Licking her greasy fingers, Lady Keisho-in said, “How nice to see you again, Sōsakan Sano. And your assistant, too.” She batted eyes at Hirata, who stared at the floor. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
“Thank you, but we’ve already eaten,” Sano lied politely. The odors of fish and garlic sickened him; he could not have swallowed food.
“A drink, then?”
“I don’t think the Sōsakan-sama is here on a social visit, my lady,” Ryuko said. He turned to Sano. “What can we do for you?”
Although Sano had met Ryuko during religious ceremonies, they’d never done more than exchange greetings, but he knew the priest’s reputation. The cozy atmosphere confirmed the rumors about his intimate relationship with Keisho-in. Meeting Ryuko’s shrewd gaze, Sano understood that he was the motivating intelligence behind her power. The discovery didn’t cheer Sano. His main argument in favor of Lady Keisho-in’s innocence was her good-natured stupidity. However, with Ryuko as a confederate, she wouldn’t have to be evil or smart to commit murder.
“Please forgive the intrusion, Honorable Lady, but I must speak to you about Harume.”
“Haven’t we already done that?” Lady Keisho-in frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what more I can say.”
She looked to Ryuko for help, but he was gazing at the diary in Sano’s hand. An unnatural stillness of expression masked whatever he thought or felt.
“Some matters have recently come to my attention,” Sano said. With the sense of crossing a line between safe ground and battlefield, he said, “What was your relationship with Harume?”
Shrugging, Keisho-in stuffed a radish pickle into her mouth. “I liked her very much.”
“You were friends, then?” Sano asked.
“Why, yes, of course.”
“More than friends?”
“Just what exactly are you asking?” Priest Ryuko interjected.
Ignoring him, Sano said, “This is Harume’s diary.” He untied the binding cord and read the hidden words of erotic love, emphasizing the final passage:
“But alas! Your rank and fame endanger us.
We can never walk together in daylight.
Yet love is eternal; you are mine forever, as I am yours,
In spirit, though not in marriage.”
“Did Harume write that to you, Lady Keisho-in?” Sano asked.
Keisho-in’s mouth fell open, revealing an ugly mush of chewed food. “Impossible!”
“The reference to rank and fame fits you,” Sano said.
“But the passage doesn’t mention Lady Keisho-in by name,” Ryuko cut in smoothly. “Did Harume say anywhere in the diary that they were lovers?”
“No,” Sano admitted.
“Then she must have been writing about someone else.” Ryuko’s voice remained suavely calm, but he withdrew his legs from beneath the quilt, as if he was too warm.
“Shortly before Harume died,” Sano said, “she begged her father to remove her from Edo Castle. She said she was afraid of someone. Was it you, Lady Keisho-in?”
“Preposterous!” Keisho-in chewed a rice ball angrily. Was her response genuine, or an act? “I showed Harume nothing but kindness and affection.”
“My lady doesn’t like what you’re implying, Sōsakan-sama.” A warning note edged Ryuko’s voice. “If you have any sense, you will leave now, before she decides to express her displeasure through official channels.”
The threat was no less of a blow for being expected. Had Sano been interviewing just Lady Keisho-in, he might have subtly ascertained her innocence or extracted a confession without open confrontation. But Ryuko was forcing the issue. He would never let his patroness admit to murder, because he would share her punishment. He would protect his own skin by attacking Sano…especially if he’d conspired to murder the shogun’s unborn heir. Inwardly Sano cursed his truth-seeking nature, which doomed him to build his own funeral pyre. But he couldn’t change the demands of duty and honor. Resigned, he took out the letter.
“Tell me if you recognize this, Lady Keisho-in,” Sano said, and read:
“‘You do not love me. Much as I try to believe otherwise, I cannot blind myself to the truth any longer.’”
As he voiced the pained recriminations, jealous passion, and pleas for Harume’s love, Sano periodically checked his audience’s reaction. Keisho-in’s eyes grew wider and wider, her face haggard with shock. Ryuko’s expression turned from incredulity to dismay. They looked the picture of criminals caught in the act. Sano felt little satisfaction. A conviction of Lady Keisho-in would be hard to get from a judicial system controlled by her son; the price of trying could be Sano’s life.
“‘What I really want is to see you suffer as I do. I could stab you and watch the blood run out. I could poison you and delight in your agony. As you plead for mercy, I will only laugh and say: “This is how it feels!”
“‘If you will not love me, I will kill you!’”
Silence. Lady Keisho-in and Priest Ryuko sat paralyzed. The charcoal fumes, the food odors, and the room’s stifling heat enclosed Sano, Hirata, and the two conspirators in a nauseating pall.
Then Keisho-in began to cough, clutching her throat. “Help!” she gasped out.
Ryuko pounded her back. “Water!” he commanded. “She’s choking on her food!”
Hirata leapt up. From a ceramic jar he poured water into a cup for the priest, who held it to Keisho-in’s lips. “Drink, my lady,” Ryuko urged.
Her face reddened; her eyes teared as she retched and wheezed. She gulped the water, drooling it onto her robe.
Ryuko glared at Sano. “Look what you’ve done.”
Remaining in his place, Sano recalled how Keisho-in had swooned upon hearing that Harume had been murdered. Had that been an act intended to hide the fact that she already knew? Was this a clever diversion, or true distress?
Keisho-in lay back on the cushions, inhaling and exhaling with exaggerated relief. Ryuko fanned her face. Sano said, “You wrote this letter to Harume. You threatened to kill her.”
“No, no.” Lady Keisho-in flapped her hands in weak protest.
“Where did you get that?” Priest Ryuko demanded. “Let me see it”
Sano held the letter up, safely out of the priest’s reach—he didn’t want the evidence to wind up in the charcoal brazier. “From Harume’s room,” he said.
The couple exclaimed simultaneously, “That cannot be!” Ryuko’s face was ashen, his eyes filled with horror. Sitting up, Lady Keisho-in said, “I wrote that letter; yes, I admit it. But not to Harume. It was written to my dearest love, who is right here!” Feebly she clutched Ryuko’s arm.
It was a crafty explanation, which Keisho-in’s choking spell had no doubt given her time to concoct. Ryuko recovered quickly, too. “My lady is telling the truth,” he said. “Whenever she feels that I’m not attentive enough, she gets angry and expresses her complaints in letters. Sometimes she threatens to kill me, though she doesn’t really mean it. I received that letter some months ago. As usual, we made up, and I returned it to her.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Lady Keisho-in said.
The priest had himself under control now, yet Sano could see fear behind his level gaze. “There is nothing in that letter to prove it was written to Harume,” Ryuko said. “You’ve made a mistake, Sōsakan-sama”
“There’s nothing to prove it was written to you, either,” Sano countered. “And I found it hidden in the sleeve of Harume’s kimono. How do you explain that?”
“She—she must have stolen it from my chambers,” Keisho-in blurted. She was less adept at concealing emotion than Ryuko, her panic obvious in her audible, rapid breaths. “Yes, that must be what happened.”
“Why would she do that?” Sano said, unconvinced. The couple stared at him in speechless confusion. The distinctive odor of fear—sweat laced with honey—permeated the room. Sano knew it came from himself and Hirata as well as Keisho-in and Ryuko. He delivered the final, damning piece of evidence. �
�We have a witness who overheard you conspiring to murder Harume and her unborn child so that His Excellency would remain shogun for the rest of his life and you would retain your influence over him.”
“That’s a lie!” Keisho-in exclaimed. “I could never do such a horrible thing, and neither could my dearest!”
“What witness?” demanded Ryuko. Then comprehension cleared the bewilderment from his face. Anger tightened his jaw. “It was Ichiteru, that scheming whore who seeks to replace my lady as the mother of Japan’s dictator. She probably lied about us because she killed Harume herself.” Glaring at Sano, he said, “And you want to frame us for murder so that you can control the shogun. You forged the so-called diary, planted the letter, and paid Harume’s father to cast suspicion upon my lady.”
Despair stole over Sano. This, then, would be Keisho-in and Ryuko’s defense against his accusations. No doubt it would sound eminently reasonable to the undiscerning Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. “Granted, Harume had access to your quarters,” Sano said, “but you also had access to hers. Did you poison the ink, Lady Keisho-in?”
“No. No!” The words came out in a squeaky whisper; Keisho-in’s face blanched, and she clutched her chest.
“My lady, what’s wrong?” Ryuko said.
“Where were you today between the hour of the snake and noon?” Sano asked him.
“In my quarters, meditating.”
“Were you alone?”
Keisho-in emitted pained cries. The priest replied impatiently, “Yes, I was. What are you getting at now?”
“The peddler who supplied the poison that killed Harume was murdered today,” Sano said.
“And you have the audacity to suggest I did it?” Ryuko’s fury didn’t hide his panic. Great patches of sweat darkened his gown; his hands shook as he eased the moaning, writhing Keisho-in down onto the cushions.
“Is there anyone who can prove you weren’t at Daikon Quay this morning?”
“This is absurd. I don’t know any drug peddler.” Ryuko stroked his patroness’s forehead. “My lady, what is it?”
“An attack,” Lady Keisho-in shrilled. “Help—I’m having an attack!”
“Guards!” Priest Ryuko shouted to the men stationed outside the door. “Fetch Dr. Kitano.” Then he turned on Sano, his face livid with rage and terror. “If she dies, it will be your fault!”
Sano didn’t believe the old woman was really ill, and he wasn’t going to let her fakery prevent him from observing that Ryuko had no alibi for Choyei’s murder. The combined strength of motive and evidence forced Sano to step over a line he’d hoped never to cross. A feeling of doom resounded through him. “I’ve no choice but to charge you both with the murder of Harume and her unborn child,” he said, “and conspiracy to commit treason against the Tokugawa state.”
Then the shogun must decide what was truth or lies. Exchanging resigned glances, Sano and Hirata rose to leave.
“You’re the criminals!” Priest Ryuko shouted at them, while Lady Keisho-in heaved and sobbed upon the cushions. “You conspired against my lady to advance your own positions, and now you’ve endangered her health. But you’re not going to get away with it. When His Excellency hears about this, we shall see who retains his favor—and who dies traitors!”
The door opened, and Ryuko exclaimed gratefully, “At last, the doctor!”
However, it was one of Sano’s detectives, escorted by palace guards. He held out a folded paper. “Sorry to interrupt, Sōsakan-sama, but I have an urgent message from your wife. She insists that you read it before you leave here.”
Surprised, Sano accepted the letter, wondering what Reiko had to say that couldn’t wait until he got home. While Ryuko frantically ministered to Lady Keisho-in, Sano read:
Honorable Husband,
Though you have ordered me to stay out of the murder investigation, I have disobeyed again. But please withhold your anger and heed my words.
I’ve learned from a trustworthy witness that the actor Shichisaburo sneaked into the Large Interior, disguised as a woman, on the day after Lady Harume’s death. He took something out of Lady Keisho-in’s chambers and put it in Harume’s room. I believe it was a letter implicating Lady Keisho-in in the murder. I also believe that Shichisaburo stole the letter on Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s orders and planted it at the murder scene for you to find. The chamberlain must be trying to frame Lady Keisho-in for murder and force you to accuse her.
For your sake and mine, I beg you not to fall into his trap!
Reiko
Shock numbed Sano. Horror followed as he wordlessly passed Hirata the letter to read. Despite his earlier misgivings about Reiko’s detective abilities, he couldn’t refute her theory. He realized that Lady Keisho-in was even more of a rival to Chamberlain Yanagisawa than himself. And the ploy sounded just like Yanagisawa. It explained why he’d acted so pleasant lately: he anticipated being rid of Sano very soon, along with Lady Keisho-in, the other obstacle to his quest for power. His spies must have discovered the letter’s existence during a routine search of the Large Interior. He’d offered to help Sano and opposed Keisho-in’s move to obstruct the investigation because he wanted to be sure the letter was exposed. The news of Harume’s pregnancy had thrilled him because it elevated a simple murder to high treason—a crime whose consequences would destroy his rivals.
Now Sano realized that the hidden diary passage and Harume’s message to her father must refer to someone else besides Keisho-in. Lady Ichiteru must have lied. The whole case against Keisho-in and Ryuko fell apart without the letter. Sano beheld them through fresh eyes. He saw in Keisho-in’s suffering the genuine anguish of a woman falsely accused, and in Ryuko the desperation of an innocent man defending his life. Reiko’s message had arrived in time to prevent him from bringing official charges against them, but could he repair the damage already done?
“Sōsakan-sama, what are we going to do?” Hirata’s face mirrored Sano’s dismay.
Keisho-in was retching into a basin while Ryuko held her head. Kneeling before them, Sano bowed. “Honorable Lady Keisho-in, Priest Ryuko. I owe you an apology. I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Quickly he reported the contents of Reiko’s letter, adding his own supporting observations. “I humbly beg your forgiveness.”
Shocked out of her fit, Keisho-in sat up and gaped. Ryuko stared, shaking his head at this new outrage.
“Aiiya, such a handsome, charming man as Chamberlain Yanagisawa,” Keisho-in fretted. “I can’t believe he would do such a thing to us.”
“Believe it, my lady,” Ryuko said grimly. He, unlike his patroness, was cognizant of the realities of bakufu politics, and ready to accept Sano’s explanation.
“Dreadful! Of course I forgive you, Sōsakan Sano.”
Though Priest Ryuko’s gaze remained cool—he would not easily forget Sano’s affront—he nodded. “It seems we must mend our quarrel and unite against a greater evil.”
Relief flooded Sano. “Done,” he said.
Together he and Hirata, Lady Keisho-in, and Priest Ryuko formed a plan to oust Chamberlain Yanagisawa.
31
Alone in her bedchamber, Reiko waited for the news that would determine her fate. The maids had lit the bedside lamp, spread her futon, and laid out her night robes. Yet Reiko still wore the clothes in which she’d traveled to Zojo Temple. Pacing the chamber, she halted tense and breathless every time she imagined she heard voices outside. The mansion was quiet, the servants and detectives asleep. Only Reiko remained alert.
If her message hadn’t reached Sano in time, soldiers would soon come to evict the household and arrest her, the wife of the traitor who had attacked the shogun’s mother. If Sano had gotten the message and heeded her warning, they would be spared a disgraceful death, but Reiko doubted whether he would forgive her latest defiance. Many a proud samurai would rather die than lose face. Sano would probably send her back to her father tonight. Either way, her marriage was over.
With painful hindsight, Reiko saw the mistakes she’d mad
e. Why hadn’t she placated Sano’s male pride and negotiated a compromise, instead of alienating him from the start? It was her curse always to want what she couldn’t have. Her impetuous nature had cost her the man who challenged, angered, and aroused her; the man she’d hated and wanted with an intensity she’d never before experienced.
The man she loved.
Reiko experienced the knowledge as a bittersweet ache in her heart. She yearned to know what had happened in Lady Keisho-in’s chambers. When would someone come and end the terrible suspense?
The lamp flame wavered like a feeble beacon of hope in the night. In the charcoal braziers, hot embers crumbled softly into ash. Reiko’s shadow climbed the furniture, the paper partitions, and the painted wall mural as she paced. Apprehension tightened her muscles into rigid steel cords.
Then, just before midnight, came the sound of quiet footsteps in the passage. The moment had arrived, with this stealthy approach that was more menacing than the clamor of armed soldiers Reiko had imagined. Perhaps the shogun intended to spirit the traitors away from Edo Castle, execute them in secrecy, and preserve the appearance of Tokugawa invincibility. Or maybe Sano had sent an envoy to remove her quietly from the house, thereby avoiding a scandal. But Reiko was not one to cower before danger. She hurried to the door and flung it open.
There stood Sano, alone in the corridor. Disconcerted, Reiko stepped backward. She hadn’t expected him, and he looked strangely different. Weariness shadowed his handsome face. He wore no swords. His gaze was somber; the arrogance had vanished. For the first time, Reiko saw his essential humanity, instead of the product of a thousand years of samurai training and discipline. Confusion rendered her speechless.
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