Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine 03/01/11

by Dell Magazines

  “No, no,” said the princess. “I would like to meet your friend.” She told O-hana not to bother setting up a curtain screen because it was so hot and they could all be ladies together. This made Aoi uneasy. With this guest lately there usually also came problems, and she thought that her mistress had enough problems of her own. O-hana took away the sewing and ushered in a thin woman who was unusually tall.

  “Lady, I intrude,” the visitor said to the princess, bowing low as if she wished she could disappear. Aoi could tell that she had hoped for a private conversation.

  “No, no. I am happy to see you. Lady Aoi speaks of you.”

  It was Lady Teishi, widow of a man who had died during the previous summer’s epidemic of smallpox.

  As was the custom, Aoi expressed sympathy briefly and incompletely. “I know it must be so difficult for you . . .” she said.

  The woman opposite, whose figure was striped by shadows from the blinds, opened her fan and raised a corner of her sleeve to blot tears. She was a little untidy in her dress, the outer robe of bronze-colored silk wrinkled and not quite set on her shoulders and her long hair straying here and there from its confining travel ribbons. Aoi noticed that the princess was observing avidly the tears of another unhappy woman.

  “But,” said Aoi “you have the consolation of your beautiful daughter.” And to the princess, “You have heard of this daughter, possibly?”

  “Ah, yes. So that is your . . . But they say . . .”

  Aoi wondered at once if this was the wrong topic to bring up because young women of marriageable age were often not consolations but worrying puzzles. Rumors of a girl of good family who is well favored were common, and commonly exaggerated. For peeping and illicit intimacy were sports among the men, accepted and deplored but not criminal, and if the man was highborn enough, not vigorously protested. Unmarried girls must be protected with discretion from spying and from invasion of privacy. And then when a man wanted to visit with the intention of marriage, parents had the difficult task of assessing his sincerity. For if, after careful negotiation, they allowed the overnight visits to begin and then the man did not complete the three consecutive times that meant marriage, the girl’s reputation suffered and everyone was unhappy. Worst of all was if a prying man managed to get to the girl in her own house and spend the night making love to her. Then he would brag to others and that young woman would not be considered fit for a fine match. Daughters could be married to those of high rank and thus increase the influence of their fathers and all their relatives. Of course, there was an opposite advantage if it was a man who married into a higher family. It was because of this possibility of social and professional advance that the matter of marriage was such a serious one.

  “Ah, I knew you would understand,” Teishi said. She paused and looked doubtfully at the princess. “If I may speak personally?” And then to Aoi, “I need your advice. There is a worse problem than you can imagine. But you are so wise and I hope I may ask you . . .”

  Aoi was known in court circles for her unwomanly accomplishments, which included reading Chinese, and through that a knowledge of herbs and medicines. She was often called to attend to physical problems, though her advice was usually simple common sense. She had been credited with removing a troublesome spirit by opening the sickroom to fresh breezes, tempting the evil possession to creep out and be blown away. There was no doubt, however, that the medicines in her little chest with the many drawers always worked. Because Aoi only used those that had worked in the past. Yet seeing her successes with a dose here and there or massage of cramping muscles, people thought her to be wise in the matter of personal problems as well.

  “You see,” said Teishi, “it is Little Brother.”

  “Ah. Tell me what he has done now.” It was the princess who spoke, to Aoi’s surprise. She would be glad to hear of the misbehavior of a highborn man who was not her husband, it seemed.

  Aoi knew this Little Brother, whose name was Masahira. He was a brother, as had been Teishi’s husband, of the Great Minister of the Left, that man who ruled as one of the heads of the government, sharing power with the Great Minister of the Right, who was the father of the princess Aoi served and Aoi‘s special friend. There was the emperor, of course, but he had no actual power and it was the princess’s father who was the effective and active force in making decisions, while he of the Left was allowed to be highly visible in his gorgeous robes, displaying perfect dignity and courtesy and receiving petitions and requests for favor, and many, many gifts. His brothers—the one who had died and the younger one now left—shone with light reflected from such brilliance and had places in the government hierarchy. For the youngest, the one known universally as Little Brother, his position in the Ministry of Domestic Affairs was famously not enough.

  The story came out between times of weeping and times of choking on indignation and fury. To compensate for his insignificance, Little Brother had amassed more and more parcels of land, a source of income for all aristocrats. He had encouraged the peasants on these estates to develop a specialty of making rice wine, which was so good that Little Brother was able to trade the famous barrels for almost anything. First of all, of course, he wanted more land, and then he had let his friends cancel all taxes on his property and its produce. He lived in a house they had assigned him, they sent him cloth and food and carriages and horses. For this younger brother, called by the illustrious head of the family “the little one,” pursued all manly pleasures: riding the hills and woods after deer and wild boar, shooting from the saddle with an enormous bow, drinking and banqueting, and often adding wives to his household. He was always to be seen in hunting dress that was much worn and he seemed to take pride in their ragged and dirty condition.

  All these things Aoi knew, as the did princess, she thought. They knew also that when Teishi’s husband died, Little Brother had driven her from her splendid house and given her a lesser one and a small stipend to live on, saying that he had a friend who was owed a favor and who wanted to return to the capital after his stint as governor in a distant province. The house would be given to him. Teishi had been helpless without the influence of any men in her family, who had all died or been driven into exile by the Great Minister of the Left for their threatening prominence. Thus when the middle brother married Teishi, he had failed to gain any political advantage but he had not minded, being much attached to his wife.

  What Aoi did not know was that Little Brother had no children and had decided to adopt Teishi‘s daughter and make her available soon for marriage. He was pressing her to turn over the child at once.

  “She is too young,” the grieving woman moaned, “and she is quite small in her body. She cannot bear a child with so little growth and . . .”

  “And,” the princess said, “you are out of your mind with worry. We quite understand.”

  “He seeks advantage by marrying her to someone high up.” Teishi, in a gesture of rage and impotence, tore her hair aside so fiercely that Aoi expected to see a sheaf of it fall onto the polished floor. “I have kept her close to me, especially since her father died, and we—her old nurse is still with us—we have seen to her education. They are already saying how perfect she is, and though I know that none of those men has had even the smallest sight of her, she is almost all that they say. She plays the lute quite acceptably and she likes especially to make swift ink drawings to illustrate poems. Her handwriting is unusual and interesting and it will improve with time. Her hair lies well and is almost to the floor already. Really she is perfect, though I should not say it. But she is so young, not yet fourteen!”

  For a moment the justified pride of a mother softened her features. Aoi sighed. “But if her uncle asks,” Teishi want on, “I must produce her. If only her father had not died!”

  “This serving woman you mention—”

  “Her name is Shosho.”

  “Yes. Is she loyal, does she truly care for her?”

  “Oh, yes. She came to us from my husband�
��s family when our child was born. She is much more upset by all this than I am.”

  “That is good,” Aoi said. “For often in a situation like this, the closest servant is persuaded or forced to betray the family.”

  Aoi observed that Teishi became still in the midst of a motion to straighten her collars. Immediately suppressing her distress, she dropped into a bow of leave-taking. There were mumbled and confused explanations and Teishi left abruptly.

  “Unh?” said the princess.

  “Ah, she was always sort of a sudden person. Please do not mind. It is plain how upset she is just now.”

  “Yes,” said the princess with more relish than sympathy.

  Left alone, Aoi thought with dismay of Masahira, the Little Brother. He had recently sent for her and she had tried to avoid going by replying that she was ritually unclean because of the death of a person who had consulted her. She had not foreseen that he would discover that no one whom she would have seen in that way had recently died. He became furious and sent again, saying that he would expect her in the evening. Again she put him off, but the next day he could not be denied entry to the princess’s house and he sat beside Aoi’s curtain and confided that he had a trifling problem.

  Hearing of pains and fallings down and loss of weight, seeing between the curtain panels that there was a bounding pulse in his throat and that his eyes were yellow, she told him as carefully as she could that if he continued to drink rice wine to excess, she could not expect many more months for him of the sports he enjoyed. He took this as an insult to his strength and to his judgment and to his manhood and left in a temper.

  Aoi did not think to be afraid, but she would have to be very careful if she were to help Lady Teishi and her daughter. She found a warm spot just out of the sun and set herself to thinking.

  For the next few days the sublime summer held. Knowing it could not be long before rain and cold winds, Aoi spent time beside the blue flowers, which was where O-hana found her.

  “That person has come to the kitchen,” she said.

  “Oh? I have not sent for him. What does he want?”

  “He is as filthy and drunk as ever, says he wants rice, won’t stay to speak to you, as if we would let him into the house.”

  “I see.” This was the Combmaker, a man of odd talents who could be sometimes called upon for discreet investigations in the city. “Can you bring him? Yes, after a wash . . .” Aoi knew that it was usual for O-hana to throw a bucket of water on the Combmaker and scrub a bit before allowing him into Aoi’s presence.

  O-hana returned to say he could not delay, but he would be beside her morning glories dressed as a gardener at the end of the day. He had filled his hands with rice balls and staggered against the gate guard on his way out.

  At dusk he appeared with a can of water and a basketful of dead blossoms. Aoi was in place behind the screen of vines.

  “Am I to be greeted by a well-spoken person this time,” Aoi said. “No pushing your chest along the ground? No lisping and slurring of compliments?”

  “Now, lady, do not mock me. I have bad things to tell you. I am afraid for you.”

  “Ah,” said Aoi, too surprised to make a whole sentence. If the Combmaker was not bothering with his usual act of exaggerated awe and submission, this must be serious indeed. “Tell me,” she said.

  “I see things, you know, down in the city. And this time they may have seen me. That is why I could not linger earlier, why I had to leave with food in my hands.”

  “And what is it you have seen?”

  “Two men, and they were wearing the old uniform of the guard of the Great Minister, he of the Left.”

  “Old uniform?”

  “Well, you know he is always changing their shoes or their hats or the colors of their belts. And these men wore the fashion of three years ago. And that means . . .?”

  Aoi was at a loss. “Means what?”

  With elaborate patience he explained. “His brother buys up the out-of-fashion uniform pieces and puts them on his own men out in the country. So you see this means . . .”

  “It means that Little Brother has brought rough men to the city.”

  “Yes. And you made him angry and doubting of himself. Lady, I fear for you and you must be careful.”

  “But I merely said . . .”

  He looked down, giving her a chance to reflect on the character of Little Brother.

  “Hmm.”

  “You must have a guard. Or can you move to the house of the princess’s father?”

  “I can. But I will not.”

  “Then, lady, we will watch you.” And before she could reply he had splashed his water on the roots of the vines, tossed aside the can, changed his shape to that of a man with a bent leg and was gone into the shadows of the garden. The basket of dried petals sat tipped against a stone where he had been.

  Aoi sighed. They would watch, some of his army of waifs and cripples, and she would never know they were there. But O-hana must warn the cook and the boy who fetched charcoal and the maid who brought water from the well. She wanted no alarms from unexpected collisions and no reports of ghosts.

  It was only a day later that a wiry boy of twelve or so spoke to O-hana outside the gate. “I am supposed to say it was not her,” he said.

  “Unh?”

  “Just a message—I don’t know what it means.”

  But another message soon arrived, from Lady Teishi. Aoi sent for O-hana. “That lady who is in trouble . . .” Aoi always confided in this sensible woman from the country and they often consulted together. “She says that Shosho, the one who cared for the young daughter, has run away.” Aoi indicated a folded bit of paper.

  “I see. But why?”

  They looked at each other, both easily imagining why. This Little Brother was a bully who would have tried at once to pressure the poor nursemaid to help him in his efforts to take the girl into his own house. Nodding, they agreed on the unspoken idea between them.

  “And do you think she would really leave the child unprotected? It is my impression that she was extreme in her devotion.” Aoi felt sick, the alternative to running away was too violent to contemplate. “And,” she said miserably, “there is that strange message from the Combmaker that I am not the one.”

  “He means,” said O-hana, “that it is someone else who has been harmed.”

  Nodding, puzzled, increasingly unhappy, they began to make a plan. Aoi wrote on a large piece of paper, O-hana gave it to the messenger boy to take to Lady Teishi’s house and then began to pack. The princess was given a brief explanation and agreed to Aoi’s absence and said she would let her father’s steward know how many to expect. The Great Minister of the Right was not in the city just now but would return within a few weeks.

  The day had been steadily darkening but the storm held off until they were safely inside the mansion in the First Ward. Aoi wanted their passage to be observed and reported because, by this move, they declared the source of their support and they were assured of safety. Even the brother of such a high minister as he of the Left would not dare to displease the mighty Minister of the Right.

  Lady Teishi brought only a few servants—her personal woman, a very young replacement for the missing Shosho, a cook to help out in the kitchen, and two men to take care of the carriages and the oxen. Her own small house was left almost unguarded. It meant nothing to Teishi if she could not use it to shelter her daughter.

  The girl’s name was Takako but Teishi addressed her as Sister, though she had no siblings. Seeming too frightened to speak, she shrank into her robes, tiny and bewildered. Aoi touched her carefully, marveling at the perfectly oval face and springing hair that streamed in a brilliant flood to the edges of her gowns, but seeing also the immaturity that could not understand the significance of her own beauty. She thought to reassure her in this enormous house, stroking and patting but requiring no response. They let her retire to her private space and Aoi’s conversation with Teishi was not ended until long aft
er dark.

  “We fear,” Aoi said, indicating O-hana and making sure it was understood that her maid was a part of this conference, “that your woman has been . . . eliminated. I know you are shocked. But rough men have been seen and they were connected to Little Brother—of that we are sure. Now the woman is gone, the men are gone, and . . .”

  “But would they have . . .?”

  “Oh, yes. Think! Think who it is you are dealing with. A man so doubtful of his own worth that he has spent his life living off of others. This will not be the first time he has killed—”

  A gasp escaped Teishi, hearing the word spoken.

  “—killed to get his way.”

  It took some time to calm Lady Teishi so that they could explain to her what they meant to do.

  “He will find you. We will see to that. In fact, he probably already knows. We did not try to hide our journey. But as long as we are here, he can do nothing rash. What he will do, we think, is to try to put one of his own women into your service.”

  Teishi’s aversion was violent and immediate.

  “This you must allow,” Aoi said.

  At length they persuaded her.

  Aoi sent for the Combmaker. When he came, the servants received him calmly. They were well trained and they knew that their master had dealings sometimes with people from the back alleys. He came in on his knees, flopping about as if too drunk to know which way was upright. His weak eye rolled in and out of focus, never looking at the curtain screen that concealed Aoi. Finally he lost the battle to stay vertical, collapsing onto the floor and pushing himself forward with awkward heaves, all the while intoning sentences of submission.

  “Thish lowly pershon has come . . . Ah, lady, you have requesht . . . have done me the honor . . .” Here he paused to congratulate himself on an unslurred phrase. “. . . to . . .” And he drew his limbs together, focused his eyes, sat into a graceful bow, and finished in a perfect imitation of highborn speech, “to ask for my humble advice? Is that it?”

  Aoi smiled behind the curtain. That was the essence of it: This man was many men in one disgraceful bundle.