The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (15 page)

But perhaps Fujio was the killer and sought to incriminate Nitta the way Nitta had tried to incriminate him, Sano thought. “Why would the treasury minister kill the shogun’s heir and try to frame you?” he said. “Because he loves Wisteria and was jealous of you and Lord Mitsuyoshi for having her?”

The
hokan
dismissed the idea with a flick of his hand. “Oh, Nitta likes exclusive use of his courtesans, but this isn’t about love—it’s about money.” He jingled the leather coin pouch he wore at his waist. “How do you think Nitta covers the huge expenses he runs up in Yoshiwara? The last night I spent with Wisteria, she said Nitta has been stealing gold from the treasury.”

“How did she know?” Sano said, shocked by this accusation of embezzlement, which constituted treason.

Fujio shrugged. “She didn’t say. But I think she blackmailed Nitta, and he killed her to keep her quiet.”

Blackmail was a new motive for the murder, and Sano knew he must check into it, though he wouldn’t put it past Fujio to have improvised the story on the spot. Sano dreaded confronting Nitta, and the upheaval that an investigation of treasury affairs would cause in the
bakufu
. Still, this development offered a possible explanation for the missing pillow book.

“I also think Wisteria wrote about Nitta’s embezzlement in that book she always carried around with her—the one everybody says is missing,” Fujio said, echoing Sano’s thoughts. “Nitta probably destroyed the book so that his crime wouldn’t come to light after she was dead.”

Now Sano needed more than ever to find the book. “That’s an interesting story,” he said. “How does Lord Mitsuyoshi fit into it?”

“He was in Wisteria’s bedchamber, and probably drunk by that hour. When Nitta got there, he thought Mitsuyoshi was asleep, and he killed Wisteria. But then he discovered that Mitsuyoshi was awake and had seen the whole thing. Wisteria was a peasant, and Nitta could have gotten away with her murder, but he was afraid that if the
bakufu
found out what he’d done, his stealing would be discovered. So he killed Mitsuyoshi to get rid of the witness.” Fujio nodded, certain of his reasoning.

“How would he have gotten rid of Wisteria’s body?” Sano said.

“Oh, well, he probably ordered people to help him and keep silent afterward,” Fujio replied.

The story was plausible, though based on dubious assumptions. Willing to play along for now, Sano said, “How do you explain the hairpin that was used to stab Lord Mitsuyoshi? Why should Nitta choose it instead of his sword? Or would you like to change your story and blame the murder on Wisteria’s
yarite
because the hairpin belonged to her?”

“No, no, no.” Fujio waggled his hands. “Momoko didn’t do it. Even though she’s a mean old hag, according to what I hear. Do you want to know what she does when she shaves courtesans?” Yoshiwara custom dictated that all prostitutes must shave their pudenda. “She yanks out hairs one by one, from the most sensitive spots.”

He winced; so did Sano.

“And if the courtesans complain, Momoko adds false charges to their account, to keep them in the brothels longer. In my opinion, she’s more likely to be murdered herself than kill anybody,” Fujio said. “She must have dropped the hairpin in Wisteria’s room. Nitta used it on Lord Mitsuyoshi to direct blame from himself onto someone else.” The
hokan
gave Sano a significant look. “As he tried to do with me.”

“And you’re returning the favor,” Sano said, as frustration welled in him. That both Fujio and the treasury minister were anxious to protect themselves discredited their statements against each other.

Mischief gleamed in Fujio’s eyes. “A bad deed deserves payment in kind, I always say.” Edging away from Sano, he said, “Are you going to arrest me, or may I go? There’s a roomful of customers who’ll be furious at me if I don’t play for them.”

“You can go,” Sano said, “for now.”

Watching Fujio hurry off, Sano wondered if he’d been handed the solution to the case, or conned by the
hokan
. He had difficulty imagining Fujio as a killer; yet charm could mask deceit and murderous rage, and Sano decided to assign detectives to watch Fujio. Sano’s frustration increased as he acknowledged that tonight’s inquiries had, instead of bringing him closer to success, created more work for him. He must now hunt for witnesses to confirm or contradict Fujio’s story as well as Nitta’s, and the web of personal relationships associated with the crime had grown more complex.

Dusk was falling upon the quarter; the western sky glowed copper. As Sano walked up a road of brothels toward Ageyachō, the lanterns seemed brighter, the crowds louder, and the music gayer in the gathering darkness. He saw
Yoriki
Yamaga and a group of other police officials, presumably hunting the same facts he needed. He thought of Reiko, who’d gone out this morning in search of clues to the whereabouts of Lady Wisteria. He hoped that Wisteria was still alive, because she might be the only person who could tell him what had really happened in that bedchamber.

10

Inside the courtyard of Sano’s estate, bearers set down a palanquin, and Reiko alighted in the chilly dusk. Midori burst out the door of the mansion and ran toward Reiko, sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” Reiko said, embracing her friend.

“Oh, Reiko-
san
, it was awful!” Midori poured out the tale of her
miai
, and Reiko exclaimed in dismay at how Lord Niu had insulted Hirata’s father and the two men had fought. “They’re enemies now,” Midori mourned. “They’ll never allow my marriage to Hirata-
san
.”

Although Reiko feared this was true, she said, “Don’t give up hope yet. I’ll ask my husband to speak to your families and help make peace between them.”

“Oh, thank you!” Smiling, Midori wiped her nose on her sleeve and hugged Reiko. Then more tears flowed. “I spent the afternoon at my father’s estate. He kept raving about how Hirata-
san
’s family is trying to destroy him and he must fight back. Then he locked himself in his chamber. I didn’t have a chance to beg him to make amends to Hirata’s father or reconsider the match.”

A sob choked Midori. “And I haven’t seen Hirata-
san
since he left the theater. No one here knows where he is. Why doesn’t he come to me? I’m afraid he doesn’t love me anymore.”

“Of course he does,” Reiko said soothingly. “Hirata-
san
is faithful. He’ll understand that your father’s behavior wasn’t your fault. He’s probably just busy working. Now cheer up—you don’t want him to come in and see you like this.”

Midori bit her quivering lips and breathed deeply in a visible attempt to pull herself together. “Please forgive me for imposing my troubles on you, when you’ve just gotten home. Were you out investigating the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi?”

Nodding, Reiko felt the despair in her own heart.

“And you’ve discovered lots of clues?” Midori said with flattering confidence in Reiko’s ability.

“I wish it were so.” Reiko sighed. “I’ve spent the whole day visiting my cousins and aunts and friends, talking to servants and shopkeepers. Everyone is so afraid to speak ill of the shogun’s dead heir that no one will talk about Lord Mitsuyoshi. And as for Lady Wisteria, everyone was full of gossip about the clothes she wears and the lavish parties she gives. Everyone has a theory of how she got out of Yoshiwara—she turned into a bird and flew away, she drank a magic potion that made her small and she sneaked under the gate. But no one has any real idea where she went.”

“Oh, Reiko-
san
, that’s too bad,” Midori said.

Reiko dreaded admitting her failure to Sano. Cold, tired, and hungry, she couldn’t bear to think about what that failure meant. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm,” she said. “Have you eaten yet? We can have a meal together while you wait for Hirata-
san
.”

Midori looked tempted, then shook her head regretfully. “I’d better go. Lady Keisho-in will be looking for me.”

They parted, and Reiko entered the house. There, Masahiro toddled down the corridor, calling, “Mama, Mama! Come see what I made.” He grabbed her hand and tugged.

One of his nursemaids, a girl named O-hana, trailed after him. “The young master has been working hard today,” O-hana said. She was nineteen and pretty, with a glint of cleverness in her eyes and a pert smile shaped like an inverted triangle. Though she wore the customary indigo kimono of a servant, she always added a personal, stylish touch. Today it was a paper butterfly perched on her upswept hair.

“Let’s go see what you’ve done, Masahiro-
chan
,” said Reiko.

The three went to the nursery. On the floor stood colored building blocks arranged in the rudimentary shape of a house.

“That’s wonderful!” Reiko exclaimed, as her pleasure in her son eased the disappointment of the day.

“Now the young master is the little lord of his own castle,” O-hana said fondly.

Masahiro laughed and jumped up and down. Reiko wished she had as much accomplishment to boast. She was so afraid she would let Sano down and prove herself unworthy of his trust.

“Excuse me, mistress,” said the housekeeper, entering the nursery, “but you have visitors.”

“Who are they?” Reiko said, surprised because she wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Lady Yanagisawa and her daughter, Kikuko.”

“Merciful gods.”

Reiko hadn’t thought the chamberlain’s wife would call on her this soon. Now she jumped up in a flurry of agitation, for she’d never received such an important guest. She smoothed her hair and clothes as she hurried to the parlor, where she found Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko kneeling side by side.

“Good evening.” Reiko knelt opposite them and bowed.

Lady Yanagisawa echoed the greeting. She wore drab, brownish mauve, and her plain face was as dour as before. “My apologies for arriving without notice,” she murmured. “I hope I am not inconveniencing you?”

“No, not at all,” Reiko said nervously. “I’m glad you came. Hello, Kikuko-
chan
. My, how pretty you look.”

The little girl giggled and hid her face behind the sleeve of her aquamarine kimono.

“Say, ‘You are too kind, Honorable Lady—I am not worthy of your praise,’ ” Lady Yanagisawa gently instructed her daughter.

Kikuko obeyed, stumbling over the words. When Reiko provided refreshments, the girl slurped the tea and spilled some on her kimono. She gobbled the cakes and got sugary crumbs all over her face and the floor. Lady Yanagisawa wiped Kikuko’s face with a napkin, picked up crumbs, and gave Reiko a look of embarrassed apology.

“This winter is particularly harsh,” Reiko said, seeking to initiate a conversation and put her guest at ease.

“… Yes.”

Lady Yanagisawa cupped her tea bowl in her hands; her gaze flitted around the room, taking in the wall mural, the alcove where a scroll of calligraphy hung above a celadon vase of dried flowers, and the shelves that held figurines. Reiko wondered if she didn’t realize she was supposed to say something to keep the talk going, she couldn’t think what to say, or she expected other people to carry the burden of conversation.