Satisfaction washed over Akitada. Finally they were coming to it. He leaned forward. “If this has nothing to do with the murder, I shall not reveal your secret, but you must speak.”
She shook her head. “You cannot know . . . I beg you, have pity.”
Feeling heartless, he said, “My dear lady, there is too much evidence of a very close connection between you and Tomoe to support your allegation that she merely came here to sing. For one thing,” he raised the cosmetics box, “there is this. Tomoe’s box is a twin to yours. Such an expensive and beautifully made article should not, by rights, have been in the possession of a poor blind woman.”
She began to weep softly, raising a silk sleeve to hide her tears. “Oh, dear heaven.” she moaned, “if my husband finds out, it will destroy me.”
“I have given you my word that I will keep your secret if it doesn’t affect the case.”
She lowered her sleeve. Even tear-stained and reddened, her face was still lovely, her eyes awash with pain. Increasingly distracted by her anguish, he made a conscious effort to remain in control, but before he could speak again, she shocked him utterly.
“Tomoe was my sister,” she said, new tears welling over and spilling down her face. “My older sister. Now are you satisfied?”
He was dumfounded. “Your sister?” This beautiful and elegant creature and the ragged, pockmarked blind woman from the market could not be sisters. “How did such a thing come to pass?”
She dabbed at her face and looked toward the door. Her fear of the maid was palpable. When she spoke again, she did not look at him, but the words tumbled from her lips. “My sister made a bad marriage. When our parents did not approve of the man, she went to be with him, and they disowned her. Then she got smallpox and lost her eyesight, and her husband divorced her. I knew nothing of this until I went shopping for silk one day and found her working in the market like a beggar. Anju was with me and we could not talk freely. I offered her money, but she was too proud to accept charity. Tomoe was always proud. And stubborn. There was little else I could do because my husband would not have allowed it—he is . . . very strict about the company I keep—but she came to visit several times. We pretended it was to sing to me. She sang, and we talked little, hardly like sisters, because we were never alone. I’d give her some money for the . . . for her work, and she would leave again.” She raised tragic eyes to his. “So you see . . . it cannot have anything to do with her murder.”
It was a tragic story, but such things happened when daughters rebelled against their parents’ wishes and made their own choices. Wisdom resides in the soul, not the mind or the body. The parents, no doubt, had felt that their daughter had proven unworthy of family membership. Perhaps they had even lost her without feeling much regret—not so much as they might have felt for a lost ox or chicken. Akitada felt very sorry for the two women, but he knew that Tomoe had chosen her fate. Tomoe had committed the ultimate sin; she had defied her parents and run away.
Akitada looked into the melting eyes of the beautiful woman across from him and decided that rebellion must be something of a family trait, for Lady Yasugi disobeyed her husband and had expressed strong feelings about her lack of freedom as a woman; only a day earlier she had almost paid a high price for her lack of decorum.
Truly, women were difficult to understand. Tamako had always shown a proper respect both for her father and for her husband. Tomoe, and perhaps to a lesser degree her sister, were excellent examples of the suffering women brought upon themselves when they did not subordinate their foolish notions to the wiser counsel of men. Seimei would quote the Great Sage on that subject: “If retainers obey their lords, children their parents, and wives their husbands, peace and tranquility will reign.” And yet, there was something very attractive about a spirited woman.
Lady Yasugi broke into his thoughts. “You won’t mention this to anyone, my lord?”
He started to tell her that he must find Tomoe’s killer and for that reason needed to know more about Tomoe’s family and her husband, but she drew in her breath sharply. “Shh! Anju is coming.”
The maid gave them a suspicious glance, then poured more wine for Akitada. She offered him a small bowl of pickled plums. To justify her errand, Akitada drank and took one of the plums. Both wine and plums were excellent. He recalled Tomoe’s poor room and the few bits of coarse food she had subsisted on.
There was little more he could do under Anju’s watchful eye. An idea occurred to him: If he could bring Lady Yasugi to his own home, it would be much easier to separate her from her maid. He said, “You’re not safe here. I chased off the thug who climbed the wall, but he may return. If you consent, my wife will make you welcome in my house until your husband sends for you.”
The maid snapped, “The master wouldn’t allow it.” She looked belligerent, her arms folded again and her chin thrust out. “I’ll keep watch. She’ll be all right.”
Lady Yasugi nodded. “Yes, it is better so. Thank you for your offer, but I should like to stay here.”
Foiled, Akitada said, “In that case, I shall send you one of my men to keep watch until your own people come. Genba is a gentle giant who used to be a wrestling master before he came into my service. You may trust him completely.”
There was a short hesitation as mistress and maid exchanged glances. Then Lady Yasugi bowed. “Thank you, Lord Sugawara. We are very much indebted to you for your warning and your kind offer. I trust we won’t deprive you of your man for very long.”
It was a signal that the visit had come to an end.
She rose to accompany him to the veranda. The setting sun had dipped behind the trees and left a soft radiance behind which flattered both inanimate objects and living beings. For a moment they stood looking out across the garden as Anju hovered behind them.
The third Lady Yasugi’s private garden was enclosed by the outer wall, two other pavilions, and a covered gallery leading to the main house. The scent of the flowering wisteria growing against her veranda hung heavy in the warm evening air, and late bees still buzzed about the long, pendant white blooms. It seemed very peaceful here, but beyond the wall lay the violence of the western city, and even in the buildings around them evil might lurk.
Akitada glanced down at the zither. “I heard you playing earlier, a very charming sound. The street is just beyond that wall. I knew the house must be occupied and wondered why no one answered my knocking at the gate.”
She blushed a little. “We heard your knocking. Forgive me, but two women alone cannot receive visitors. And we were afraid. I should not have played my zither, but time passes very slowly here.”
He could imagine her loneliness in this deserted villa and understood her frustration with a life that tied her to an autocratic husband who had deserted her at the first suspicion of smallpox. Her beauty was more pronounced here than in the half light of her room, though Akitada saw that she was not as young as Lady Kose had suggested. He guessed her to be Tamako’s age. On an impulse he asked, “Do you have children, Lady Yasugi?”
She went very still for a moment. Then she said tonelessly, “No. I have disappointed my lord in this also.”
“I’m sorry.” Producing a number of male heirs was a wife’s primary responsibility. On this rested her standing in the household. If Lady Yasugi had proved infertile, it might account for her husband’s neglect and her own unhappiness in her marriage. Many a man divorced a barren wife because of the overriding duty to ensure the survival of his family. Still, she was a very desirable woman. Akitada glanced at that pure profile with the gently curving eyebrows and the elegant hairline. Few women of her class dared to be seen in the bright light of day. He said, “Surely fortune will soon bless you.”
“Thank you.” She gave a shiver and changed the subject. “It seems strange to feel fear in this beautiful place.”
“Genba will take care of that when he gets here.”
“You are very good.”
A brief silence fell. No doubt she wished him gone, but Akitada still hoped for something more, some small piece of information he might use to find Tomoe’s killer. “May I ask your father’s name?” he asked.
She stiffened. “It cannot matter. I bear the Yasugi name now.”
So she still tried to protect her secret. He could not probe further and bowed to her. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said formally. “If you permit it, I shall take another stroll about the garden to make sure all is well. Genba should arrive at your front gate within the hour. He’s a big man with a large smile.”
She murmured her thanks, and he stepped off the veranda and onto the garden path. The events of the day had finally managed to give him a headache. He looked forward to a hot bath, food, and bed. Retracing his steps, he checked the gardens and service buildings, visited the back gate again, finding it securely locked, and explored the shrubbery underneath the troublesome pine branch. Eventually he made his way to the front gate, where he found Anju waiting for him.
She said ungraciously, “I have to let you out. The gate can only be locked from the inside.”
He nodded. “Keep an eye on your mistress. If you can find a sharper weapon than your master’s sword, use it. As soon as Genba arrives, you can relax.”
She bowed. “I’m sure the master will be much obliged.”
The two wings of the big double gate were barred by a ponderous beam that it would take two sturdy men to lift. But a smaller gate was cut into one of the panels. This was bolted by two sliding bars. A short chain led from this gate to a bamboo rattle. Nobody could pass in or out without alerting the household. He waited for her to open this gate, but she stared at him, almost as if she were still trying to decide if he was friend or foe. Then she made a strange sound, something between a grunt and a chuckle, and slipped the bars back. The small gate flew open with a loud rattle of the bamboo sticks, and he stepped through.
“It’s Murata,” she said.
He turned, but the gate slammed shut with another rattle, and he heard the bolts slide into place and her footsteps recede.
For a moment he was confused. Murata? Had he misheard? What had she meant by it? Then it came to him that she must have given him Lady Yasugi’s family name. Most helpful, of course, but why had she done so in defiance of her mistress’s wishes?
Perhaps Anju had a purpose of her own. Her mistress had made it clear that, far from being her devoted servant, Anju was her watchdog, loyal only to Lord Yasugi. But this was surely not in her master’s interest. Akitada wondered again about the relationship between the wealthy lord and his third wife. Perhaps, being elderly and uncertain of his power to attract a pretty young woman, Yasugi was filled with jealous suspicions.
Lady Kose had said he had taken pity on her because she had been a poor widow. Strange, he had almost forgotten that. As she had not given Yasugi any children, her position was especially weak. It lent some credence to her claim that she was afraid to have Yasugi find out about Tomoe. But was any husband so unreasonable as to hold a harmless meeting between sisters against his wife? No, it was more likely that she feared the connection because of some past indiscretion. And Anju? Why was she making trouble for her mistress?
He was suddenly exhausted. Rubbing his throbbing head, he cast another glance at the Yasugi villa’s imposing gates, many tiled roofs, and well-kept walls, and went home through the evening dusk.
Genba admitted him with the news that Tora had not returned yet. He was chewing, and Akitada was tired and irritated. He said sharply, “Why are you always eating? For heaven’s sake, at least put the food away and empty your mouth when you answer the gate.”
Genba hung his head. “Sorry, sir. My supper. Your lady is sending me out on errands and I grabbed a bite while I could.”
“Hmm . . . I’m afraid I have another, more important assignment for you.”
Genba looked nervous. “Her ladyship needs ink, paper, and brushes to teach the young master. And cook wants more rice and some dried fish.”
“I don’t care what they told you,” Akitada snapped. “You have no time for silly errands. You’re to go to a villa in the western city. I found two women there alone and had to chase a ruffian away who had climbed into their garden. Heaven knows what would have happened if I hadn’t come along. He was one of the men who attacked us yesterday.”
Genba broke in, “You found the nun?”
“Yes, but she’s no nun. She is Lady Yasugi, wife of a wealthy provincial lord, and she has only a maid with her. They expect an escort to take them to their country estate, but meanwhile they’re in desperate danger. Take your bow and arrows and a short sword. And hurry. It’s growing dark already, and those thugs will probably return at nightfall.” He gave Genba directions and then went into the house.
Tamako and his son were in her room, sitting close together, looking at a scroll of pictures and poems by the light of a tall candle. Yori scrambled up, crying, “Come and see the fine book Mother found. There are pictures of rabbits and foxes, and of frogs and birds. And all of them are dressed like people.”
Akitada swung his small son up into his arm and went to look. Tamako greeted him with a smile. “Welcome home. Your eye looks much better.”
He doubted that, but nodded. “You make a charming picture reading together. How is Yori’s reading coming along?”
“Oh, exceedingly well,” she said brightly.
“I hate reading,” Yori informed his father. “I’d much rather practice with my sword.”
His mother flushed and shook her head at Yori. Something about that small message between mother and son irritated Akitada.
“Come, Yori,” he told the boy, “let’s sit down and you can read to me what it says next to these pictures.”
Tamako said quickly, “It is in grass writing and too difficult for a child of Yori’s age.”