As he jumped to avoid the downward slashing sword, Akitada crashed into the clothes stand, which toppled, covering him with a pile of scented silk garments. A woman screamed piercingly, “No!” Momentarily blinded and helpless, he knew his attacker was striking again. He attempted to roll out of the way of the blade, but was tangled in the garments. This time, miraculously, the blade caught the wooden frame of the stand, and he only felt a sharp blow to his shoulder. The woman screamed again.
Heaving up clothes and stand with a single violent movement, Akitada regained his feet and vision. Even in the semidarkness, he took in the scene quickly. Two women were in the room, one cowering on the floor and sobbing hysterically, the other, massive as a figure carved from rock, standing protectively in front of her, her broad face a mask of snarling determination. The woman on the floor was his “nun,” though she was no longer wearing the veil and habit. Her protector was a servant, a peasant woman of extraordinary size.
The sword lay on the floor between him and the two women. Akitada bent to take it up, seeing with surprise that it was very beautiful. The hilt was gold inlaid with colored enamel and pearls, and the blade was incised with patterns filled with gold and silver. He touched his thumb to it. It was as dull as a wooden practice sword.
“Very pretty,” he said, “but since swords like this are meant for ceremonial wear only, it’s not very useful as a weapon. Still, you might have killed me. Do you always attack visitors who have announced themselves outside your door?”
The maid still simmered with hostility. “You have no business here,” she said. “I was protecting my lady. Go away or I’ll call the constables.”
Akitada ignored this. “This is Lady Yasugi then, I assume? She can tell you that calling for constables does little good in this neighborhood. We met yesterday in the street outside.”
The woman on the floor got to her knees and bowed. “This foolish person apologizes for the mistake. We thought you were a robber.”
She had a lovely, cultured voice. Akitada returned the bow. “A reasonable mistake. I was passing your house when I saw a man climbing over the back wall. I scared him off, but decided to have a look in case someone else lurked about. My name is Sugawara Akitada, by the way. I serve in the Ministry of Justice.”
The maid could no longer contain herself. “You met my lady in the street? And someone was climbing our wall? Amida! What is going on?”
Her mistress said sharply, “Be quiet, Anju,” and told Akitada, “I am Hiroko, my Lord Yasugi’s third wife.”
“Ah. I was told that Lord Yasugi had left with his entire family days ago. Why are you here alone?”
Her eyes flickered to her maid before she answered. “I fell ill. My lord left me until I would be well enough to travel. I shall join him soon. We are expecting an escort any day.”
Akitada did not bother to keep the disbelief from his voice. “Lord Yasugi left two women here alone?”
She flushed and lowered her eyes. Akitada saw now that she was a remarkable beauty. The nun’s habit had hidden her best features: an oval face framed by thick, long hair; large eyes and sweetly shaped lips enhanced by touches of paint; a graceful body flattered by the thinnest of silks in many layers and in exquisite shades of rose and lilac. No man in his right mind would let such a treasure out of his sight for long.
She spoke again, in a pleasant soft voice that nevertheless put him in his place for implying criticism of her husband. “We could not be certain that I had not contracted smallpox. My lord left two male servants, but one has gone to nurse his sick mother, and we have sent the other after my husband to tell him I am now well enough to travel.”
Smallpox again. Apparently it seized people’s imaginations to such a degree that they abandoned their loved ones. Akitada was shocked at the husband’s inhumanity. He looked from her to the servant, who stood stolidly beside her mistress, watching and daring him to doubt what he was being told. Then he laid the sword on a clothes chest, bent to pick up the rack, and set it upright again.
“Oh, please do not trouble,” cried Lady Yasugi. “I have forgotten my manners. Forgive me. Anju will do that. Anju, a pillow for Lord Sugawara and see if there is some wine.”
Akitada found the cosmetics box under the pile of silk robes and picked it up. “This is very beautiful,” he said. “The design of a master. There cannot be very many like it.”
Lady Yasugi glanced at the box. Twisting her hands in her lap, she murmured, “Thank you. It is nothing. A gift from a relation. Bring the wine, Anju.”
The maid gave her mistress a look of reproach but left the tumbled clothing she had been replacing and went out. They were alone, a situation that was not merely unorthodox but quite improper between a married woman and a strange male visitor. Akitada wondered about the relationship between this beautiful creature and her wealthy lord and master.
She leaned forward a little and said urgently, “I have not thanked you for saving me yesterday. You injured your eye?”
Suddenly Akitada felt self-conscious about his appearance. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you are safe.” He cast another glance around the luxurious furnishings of the large room and then went to sit on the cushion the maid had placed for him. The cosmetics box he set on the floor between them, where the slanting rays of the sun made the gold inlay shine and the mother-of-pearl glimmer in a rainbow of colors.
She glanced at it nervously, and then at him, but did not comment. Instead, she made an effort at polite conversation. She smiled and said softly, “Forgive me for not thanking you earlier, my lord, but I did not want Anju to know what happened. She worries so.”
Akitada raised his eyebrows. “She’s quite right to worry. This is no longer a safe neighborhood and you should never go out alone. Why didn’t you take your maid with you?”
Turning her head away, she said pettishly, “Oh, I am so tired of being watched all the time. I thought it would be safe to walk to the palace in the middle of the day. And I put on the nun’s habit so nobody would bother me.”
She was lying. Akitada firmed his resolve. “I see. You disguised yourself because you thought it would be safer?” She nodded, giving him a quick glance to see if he believed her. “Why was it so important for you to attend the hearing on the murder of the blind woman?”
Her eyes widened at his directness, but she must have expected the question, and that meant she knew he had been at the hearing and had followed her. “What? Oh, you know about that? No particular reason. I meant to go to the palace and watch the guards at their practice. When I passed police headquarters, people were going in and I decided to find out what was happening.”
“Come,” he said, “you can do better than that. I was there and watched you during the proceedings. You either came because of the victim or the accused, and as the accused is my retainer Tora, I know you weren’t there on his account.”
She flushed, with anger this time, and burst into defiant speech. “You are wrong. Why shouldn’t I go to a hearing out of interest? I have seen too little of the outside world. Women of our class rarely have an opportunity to see life the way men see it. We are kept like prisoners in our fathers’ houses, and when they die, we are under our brothers’ control, or that of our husbands. And when we finally become old and have neither husbands nor brothers left, our sons keep us locked away unless we cut our hair and take the veil. Only nuns and peasant women escape their prison.” Her eyes flashed with emotion. “Not a day passes when I don’t wish I were a nun. I keep the habit for the moment I can cut my hair and escape this cage.”
The maid, returning, overheard her words. She said sternly, “The master does not like you talking that way. You have a good life here. Why trouble yourself with ugly things when you have fine clothes, good food, your books, and your toys? You can play your zither, paint, or walk in the garden whenever you please.”
Her mistress buried her face in her sleeve.
Akitada looked at Lady Yasugi and wondered. He had gathered that her desire for a religious life had nothing to do with spirituality and a great deal with spirit. He did not approve altogether of too much spirit in a female. It was true that noble women spent most of their lives inside their homes. Most preferred it, because going out would bring them into contact with the ragged, diseased, and unsavory poor. They would be accosted by beggars, prostitutes, thieves, and robbers. Lady Yasugi had certainly learned that much on her recent excursion. But of course she had lied. It had all been an elaborate lie. A casual stroll to satisfy her curiosity was not the real reason she had left the dubious safety of this house. He turned to the maid. “Anju, did you know Tomoe was murdered?”
The woman’s large chin sagged. “Amida.” She stared at him. “That’s why you’re here?” Turning on her mistress, she cried,
“There. I told you. Now see what’s happened. What will the master say when he finds out the police are asking questions?”
This was not quite the reaction Akitada had expected, but he settled for it. “Do I take it that Lord Yasugi is unaware of your relationship with the blind street singer?” he asked the mistress.
Lady Yasugi’s hands were clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed white against her creamy skin, and her eyes looked frightened. But she said calmly enough, “I have no idea what you are talking about. Anju is confused.”
Akitada turned back to the maid. “You understood very well, didn’t you, Anju?”
The maid flushed. “No, no. I must have misheard you, sir.” Seeing his disbelief, she stammered, “I . . . I thought . . . you said Tonomo. Yes, Tonomo. He’s one of the children. Always in trouble . . . er . . . we didn’t want the master to find out. That’s all.”
Akitada greeted that feeble explanation with a derisive laugh, but the maid’s foolish attempt at a lie was not funny, at least not to Lady Yasugi, who was quite pale and on the verge of tears. He was more confused than ever about the connection between this wealthy, elegant woman and a poor singer from the slums. After a moment’s hesitation, he tried appealing to her conscience.
“Lady Yasugi, I’m not with the police, but I’m helping them on this case. This poor woman was brutally murdered in a small room she rented. Being blind, she had no way to protect herself against her killer. I have seen the room. There must have been a terrible, bloody struggle.” He noted with satisfaction that she gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry to upset you, but I need your help. My retainer Tora knew Tomoe and was worried about her safety. He found her dead and was arrested for a murder he did not commit.” Akitada decided to play his hunch. “He told me that Tomoe used to come here to perform and that you befriended her.” When she only stared at him without making a protest, he knew he had guessed correctly. “I beseech you, both for Tomoe’s sake and for Tora’s, tell me what you know about her. The motive for the crime may lie in her past and nobody seems to know about that.”
Was it his imagination or had she relaxed? She opened and closed her mouth, but finally said only, “How terrible!”
Exasperated, Akitada asked, “Do you know Tomoe or not?”
She glanced at the maid, then nodded. “Yes. She did come here. To sing to me, as you said. Anju did not approve because my husband would have objected to having a street singer in our quarters, but I felt sorry for her and thought a little extra money would help someone so sadly afflicted. The servants told me about her murder. So sad! When I saw her name on the board in front of police headquarters and read about the hearing, I went in to find out more. Out of pity and curiosity, that’s all.”
The maid cried, “You went into police headquarters yesterday? A place full of criminals and rough men? Only a prostitute would go there unattended. The master won’t like that at all.”
Lady Yasugi gave an exasperated sigh. “I only wanted to find out what happened to the singer, Anju. Nobody knew who I was. There is no need to trouble my lord with such a trivial thing. He will only blame you.”
The maid clamped her mouth shut and folded her arms across her chest. “I should have told him from the start and none of this would’ve happened,” she grumbled, but her mistress had won her point.
Akitada gave Lady Yasugi a long look, which she met calmly enough, but he saw that her fingers were locked tightly and was convinced that she was still lying. Why? Because the maid was present? He picked up the cosmetics case and opened it. It was filled with salves and paints as Tomoe’s had been, and the designs inside and out were as exquisite as those on hers, though not quite the same—different plants and flowers, he thought. But he was certain it had been made by the same artist. He was about to ask his name, when Lady Yasugi said sharply, “Anju, don’t just stand around doing nothing. This wine is quite cold. Go and heat a fresh flask. And try to find some pickled vegetables or plums. There must be something left.” Her voice was tight with impatience and the pretty forehead wore a frown. The maid took up the flask and left the room.
They were alone again. The sun had moved and taken with it the broad band of golden light that had made the box sparkle and cast a soft radiance over the room and its occupants. It must be getting late. Akitada attempted to separate his admiration for this beautiful and troubled woman from his suspicions.
She listened to the receding steps for a moment, then said urgently, “Please do not pursue this matter, sir. Anju must not know any more. Everything depends on it.”
Astonished, Akitada protested, “I regret but I cannot do this. A crime has been committed and Tora may lose his life over it. If you know anything, you must speak.”
She wrung her hands. “My husband . . . you do not understand . . . please . . . there are children and I cannot risk their lives and happiness. Besides, it is a family secret that cannot have anything to do with the murder.”