The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (50 page)

“Greetings,” Hirata said, bowing to Lord Niu. “Thank you for coming.”

“Your invitation said you were ready to discuss a surrender.” Lord Niu regarded Hirata with contempt. “Does this mean you’ve come to your senses?”

“Indeed it does,” Hirata said politely.

Lord Niu and his men sat. Hirata beckoned a maid, who poured cups of sake for everyone.

“It’s high time you realized that your campaign against me is futile,” Lord Niu said.

“Your clan is far more powerful than mine,” Hirata said, feigning meekness. “And you’re too clever for me to conquer by treachery.”

Gloating satisfaction swelled the daimyo’s countenance. “How right you are.”

“It was especially clever of you to write those pages about Lady Wisteria and her lover from Hokkaido, then hire the following horse to sell them to me as the missing pillow book,” Hirata said.

He and Sano had tracked the one remaining loose end in the investigation to Lord Niu. After Lady Wisteria had admitted her authorship of the book that had almost framed Sano for Lord Mitsuyoshi’s murder, Sano and Hirata had recognized the other book as a forgery. Hirata had recalled that the pages had been delivered straight into his hands—and not, he realized, by chance. Someone had intended for him to take possession of the forgery and pursue the false clues in it. Furthermore, Hirata knew only one person who hated him enough to lead him astray and had threatened him with ruin.

Lord Niu laughed heartily. “I had you running all over town, looking for a man who doesn’t exist!”

“Then you admit you wrote the story?” Hirata wanted absolute confirmation that the daimyo had done it, so he could turn the deception to his advantage. “And you gave the pages to Gorobei, with orders to watch for a chance to pass them to me and lie about how he found them?”

“Oh, yes,” Lord Niu said with a proud smile that lifted the left side of his mouth. “What a good joke on you.”

“And I fell for it.” Hirata hid his delight by pretending chagrin. When he’d told Midori what her father had done, she’d been horrified, but Hirata had explained what a unique opportunity Lord Niu had inadvertently given them. “I suppose you meant for me to disgrace myself and be executed.”

Lord Niu nodded smugly. “My daughter couldn’t marry a dead man. When I heard the
sōsakan-sama
had solved the case in spite of me, I planned other schemes to destroy you. But now that you’ve decided to surrender, I’ll spare your life.”

“No,” Hirata said. “It is
I
who shall spare
your
life, and
you
who shall surrender.”

Frowning in surprise and confusion, Lord Niu cocked his head. “What nonsense are you talking?”

“Midori-
san
!” Hirata called.

She emerged, hesitant and frightened, from the back room of the teahouse and edged over to Hirata. He took her hand, and she knelt beside him.

“What’s going on here?” Lord Niu demanded. Furious, he surged to his feet and addressed Midori: “I told you to stay away from him. Get out!”

Hirata held tight to Midori’s hand. “We’re going to discuss the terms of your surrender.”

“Never!”

“You’ve just confessed to planting a false clue in the
sōsakan-sama’
s murder investigation,” Hirata said. “That was sabotage against the shogun’s quest for justice for his heir.”

Shock stiffened Lord Niu and blanched his crooked face: He’d obviously never thought of his scheme in this light.

“If I tell His Excellency what you did,” Hirata said, “he’ll confiscate your lands and strip you of your title. You’ll lose your retainers, your subjects, and your wealth. Your family will live as paupers. I’ll marry Midori, and you’ll be powerless to stop me.”

Realization, then outrage, dawned in Lord Niu’s eyes. “You tricked me!” he roared.

“One good turn deserves another,” Hirata said, pitying the daimyo not at all. Midori whimpered, and Hirata said, “But I would rather not destroy the father of the woman I love. And I won’t—if you’ll agree to a deal.”

“I won’t stoop to deal with the likes of you.” Lord Niu trembled with indignation, his face twitching.

Hirata continued calmly: “You will go to my father, apologize for insulting him, and swear on your honor to form an alliance with our clan. Then you will give your approval to a marriage between Midori-
san
and me.”

“No!” Lord Niu shouted. He clenched his fists and advanced on Hirata.

“In exchange, I’ll forget your sabotage,” Hirata said. “The shogun will never know about it.”

“I’ll kill you!”

Lord Niu reached for his sword, but his guards grabbed and restrained him. As he struggled and yelled curses, Okita said, “I advise you to accept his terms. Your daughter’s hand is a small price to pay to preserve your rank and estate.”

“I won’t lose face by bowing down to him!”

Yet Hirata sensed the daimyo blustering, weakening. “The spirits of your ancestors will repudiate you for throwing away your heritage,” he said.

The daimyo gave one last bellow, tore free of his men, then dropped to his knees. He panted with frustrated rage, broken by defeat. “Agreed,” he muttered.

He and Hirata bowed to each other, then drank their sake. Hirata tasted triumph as Midori gave him a radiant, admiring smile. He saw murder in Lord Niu’s eyes, and shuddered to think of life with a mad father-in-law who despised him. But come what might, he and Midori would be married, and their child born in wedlock. That was cause enough for joy.

Reiko had never imagined she would ever set foot inside the residence of Chamberlain Yanagisawa, but important business had brought her here. As guards led her and her escorts along tree-lined paths through the fortified compound, Reiko’s serene face betrayed no sign of the anger seething within her.

Lady Yanagisawa received her in a private chamber hidden deep inside the estate. They knelt opposite each other, in a silence thick and turbulent with the memory of their last encounter. Lady Yanagisawa’s cheeks were flushed, her features marked by distress, her hands clasped tight under her bosom; she bowed her head as though expecting punishment. As Reiko contemplated her hostess, hatred stoked her anger into a firestorm she could barely contain. She drew a deep breath, willing calmness.

“I’m sorry for being rude to you at my pond the other day,” Reiko said in a stiff, formal tone. “I was upset, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. Please forgive me.”

The words tasted foul in her mouth. The injustice of having to apologize to the woman who’d almost caused Masahiro to die outraged Reiko. But political considerations forced her to abase herself to Lady Yanagisawa. The chamberlain was Sano’s superior, and any offense Reiko gave his wife extended to him. When Reiko had told Sano what Lady Yanagisawa had done, he’d been shocked and horrified, but he hadn’t needed to tell her what she must do. Reiko understood her duty. Therefore, she had come, against her will but of her own volition, to mend the breach between her and Lady Yanagisawa.

Lady Yanagisawa lifted to Reiko a gaze filled with relief; she spoke in breathless rushes: “There’s nothing to forgive… You had every right to be upset… It was a terrible thing that happened.”

“Thank you for your understanding and generosity.” That Reiko must protect Sano was all that kept her from tearing Lady Yanagisawa apart with her bare hands.

“Is Masahiro-
chan
all right?” Lady Yanagisawa asked.

Guilt lurked behind her concern, tainted her voice, wafted from her like a bad smell. Reiko could tell that Lady Yanagisawa knew she knew the truth about Masahiro’s “accident.” She said, “He was a little shaken, but he’s fine now.”

“I’m so glad… ” Eager to placate, Lady Yanagisawa said, “Is there anything I can do?”

Reiko wanted to demand that Lady Yanagisawa admit she’d induced Kikuko to drown Masahiro, and confess she’d befriended Reiko so she could get close enough to do harm. Instead Reiko said, “Perhaps you would answer two questions for me.”

“… Yes. If I can.” Caution tempered Lady Yanagisawa’s eagerness.

“Before you brought Wisteria’s pillow book to me, did you know that your husband and Police Commissioner Hoshina had already read it?” Reiko asked.

Lady Yanagisawa hesitated, her face reflecting surprise, then indecision. She looked downward and nodded.

Reiko had wondered why Lady Yanagisawa had risked angering the chamberlain by stealing the book. Why had she put herself in danger to help Sano, when her attack on Masahiro proved she’d wanted to hurt Reiko? Now Reiko understood. Lady Yanagisawa had wanted her to read the story about Sano and Wisteria, and suffer from learning that Sano had been unfaithful. She’d known that giving Reiko the book wouldn’t benefit Sano because Hoshina was already preparing to use it against him. Reiko thought of the pain the book had caused her, and her antipathy toward Lady Yanagisawa burgeoned. The woman’s “helpful” gesture had been a prelude to her attempt to murder Masahiro.

“And your second question?” Lady Yanagisawa said.

“Let’s suppose—just for the sake of speculation—that there are two women friends, both married to high-ranking officials, both mothers of young children.” Reiko chose her words carefully, watching Lady Yanagisawa. “Why would one of the women attack the other?”

The skin around Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes constricted, giving her the look of a cat with its ears laid flat by alarm. A shiver twisted upward through her body. She rose, turned away from Reiko, and spoke in a muffled voice: “Perhaps she thought that by destroying her friend’s good fortune, she would gain what her friend lost.”

This was as close to a confession and explanation as Reiko expected from Lady Yanagisawa. Though she’d already guessed the woman’s motive, hearing it shocked Reiko. She released her breath as nausea rose in her throat. Lady Yanagisawa was less evil than insane.

“But she undid what she’d done… and all was well,” Lady Yanagisawa continued. “There would be no bad consequences for her.”

“No. There wouldn’t be,” Reiko said.

Since Masahiro hadn’t died, Lady Yanagisawa was a murderer by intention, but not by deed. No one except her and Reiko had witnessed Kikuko pushing Masahiro under the water. Sano and Reiko had afterward discovered that the nursemaid O-hana had vanished. They’d deduced that Lady Yanagisawa had bribed Yuya to lure Reiko away from home, and O-hana to drug the other servants with a sleeping potion and let Kikuko into the house, where Masahiro was alone. Sano had ordered a search for O-hana, but found no trace of her yet. The nursemaid must have fled town because she feared Reiko and Sano would punish her for her betrayal. No one except Reiko and Lady Yanagisawa knew the truth, except for Kikuko, who could not speak it.

Besides, even if Reiko did have any evidence against Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko, she couldn’t accuse them of attempted murder. Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s power shielded his wife and daughter from the law. Even if they had killed Masahiro, they would have escaped punishment.

“Perhaps the woman who attacked her friend is more fortunate than she deserves,” Reiko said.

She rose to go before she did or said something she would regret. She wanted to get as far away from Lady Yanagisawa as possible and never see her again.

Lady Yanagisawa turned, her eyes filled with naked pleading. She said, “We’ll still be friends, won’t we?”

The very idea of keeping up their acquaintance, as if nothing had happened, stunned Reiko. To let the woman into her home, to have their children play together, never to know whether Lady Yanagisawa had recovered from a temporary murderous impulse or was incurably mad, and always to live in fear, was beyond possibility. Then Reiko experienced pure horror as she understood that she couldn’t refuse the wife of the shogun’s second-in-command; nor should she reject Lady Yanagisawa and spur her to more attacks. Now Reiko realized that she’d acquired a most dangerous kind of enemy—one who craved her love as well as her destruction.

“Of course we’ll be friends,” Reiko said.

A night of freezing rain enveloped Edo Castle. Outside Sano’s mansion, ice glazed the branches of the trees in the garden and formed glittering pendants on the eaves. Inside, Sano and Reiko lay in bed, covered by a thick quilt. Masahiro slept between them, breathing softly. Warmth radiated from charcoal braziers; the lantern shone like a small sun. Sano basked as the tension of the last few days departed from him and peace lulled his spirit.

“The outcome of the investigation still astounds me,” Reiko said. “My friend proved to be my enemy. Your enemy provided the clue that led you to the killer. The pillow book that we decided was a forgery was the real one.”

“Life is unpredictable,” Sano agreed. “Things are not always what they seem at first.”

“And a woman we thought was a murder victim turned out to be the person ultimately responsible for the crime, as well as the deaths of Fujio, Momoko, and the prostitute.” Reiko turned to Sano, her expression concerned. “Does that disturb you?”

Unsettling memories encroached upon Sano’s contentment. “While I was presenting evidence at the trial, Wisteria stared at me with terrible, bitter hatred in her eyes. I know she blamed me for her downfall. When the magistrate permitted her to speak for herself, she said, ‘They drove me to it.’ She never stopped believing that everything she did was justified by what other people had done to her. She went to her death without accepting responsibility for her own actions.”

“Wisteria was consumed by her desire for revenge. In the end, it destroyed her.” Reiko mused, “I pity her so much that I can forgive her for the trouble she caused you.”

“As can I,” Sano said.

They lay in silence, pondering the dangerous power of vengeance, regretting the courtesan’s obsession, and sharing gratitude because fate had spared them the ruin that Wisteria had intended for Sano.

Then Sano said, “At least some good has come of this investigation. Your instincts saved Masahiro’s life. You should never again lack confidence in them.”