Samurai Captive

by Barbara Sheridan

  The rain still hadn’t come by the time Hannah had taken in the wash and remade her bed. Before going downstairs, she made up Grayson’s room and had herself a quick look around, but failed to find anything in the bedroom out of the ordinary beyond some of those shunga pictures. They were like the ones her old employer picked up over in Kanagawa. Naughty little things they were, depicting men and women engaged in all sorts of sex in every place imaginable from posh teahouses to the edges of rice fields.

  Each one reminded her of those lovely hours spent in Katsuhiro’s arms, but she forced herself not to dwell on that right now. Finishing up in the bedroom, she dusted the few things in the upper hall. When she dusted the small picture outside her room one of the picture’s nails came loose. Hannah caught the frame and eased it from the wall before it could fall.

  “And what have we here?” she wondered aloud. There was a hole almost dead center but larger than the nail holes and below the ones where the hanging nails were set. He hadn’t. He had! Why, you little rotter.

  That was a peephole, and that rotten bastard must have been watching her wash up this morning. That was why he had been fiddling with the picture and had that sly smirk on his face. She heard the front door open and was about to go down and give Grayson a piece of her mind, but he wasn’t alone. That Captain Tipton was with him, and he weren’t none too pleased from the sound of it.

  “Dammit, Gabriel. Things were fine last night. What happened?”

  “I don’t know, but don’t worry about it!”

  “Thousands are riding on that man’s cooperation. Of course I’m worrying about it.”

  “I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to him tonight. Now be quiet before the maid hears you.”

  Hannah opened then shut her door loudly enough for them to hear downstairs. “That you, Mr. Grayson? I’m tidying things up. I’ll be down directly.”

  “Take your time, Hannah. I have some letters to write.”

  Hannah heard the front door open then close, and a single set of footsteps crossed the narrow entry before an inner door closed. Hannah wedged the fallen nail back into its hole the best she could and rehung the picture. She went down to Grayson’s study and knocked on the door, expecting him to bark at her to go away. Instead, he opened the door.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir. I just wanted to know what time you wanted your dinner.”

  Grayson gave her a dismissive wave. “Don’t make anything. I’ll be going out in a while. I’ll get something.”

  Hannah gave him a bright smile. “Would you mind then if I went out a bit myself this evening? I wanted to visit with one of my lady friends. Yoriko from that little meat shop, you know, the one with the nasty little monkeys hangin’ in the window. I’m helping her learn English.”

  Grayson breathed an exasperated sigh, then gave another dismissive wave. “Fine. Go. I don’t care. “

  Hannah bobbed a quick curtsey. “Thank you, sir. You have yourself a good evening, then.” She stared at the door a moment when he closed it in her face. Now if I can find out what you’re on about and how Sato-san figures in, I’ll be quite peachy.

  Busying herself in the kitchen, Hannah waited until Grayson went out then puttered around the parlor and dining room a bit longer in case he forgot something and returned. After a good hour, she let herself into his locked study, courtesy of a few tricks from her old childhood friend and expert lock picker, Ollie Moody.

  The study’s only window faced the small backyard, and Hannah took the chance of taking a candle with her to snoop around since what little light had been poking through the clouds was fading quickly.

  She didn’t find much on or in the desk except for some more of those shunga prints, these ones featuring a few scenes of men with men and women with women. Again she was reminded of last night and that time of watching Katsuhiro and his friend going at each other. Get your mind on track, Hannah. He might come back, you daft thing.

  On track. Right. It would help if she knew what the hell she was looking for. Something that tied Grayson to Katsuhiro’s friend was the best place to start, but she’d seen nothing like that so far. She looked around the room and muttered, “If I was keepin’ secrets, where would I keep ‘em?”

  For the second time she flipped through the books scattered about the tables and in the tall slim case then poked around peeking behind the couple picture frames before getting down on her hands and knees to look beneath the two low tables and under the desk to see if anything had been tacked up there. There was nothing to be found apart from the wadded papers and pipe scrapings in a low wooden box beside the desk.

  The papers were either old merchant bills Grayson had paid, letters received or ones written that had gotten unsightly ink splotches. The lone paper not to match the others in some way was a wadded up sheet with various figures written over it, crossed out then written again. It looked like Grayson had been doing some calculations and dividing the total by three then two.

  Hannah copied it all down as quickly as she could, then crumpled up the original and tossed it back in the bin. She tucked the copy into her dress bodice then exited the room and headed over to visit with Yoriko. Maybe catching up on a bit more local gossip would help her figure out why Sato-san and Grabby Grayson were having words.

  * * * * *

  Hannah laughed and clapped her hands after Yoriko read a passage from an old copy of the Japan Gazette. She had trouble with some of the words and sounds of the letters but she was close to being a scholar compared to some Hannah had known in Whitechapel. “You don’t need much help from me any more. Why, you’ll be good enough to be one of them translators in no time at all. You’ll make a boatload of money, enough to buy yourself one of them big fancy houses, bigger than Grayson’s.”

  Yoriko flashed a brilliant smile. “I would be happy for enough to buy the pretty kimono fabric I saw long ago in Edo.” She got up and scurried over to a low lacquered chest where she kept her clothing. She pulled out a little square of ivory silk and opened it to show Hannah the two gold pieces and some little coins inside. “I have translated letters for two of the ship captains.”

  Hannah clapped again. “You were a busy little thing those months while I was gone.”

  Yoriko giggled again then returned her nest egg to its hiding place. She left to make them a pot of tea, and Hannah’s mind began to wander. Removing the paper from her bodice, she began to wonder what Grayson had been figuring and why he’d divided it in thirds then halves. He could be investing with one or two other blokes. Maybe that old Tipton had found himself another good trade deal like he had with that sappan wood.

  Or maybe he was trading in something a bit fishy. That would certainly explain Grayson’s windfall to build himself a fine new house in the short time she’d been gone from Yokohama, and it could explain the numbers he’d been working on.

  And she couldn’t forget Sato-san in all this.

  “Oh, I really want to know what pie you got your sticky fingers into, mate.”

  Soon, Yoriko returned with the tea and some of those chewy daifuku pastries Hannah liked. “These are lemon! They remind me of the wee tarts my mother used to make.”

  Yoriko smiled. “I remember. When Tipton-san paid me for his letter today, he gave me some lemons that just come in.”

  Hannah stopped in mid bite and lowered the daifuku. “No wonder they taste so fresh and lemony. I saw Captain Tipton today too. He was talking with Mr. Grayson, and I don’t think he was none too happy. I wonder if he got some bad news from somewhere. I guess that’s what he needed a letter sent for.”

  Yoriko shook her head. “He did not send a letter. He received one.”

  A prickle ran along the back of Hannah’s neck. “Did he now?” She laughed and finished her pastry. “I hope it weren’t a love letter from a married lady. I know how randy them sailor boys can be ‑‑ even the older ones.”

  “Randy?”

  “You know.” Hannah grabbed at her skirts and both she and Yoriko dissolved int
o laughter.

  “It was no love letter,” Yoriko said as she placed another pastry on Hannah’s plate. “It said ships from Nagaski were better to trade. Yokohama ships pay many ryo but should show more respect to Japanese.”

  “Sounds to me like whoever ol’ Tipton is dealing with got their knickers in a twist.” Hannah reached across to the tableside brazier for the teapot to refill their cups. The pot’s handle came loose just as she was bringing it to the table and doused the front of her dress with hot tea. Luckily most of it landed on her skirts and her petticoats absorbed most of the scalding liquid before it hit her skin.

  Yoriko was beside herself with worry, apologizing like mad for having a defective utensil that should injure an honored guest. She brought Hannah one of her kimonos and insisted on keeping the soiled garments to clean.

  “It’s nothing to make a fuss over, luv. It ain’t the first time I ever spilled stuff on meself.”

  “You must allow me. Please, Hannah-san.”

  “All right, then, but don’t you go fretting no more about it, you hear? It was just an ol’ accident.”

  Rain was falling in a steady stream of fat drops a short time later when Hannah left to go home, and she had to borrow a oil treated jacket and parasol from Yoriko as well. Hannah was very glad to have that parasol to shield herself when a dark shape emerged from around the side of Grayson’s house. It was a man, a samurai, who hurried down the hill, his head tipped down so that his large hat caught the brunt of the rain.

  Hannah almost called out Katsuhiro’s name, but stopped herself when she realized it wasn’t him. The white crest on the black hat wasn’t the same as the one adorning Katsuhiro’s clothing. But it was a familiar family mark all the same. She tilted her parasol and veered off the center of the road to make it look like she was headed to the nearest house on her right. She waited a few moments, then hurried on toward Grayson’s, going around the back herself.

  A light was burning in Grayson’s study, and Hannah couldn’t help but glance in as she passed. “Blimey!” Hannah dropped the lantern she carried and it sputtered out and collapsed when it hit the damp ground. Grayson lay over his desk, shirtless and bruised, his pants bunched around his ankles. She rushed inside, dropped the parasol to the kitchen floor, and hurried to the study.

  Grayson was coming around by the time she reached him, and he pushed her away when she tried to help him.

  Hannah grabbed his arm while he tugged his shirt back on. “Who did this to you? Let me help you. I’ll go get the police!”

  He shoved her into the wall and pointed. “You keep your mouth shut, do you hear? Nothing happened. No one did anything to me. No one.” He jerked his pants up and made for the door, stopping when he reached it. He turned and pointed at Hannah again. “Not one word of this gets out, do you hear me? If you so much as even remember what you think you saw here tonight, I will kill you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hannah stared at the empty doorway, not doubting that he would kill her or at least try if she went blabbing. Of course, he meant blabbing in a general gossipy way, like to Yoriko or her other acquaintances. Telling Katsuhiro what went on wasn’t blabbing at all. In fact it was her duty. Now, she just had to figure a way to get word to him without ol’ Grabby Grayson knowing.

  The rain fell through the night and kept on through the gray morning, the wind from the bay blowing the heavy drops like sopping wet sheets hung out to dry. Hannah spent her time with mundane chores and cleaning the dirt from the lower half of the kimono Yoriko had lent her. She made breakfast for Grayson, but he refused it. She figured he’d refuse lunch, too, but then dear old Captain Tipton showed up, not quite as upset as his last visit, but still not the happiest bloke around.

  Grayson asked Hannah to bring them some of the soup she’d mentioned that morning and to serve it in the study. When Hannah placed the bowls and spoons on the round table, she glanced over to the desk. She didn’t get the best look, but it seemed that Grayson had been scribbling more figures.

  “If you gents need anything, just give us a holler. I’ll be puttering around polishing the furniture.”

  “Fine, fine,” Grayson muttered. Tipton said nothing but dug into his meal.

  Hannah exited the study, pulling the door shut, but not so far that the latch clicked. There should be just enough space to let their conversation drift out to her as she worked. She picked up the container of beeswax she’d set aside when bringing the food in and took out the cloth she kept tucked into her apron and began working on the side table closest to the study door.

  It was a good thing Grabby had gone all out when buying this place and had bought the fanciest furniture he could find, the kinds with lots of scrolls and carving to the wood. Hannah took her sweet time working the wax into all the little crevices of the leg nearest the door and an equal amount of time wishing those two would do more than slurp their soup and tea. Bastards. Did they suspect she was snooping about?

  Or maybe they’d said all they had to say while she was getting their meal ready. Damn. She moved from the table leg up to work the wax into the scroll and flower carvings of the table apron. She’d worked her way along the table’s front edge and was starting on the far leg when Grayson finally spoke.

  “You’re sure this rain won’t delay the ship.”

  “It shouldn’t,” Tipton said before slurping up his soup. “The wind is with us, and the goods will keep dry enough even if we tried to unload tonight when they come in.”

  He slurped a bit more, the last of it Hannah guessed. “You sure our friend is still with us? What I heard from him yesterday makes me wonder.”

  “I told you I spoke to him last night after that. He’ll hold up his end of things.”

  “He’d better. Men have already died over this ‑‑ some of their own even ‑‑ and I don’t want to join them in hell.”

  Grayson gave a derisive laugh. “You’re the one who’s always touting the higher profits go with the greater risks.” He paused and Hannah heard the clink of porcelain. “Hannah!”

  Hannah grabbed the wax and made her way across the parlor as quickly and quietly as she could. “You call me, sir?”

  “We need more tea.”

  Hannah went into the study and took up the empty pot, giving both men a smile and hoping they couldn’t hear the nervous pounding of her heart.

  “Be right back, sir.”

  Tipton smacked her on her arse. “Bring me a couple more of those biscuits of yours and some jam.”

  “Straightaway, sir.”

  The pounding of Hannah’s heart didn’t ease once she reached the kitchen. If anything, it became worse and a queasy feeling overtook her stomach as the sea captain’s words ran through her mind. Men have already died over this ‑‑ some of their own even ‑‑ and I don’t want to join them in hell.

  While catching up on events, Yoriko had said some bloke had been cut down on the road to Kanagawa the other night. She’d said there’d been two others just as mysterious during the time Hannah had been stuck in Edo.

  As she ladled some jam into a small dish, that attack at Katsuhiro’s estate came back to her too. It took some balls to try and kill a man in his own house when he had a slew of armed men close by. And the way that was done up with their faces mostly covered said they was more than just bent on robbing a well-off samurai. They was out for blood and blood alone.

  Hannah looked out the kitchen window. The rain hadn’t let up. It would look more than a bit strange if she tried to do some “marketing,” and since she’d seen Yoriko last night, Grayson might question her wanting to go again, though she could plead wanting to take back the kimono. Of course wanting to deliver it in a downpour seemed more than a little daft.

  Besides, Katsuhiro wasn’t likely to be walking around the wet, muddy streets of Yokohama today on the off chance she had information for him. Trying to get to the inn at Kanagawa in this mess wasn’t very bright either.

  Damn. Well, she’d figure something out.


  * * * * *

  Katsu stood near an upper window of the inn, arms tucked into his sleeves, his thoughts an endless circle as he gazed out at the rain pelting the broken shoji panels and bloodstained tatami mats piled at the rear of the inn.

  Pulling back his kimono sleeve, Katsu looked down at the bandage on his right forearm. Three assassins had come in the dead of night, overpowering the lone guard and nearly catching him unawares while he slept, dreaming of holding Hannah in his arms once more.

  The trio carried the same mark as the would-be assassins in Edo had, and just like in Edo, Masato had been slow in coming to his aid. When pressed for an explanation as to why he’d dismissed the other man ordered to keep night watch, Masato simply said he doubted there’d be any sort of trouble on such a rainy night.

  “Is that why you slept through the commotion of my room being broken into?”

  “I didn’t sleep through anything. I wasn’t in my room.”

  “On a night like this? And where did you go, old friend?”

  “I had personal business to tend to.”

  “Such as?”

  “Personal. Much as your barbarian whore had, I imagine. I saw her. She was sneaking around in the rain dressed in a kimono. Now why do you think that is?”

  * * * * *

  The rain continued on, the gray sky growing darker until the day faded into evening then night. Tipton had stayed the afternoon, he and Grayson playing chess then cards. Hannah made them meat pies for supper, and Tipton stayed around long enough for a smoke and a couple brandies before he took off. He smacked Hannah’s bottom after she helped him into his oilskin coat.

  “I may just steal her away, Gabe my boy. I can use a pretty little maid like her when I retire.”

  Hannah forced a lilting laugh. “Oh, you go on. A young man like you retirin’ soon. Don’t be a tease.”

  Tipton gave her tit a squeeze, his eyes glassier for the drink in him. “A rich man can retire when he wants, and when you next see the sun over Yokohama Bay, I’ll be that man.”