The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (23 page)

“Could his retainers have done the dirty work?” Sano said.

“Unlikely. They’re loyal to Nitta, but I doubt if their obedience extends to murdering the shogun’s heir. Nitta has a wide acquaintance among the ruffians he meets in Yoshiwara. If I were you, I’d look into them.”

Sano would. Yet he had misgivings about the scenario he and Toda had devised. “If Wisteria was murdered in her room, there should have been some evidence of it, but I found no indication that anyone except Mitsuyoshi had died there. If she was abducted then killed someplace else, where is her body?”

“I understand you’re still searching the area around Yoshiwara, and along the highways,” Toda said.

“We’ve yet to find a corpse.”

“She could have been dumped in the Sumida River, the Sanya Canal, or one of the smaller waterways.”

But Sano’s instincts told him that Wisteria was alive, and he had additional reason to discount the likelihood of her murder. The pillow book provided a scenario that didn’t involve the treasury minister, and indicated that Wisteria’s disappearance had been a voluntary elopement. However, Sano understood that even if the book was genuine, and Lady Wisteria had written the truth in the pages he’d read, they were only part of the whole book. Perhaps the unnamed lover from Hokkaido was just as possessive toward Wisteria and jealous of her clients as Nitta seemed. Perhaps he’d murdered the last client she’d entertained before they left Yoshiwara.

“You might be interested to know that Treasury Minister Nitta was arrested early this morning,” Toda said.

“What?” Sano halted in surprise.

“For his embezzlement,” Toda explained. “By now, his trial should be underway.” With a sly smile, Toda added, “If you need any further information from him, you’d best get over to Magistrate Aoki’s Court of Justice.”

“But my investigation isn’t finished. Nitta can’t be tried now.” Sano knew what would happen to the treasury minister. That Nitta had earned his fate didn’t ease Sano’s horror. Sano urgently beseeched Toda, “Please call off the trial!”

“I’m sorry, but the matter is out of my hands.” Shrugging, Toda contemplated the crows. They alighted in a black horde in the meadow, where they squawked and fluttered, squabbling over some bit of food. “And I venture to say that the murder investigation is out of yours.”

Hirata’s family home was in the
bancho
, the district west of Edo Castle where the Tokugawa
hatamoto
occupied estates surrounded by live bamboo fences. Although these vassals had served the shogun’s clan long and faithfully, they lived in conditions modest at best and often near poverty because of rising prices and the falling value of their stipends. Today the crowded neighborhood of ramshackle buildings looked drab indeed, with the bamboo withered and leafless. Hirata rode amid other samurai, along narrow, muddy dirt roads. He dismounted outside his parents’ house, one of the poorest in the district.

Entering the plain wooden gate, Hirata found the courtyard occupied by four horses, decked with fancy saddles and bridles, which didn’t belong to his family. Three of his small nephews raced around the side of the low, weathered house, shouting. Hirata secured his own horse and went into the house. When he hung his swords in the entryway, he noticed four ornate sets of swords, presumably belonging to the visitors, on the racks with the plain weapons of his father and grandfathers. He entered the corridor and found the house full of people and noise. His grandmothers sat in the main room, smoking while they scolded the toddlers playing near them. Hirata heard the maids banging dishes in the kitchen, and a baby crying. Every time he came home, the place looked smaller and dingier. Today it was also chilly because his family needed to conserve fuel. Greeting his grandmothers, Hirata experienced guilt that his kin must endure this, while he enjoyed the quiet luxury of Sano’s estate.

His eldest widowed sister came carrying the baby. “How nice to see you, Brother,” she said. “Many thanks for the clothes you sent the children.”

Spending most of his stipend on his family didn’t ease Hirata’s guilt. Before he could ask who was visiting them, his father’s voice called from the parlor: “Is that you, Son? Please come in.”

Curious, Hirata obeyed. In the parlor sat his parents and a middle-aged samurai garbed in opulent robes. Near the samurai knelt three men in plainer dress, evidently his retainers. Hirata’s mother was serving tea with her best utensils.

“How fortunate that my son should arrive while you’re here,” Hirata’s father said to the guest, then turned to Hirata. “You remember the Honorable
Yoriki
Okubo.”

“Of course.” Hirata knelt beside his father and bowed to the guest.
Yoriki
Okubo had been his commander when he was a police officer, and his father had served under Okubo’s. But the two clans had never been on intimate terms, and Hirata wondered why the
yoriki
had come. He said politely, “It’s an honor to see you again. I hope you are well?”

“Yes, thank you.”
Yoriki
Okubo had fleshy, down-turned features. He observed Hirata with shrewd approval. “I can see that you are also well. Life in the
sōsakan-sama
’s employ suits you.” After questioning Hirata about his duties, Okubo said, “That you make time in your busy day to visit your parents is a mark of good character.”

Hirata cast a puzzled glance at his father, who avoided his eyes and addressed Okubo: “My son is always conscientious about his duties to both his master and his family.” Still without looking at Hirata, his father said to him, “Okubo-
san
has come on behalf of his colleague, the Honorable
Yoriki
Sagara.”

“My colleague has an unmarried daughter,” Okubo said.

Alarm struck Hirata as he comprehended that Okubo was here as a go-between, bearing him a marriage proposal from the other police commander. Since his parents clearly welcomed the proposal, it was obvious that they’d rejected the idea of his marriage to Midori.

“A match between my son and the Sagara girl would be most suitable,” said Hirata’s father. “Their common heritage in the police force would be a foundation for a harmonious life.”

“There would be other benefits for both sides,” Okubo said. “Speaking frankly, your son’s status in the
bakufu
is valued by the Sagara clan. And their fortune is considerable.”

Hirata opened his mouth to protest; but his father spoke: “What about the girl herself? Is her character pleasing?”

“Quite,” Okubo said. “She is modest, obedient, and dutiful.” He turned to Hirata. “She is also sixteen years old and very pretty.”

Hirata didn’t care how wonderful the Sagara girl was. “Father,” he said.

An ominous look from his father and a frantic shushing gesture from his mother forestalled his protests. He squirmed in wordless agitation as the talk proceeded.

“The next step is a
miai
, I presume?” said his father.

“That can be arranged,” Okubo said. “The Sagara are most eager for a meeting.”

Polite farewells ensued. Afterward, Hirata’s father said to his wife, “My leg hurts from kneeling so long. I must have my medicinal bath.”

Hirata helped his mother fill a tub with hot water and herbs. His father sat on cushions with his thin, crooked leg immersed in the water.

“Father, I don’t want to go to that
miai
,” Hirata said.

“You must, because we’ve already committed ourselves.” The older man spoke offhandedly, as though manners were their sole concern and he’d decided to pretend that Hirata had no serious reason for objecting to the
miai
. “For us to back out now would offend
Yoriki
Okubo and the Sagara clan.”

“Well, I won’t go,” Hirata said. His voice shook even as he folded his arms and planted his legs wide. He, who supervised Sano’s hundred detectives and troops, still quailed before paternal authority; he hated to defy his father. “I’m upset that you began this marriage negotiation behind my back.”

A glint of anger sparked in the older man’s eyes. “It’s my right to make arrangements on your behalf, and your duty to obey me,” he said. “You will go to the
miai
and fulfill our obligations. Then, if you don’t like the Sagara girl, we can politely refuse the proposal. There are plenty of other good clans eager to wed a daughter to you.”

“Father, I don’t want anyone but Midori. I beg you not to force me into a marriage with another girl.” Desperate, Hirata dropped to his knees. “Please reconsider allowing me to marry the woman I love. Please forgive Lord Niu and resume our marriage negotiations.”

“If you came here hoping to change my mind, then you’ve wasted your time.” His father flexed his leg in the tub and glowered. “I forbid you to marry Lord Niu’s daughter. I order you to choose one of the girls whom I consider suitable.”

“But, Father—”

The older man angrily waved away Hirata’s protest. “Your desire to marry the Niu girl is selfish. It shows a disrespect toward me, and a deplorable lack of consideration for our family.” He addressed his wife, who was stirring more herbs into the tub: “Let it alone! Stop fussing!” To Hirata he said, “We have too many mouths to feed and too little space. For you to expect your parents and grandparents, your sisters and their children, to live off crumbs from your stipend is disgraceful, when the Sagara girl’s dowry would fill our rice bowls in the comfort of a bigger house.”

Hirata felt his cheeks flush and his spirit contract with shame at the idea that he placed his personal needs above his family’s welfare. “The Niu have far more money than the Sagara. If I marry Midori, you’ll want for nothing.”

His father’s expression turned grave. “For you to marry her and us to share her clan’s wealth is impossible, and not just because I oppose the match.” Turning to his wife, he said, “Mother, bring the letter that came from Lord Niu today.”

She hurried from the room, then returned bearing a scroll, which she gave to Hirata. He read:

This is my official notice that I am ending the marriage negotiations between our clans. That I should wed my daughter to the son of a rascal like you, who are my sworn enemy, is preposterous!

I warn your son to sever all contact with my daughter. His inferior person shall not be allowed to defile Midori. He shall suffer severe misfortune for daring to court her. And if he so much as goes near her, I shall slay him with my own sword and mount his head over my gate as a warning to other unwelcome suitors.

Niu Masamune

Daimyo of Satsuma Province

As Hirata stared at the letter in shock, his father exclaimed, “Not only did Lord Niu threaten me in public, he now threatens you! You must do as Lord Niu says and keep away from his daughter.”

Never to see Midori again! The thought horrified Hirata. “Perhaps there’s been some misunderstanding that could be cleared up if we all sat down together and talked—”

“I’ll not see Lord Niu again and invite more of his vicious insults,” Hirata’s father declared. “And I refuse to reconsider this match.”

Though his father’s face wore a stony aspect that repelled further argument, Hirata had promised Midori that he would find a way for them to marry. He spoke in desperation: “If Lord Niu were to make amends for insulting you, take back his threats, and welcome me as a son-in-law, would you change your mind about the marriage?”

His father regarded Hirata with a torn, wistful expression. Though he didn’t speak, Hirata understood that his father loved him and wanted him to be happy. Hope leapt in Hirata, then died as his father shook his head.

“If Lord Niu did as you suggest, I might be persuaded,” the older man said. “But you might as well pray for a miracle as expect him to change his feelings about the match, because he seems bent on hating us. You must learn to live without that girl and accept the idea of marrying another.”

He raised his leg from the tub. As his wife dried it with a cloth, he said to Hirata, “This whole business has distracted you from duty. The last thing you need is for the
sōsakan-sama
’s investigation to suffer because of your personal concerns. You had better get back to work.”

“Yes, Father,” Hirata said dejectedly. He left the house with his hope of marrying Midori seeming as futile as locating Lady Wisteria’s lover.

17