to read philosophy. And there's regular training in the warrior arts.'

His uncle nodded his approval. ‘The pen and the sword in accord,' he murmured.

‘And I've been exploring the city, of course. I was near here the other day, in fact. Have you been to the shrine in Kanda yet, Kasumi?' When I shook my head he said, ‘You must go — it's the shrine for the guardian deities of all the neighbourhoods around here.'

‘You should have called in if you were nearby,' said Shimizu. ‘I'm sure the ladies would have been glad to give you tea.'

‘Yes, please come anytime, Isamu-san,' echoed Misaki.

Isamu bowed his head in acknowledgement, including me in the gesture. ‘Next time I will.'

I wished he would, but I was sure he was only being polite. His life was so full, what would there be to interest him here?

‘So what have you been reading with your study group?' Shimizu asked.

‘The works of the Ancient Learning school.'

‘Ah, Confucian teachings.'

Isamu nodded. ‘We're studying
The Way of the Warrior
at the moment.' He glanced at his uncle sidelong, then asked casually, ‘We've heard about the studies of the
Mito domain. Is it true that Lord Nariaki produced a pamphlet?'

Shimizu grimaced. ‘“Japan, Reject the Westerners”.'

‘And is it true that you fought with the liaison from Mito?' Isamu wasn't looking at his uncle, but seemed to be occupied with his bowl of udon noodles.

Shimizu drew a sharp breath. ‘I didn't realise that story had travelled.' He laid his chopsticks on the lacquered tray and folded his hands in his lap. I was surprised to realise that his attitude was one of shame. ‘It is only thanks to my friend Kuroda Taro, who was with me at the time, that I didn't draw my sword. The Mito liaison said some things about Lord Kinoyoshi, and the Shogun too, that enraged me. Our two domains refuse to meet now.'

He picked up his chopsticks as if the subject was closed, then set them down again. ‘You know I revere the Emperor as much as anyone — our family has old ties, Isamu. In fact, I have something to show you. Come, Misaki, you should see this.'

Although he hadn't mentioned me, I rose too.

Shimizu called to Haru to light the lamps.

It was the first time I had entered the side of the house reserved for Lord Shimizu's business. This reception room was larger than any room in the private quarters, twelve mats at least, and it was furnished with a low wooden desk. Behind it was the
tokonoma
, in which hung a sword, gleaming in the light of the standing lantern. Shimizu beckoned us closer so that we could see the engraving.

‘You see here? It was signed by a master swordsmith from the Kamakura period. It was given to our ancestor six hundred years ago by Emperor Go-Saga.'

I thought about what Ishi had said on my first morning in Edo, that Lord Shimizu was a true samurai, and I saw that she was right. He was modest, loyal and respectful, despite the fact that he came from an old and distinguished family. And his nephew would follow in his footsteps, I knew. After all, he was so unassuming as to bother with an innkeeper's daughter . . .

‘And how are you finding Edo, Kasumi?' Isamu asked as we returned to the private quarters.

‘It's fine,' I murmured.

‘Just “fine”?' he asked. ‘Not interesting, not exciting? Tell me, where have you been, what have you seen? It's not like you to be so subdued.'

‘I have nothing to tell,' I said. ‘We haven't left the house.'

There was silence, and as I looked over at him I could see that Isamu's eyebrows were drawn together in a quizzical look. ‘You mean never?'

‘Not once.'

‘But what do you do all day?'

‘Once Misaki is dressed we sit in the reception room. If it's not raining, we walk in the garden.'

‘But . . . aren't you bored?'

Yes!
I wanted to cry. How could I answer such a question? I longed to tell him that his uncle had made a mistake, that Shimizu's wife found my presence irritating, that it was obvious I was too far beneath her to offer companionship. Yet I didn't want to say anything that could be implied as criticism or ingratitude. For once, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

The next morning we were back to our usual routine. Misaki served her husband breakfast, I arranged her hair and dress, then we went to the reception room to watch the rain.

Isamu's surprise that we were so housebound had made me wonder why we never went out. It occurred to me that Misaki too was a stranger in the city; she probably had no idea of the sights. But Isamu had said there were interesting places to visit in our own district.

Summoning up the courage to speak, I said, ‘Isamu-san mentioned that the Kanda shrine is nearby. Perhaps we could go there one day?'

Misaki gave me a haughty look. ‘It wouldn't do for us to be seen out on the street alone.'

Of course not. Once again, I had betrayed my commonness. I felt ashamed for having asked. My father had hoped my time here would teach me humility. Well, his wish was coming true, I thought bitterly. I spent every day in the company of someone who had nothing but contempt for me. To think I had hoped I'd fit in here, that I might find a life that suited me better than the one at home. How foolish I had been. The stake that sticks up gets hammered down: it was my new mantra. Father couldn't have devised a better lesson for me if he'd tried.