The Scarlet Kimono (Choc Lit)

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘I … yes, yes, of course. I’m honoured by your sentiments.’ Hasuko’s expression was purposely blank, but he had the distinct feeling she was far from pleased. Taro sighed inwardly. Would he ever manage to make his wife desire or even respect him, he wondered. Was it at all possible?

  He was beginning to doubt it.

  Concern for young Kimi’s welfare, in light of his refusal, made him add, ‘However, there may come a time when I feel differently. So Kimi may stay for now. I’m sure she can learn much from watching you and your sister.’

  Hasuko’s expression brightened at his words. ‘Thank you, my lord. I will train her well and if you should ever find yourself wishing for her company, you have only to say.’

  ‘You may be sure I will.’

  Hasuko left as quickly as her unwieldy robe permitted, with a bewildered Kimi in tow. The girl looked grateful for the reprieve and Taro had to hide a smile at this sight. The poor girl had probably been forced into this by impecunious parents and wanted no part of the bargain. Now she would live in a castle without having to do anything she wasn’t ready for. It was probably much more than she had ever expected.

  Taro sighed. He sensed that his wife’s anger was only banished temporarily, and he hoped the girl wouldn’t suffer as a result of it. Now that he knew of Kimi’s existence, Hasuko couldn’t dismiss her, but he knew women could be extremely unkind to each other in other ways. He had heard his own mother tell horror stories about her mother-in-law. But Kimi couldn’t be held responsible for the lord’s strange ideas. He would make it his business to find out in the morning and to make sure the girl was treated well. Perhaps he would also give her parents a sum of money in compensation. They had likely hoped for further favours when their daughter was made official concubine. Taro was determined this wouldn’t happen.

  He stood up and went over to slide open a door on the other side of the room which led to his private garden. The guards posted outside scuttled into the shadows in order to stay unobtrusive, even though he hardly noticed them any more. He sat down cross-legged and stared into the twilight, seeking answers he knew would not be easy to find.

  There had to be a way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Plymouth, Devon, 30th June 1611

  They left before dawn. Hannah heard the bell ring for the morning watch, which she knew was at half past four, and soon after that, the motion of the ship changed. Where before she’d felt only a gentle rise and fall of the hull, now the movement increased and she guessed they were heading out of the harbour. The earlier, the better, she thought. If they were far out to sea by the time Kate discovered she’d been sleeping next to a bundle of blankets, it would be too late for her to raise the alarm.

  Hannah had occasionally sailed around the bay in a small boat with Edward and his friends, and had enjoyed this without any ill effects. She was therefore hardly able to credit tales of people who spent entire journeys in retching agony. She soon found out, however, that it was one thing to travel in the fresh air on the deck of a tiny boat, and quite another to be confined in a dark space below the waterline.

  Down there, in the ship’s bowels, the vessel’s every movement was exaggerated by the fact that none of Hannah’s other senses were being used. There was only motion and soon she was aware of nothing else. Gut-roiling, head-spinning, relentless motion that made her want to scream for it to stop, if only for a few moments. Her stomach rebelled and she became dizzy and disorientated to the point that she spent most of her time lying down. She tried to sleep as much as possible, since it was the only time her body had any respite from the never-ending mal de mer. But even in her dreams the nausea clawed at her and tore her into wakefulness.

  As far as food was concerned, Hannah decided she could have saved herself the trouble of bringing any. After a few attempts she gave up trying to eat altogether, since it was impossible to keep anything down. She had to be content with just sipping the ale from time to time in order to alleviate the thirst that plagued her and caused her lips to crack. She blessed the forethought which had made her steal the bucket.

  ‘Oh, dear God, please help me,’ she prayed, but the good Lord didn’t seem to be listening. Either that or he didn’t agree with what she had done and was now punishing her in a suitable way.

  Her days rapidly turned into a waking nightmare. At times she wasn’t even sure whether she was actually awake or dreaming since she was surrounded by darkness. She could hear all the noises of the ship: footsteps on the planks of the decks above her; shouting, swearing, singing and laughter from the men working overhead; the flapping of the huge sails, like the cracking of a whip as they unfurled. The sounds were all muffled, however, and seemed to come from far away. It gave them a dreamlike quality, which made Hannah unsure whether she was still alive. She felt as if she was in a world of her own, floating aimlessly.

  The fresh smell of the ocean didn’t penetrate into the hold. The salty moisture did though and it soon stained her clothes and skin, making her feel clammy all over. Instead she breathed in the increasingly fetid odour of the bilge water below. Combined with the smells produced by her illness, it became an ever-increasing agony. Even worse were the rats. Whenever the ship’s cat left her side, the vermin soon ventured out. She shuddered each time and kicked out with a muffled scream as they scurried across her legs.

  ‘Get away! Aaargh …’ She had never been afraid of rats before, but then she had never encountered them in such great numbers either. In desperation she threw some of her food as far away from herself as she could, in order to keep the vermin at bay. It was only a temporary solution, but it gave her some respite. She recoiled at the sound of tiny feet scrabbling for a foothold and squeaks of outrage as the rats fought over her cheese and pie slices.

  Bone weary, she wrapped herself in her blanket and curled into a tight ball of misery with the rest of the food tucked in next to her body. How was she to endure this? She wanted to run screaming out of there that instant, but she knew if she did, everything she’d been through so far would have been for nothing. Mustering what little determination she had left, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

  Hannah lost count of the number of bells that had been rung and had no idea how long she had been in the hold. When she grew so weak she thought she would surely die if she stayed hidden any longer, she decided the moment to confess had come. She could only hope her brother would be lenient. She felt she had already suffered more than enough and almost regretted her foolhardiness. Almost, but not quite.

  She managed to crawl up the ladder and onto the next level of the ship, which was the gun deck. There she collapsed for a while, intending to rest, but before she had time to go any further, a group of sailors found her.

  ‘Well, well, what have we here?’ one exclaimed and pulled her upright with rough hands. He shook her like a dog shakes a rat, and Hannah thought her head might actually snap off. ‘A stowaway, is it? Thought you’d come along for bit of adventure eh, young’un?’

  His mates laughed and one punched her on the arm playfully and gave her a shove towards one of the other sailors. She sucked in her breath at the pain, but was too grateful they still thought her a boy to protest at the rough treatment. Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest when she was passed to the next sailor in the same way.

  ‘We’ll show you adventure, won’t we, men?’ Another push and Hannah’s arms were gripped by rough hands that held her weakened muscles like a manacle. She bit her lip to stop from crying out.

  ‘Please, ta-take me to the captain,’ she begged.

  ‘The captain, eh? Oh, aye, he’ll be bound to want to hear of this, but we’re not through with ye yet.’

  This was greeted with more guffaws and a hearty slap on the back which sent Hannah reeling into an upright beam. Her shoulder jarred painfully and she cried out, closing her eyes as dizziness and nausea assailed her once more. When she opened them again it was to the horrifying sight of four sailors closing in on h
er, leering grins on their faces. She felt panic squeezing her insides and black dots began to dance before her eyes.

  ‘Puny little worm, ain’t he?’ More laughter. Hannah was pulled up onto her toes by someone tugging on her ear.

  ‘Stand up straight when we talk to ye.’

  She grabbed the arm that was doing the pulling and tried to lever it downwards, but it was hard as steel. It didn’t give an inch even when she practically hung on it.

  ‘Now, then, what’ll we –’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ A new voice cut in and instant silence ensued. Hannah’s ear was released and she opened her eyes to see the sailors shuffling their feet and looking away, as if they had nothing to do with her. A large man with straggly, sandy-coloured whiskers was glaring at the group, his hands on his hips. ‘Well?’ he barked.

  ‘We found a stowaway, Mr Jones, sir.’ One of the sailors pointed at Hannah, who swallowed and tried not to flinch under Mr Jones’s hard gaze. She gathered he must be the boatswain or some other higher ranking member of the crew.

  ‘Is that right? And why was it not reported to me immediately?’ Mr Jones turned to glare at the group of men and Hannah shuddered with relief. It wasn’t her he was angry with.

  ‘Er, we was just …’

  ‘We were on our way, sir. Just havin’ a bit o’ fun.’

  ‘Yes, I could see that.’ The men cringed and hunched their shoulders, waiting for the inevitable outburst. Mr Jones didn’t disappoint them. He drew in a deep breath and shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Well, what are you standing around here for? Get back to work, you swag-bellied, good-for-nothing scum!’

  The men dispersed like cockroaches fleeing a sudden beam of light and Hannah was left alone with the formidable Mr Jones. He turned his scowl on her.

  ‘You. Come with me.’ Her arm was once again gripped with a violence that made her gasp, and she was dragged along willy-nilly towards the ladder and up onto the deck. Blinding sunlight hit her eyes with unexpected force and she blinked several times before she was able to focus. She breathed deeply of the wholesome, salty air, grateful to be out in the open at last. In the next instant, the rough hand began to drag her in the direction of the back of the ship.

  ‘Go and ask the captain to come immediately,’ Mr Jones barked at the nearest sailor, who set off at a run. ‘As for you, young man, you’re comin’ with me. And you’d best pray the captain’s in a good mood, which he weren’t last time I looked.’

  He opened the door to a spacious cabin underneath the poop deck, which Hannah knew must be the captain’s own quarters. She was shoved between the shoulder blades and landed on the floor on all fours, the air knocked out of her lungs temporarily. Before she had time to get up another voice rang out.

  ‘A stowaway you say? What the devil …?’

  Hannah lifted her head to stare with surprise at Captain Rydon. She frowned in confusion as she tried to work out what he was doing on her brother’s ship. Then she realised he must be visiting in order for them to confer about something. Their route perhaps? Her heart began to thump with joy. She hadn’t thought to see him until they reached the first port on the journey. This was an unexpected bonus.

  She opened her mouth to greet him, but the words died in her throat as she saw that an angry scowl marred the captain’s usually sunny features.

  ‘What is the meaning of this, boy?’ he barked, his face darkening with angry colour.

  ‘I, I …’ Hannah stammered, even more confused by his reaction. Boy? Surely he must recognise her? It was true they hadn’t met since the betrothal feast, but that wasn’t very long ago. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten her so soon? She opened her mouth once more to ask for Jacob, but he cut her off before she had time to say anything.

  ‘Do you know what the punishment is for stowing away on my ship, young man?’

  Hannah gasped. Young man? Was he blind? ‘But, Captain, I’m not –’ she began, but was interrupted yet again.

  ‘A flogging and then you’ll be thrown overboard.’ Hannah felt the blood drain from her face. ‘I can’t abide stowaways,’ she heard him mutter, before he turned back to the other man. ‘Damned nuisance, this.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but seein’ as he’s so young, perhaps a little leniency …?’ Jones stared from the captain to Hannah and back again.

  ‘Don’t be daft, man. Leave us.’ The captain’s mouth tightened into a thin line of disapproval as the door shut behind Jones. Hannah crawled forward slightly and gazed up at Rydon. The cabin seemed much smaller with his towering presence filling in the space. She hurried to get to her feet. As she self-consciously dusted off her clothes, she noticed just how filthy she was. She probably stank to high heaven as well. She ran a hand across her cheek and felt grime encrusted on her skin. It was no wonder the captain didn’t recognise her.

  ‘I, I would like to speak to the other captain, if – if you please,’ she stuttered. She needed Jacob. He’d know her anywhere, of that she was sure, grime or no grime.

  Rydon drew himself up and looked down his nose at her. ‘What other captain? This is my ship and as I said before, stowaways are not tolerated.’

  Hannah goggled at him. His ship? She’d boarded the wrong one? Dear Lord, that meant she’d been alone with strange men for days, without her brother as nominal chaperon. Her lungs constricted and she suddenly felt breathless as the enormity of her situation dawned on her.

  ‘You will wait here until I have the time to administer the flogging personally,’ he continued. ‘Then you’ll be thrown into the sea. I hope you can swim.’

  Rydon marched to the door and put his hand on the latch, ignoring her cry of protest. ‘But, captain –’

  ‘Silence!’ The door slammed shut behind him and Hannah sank to the floor.

  What had she done?

  Chapter Twelve

  Northern Japan, November 1611

  ‘Women are impossible to understand. I have done everything in my power to make Hasuko feel at home here, Yanagihara-san, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Costly kimonos, servants aplenty, jewels, hair ornaments, beautiful pieces of art – what more could she possibly want? And I have made it clear I prefer her above all others. Don’t you think that ought to please a woman?’

  Having reached the end of his patience in his dealings with his wife, Taro had sought out his old teacher and mentor in the hope of a few words of wisdom, but the old man only smiled and shook his head.

  ‘I can’t say. It is not for us men to understand them, simply to learn to live with them in harmony.’

  ‘But that’s exactly what I’m trying to do!’ Taro paced the length of the old man’s verandah and back again. ‘I don’t think I’ve made any unreasonable demands of her. In fact, I have often allowed her to decide whether she wants to spend time with me or not, but I am her husband. She is duty bound to respect me, honour me.’

  Yanagihara said nothing. He had been busy with some exquisite calligraphy when Taro arrived and he continued this task with slow, deliberate movements and great concentration. Taro knew there was no point in pushing the old man, so he drew in a calming breath and settled down to wait on a cushion just inside the sliding doors. Yanagihara would give his answers in his own good time.

  To contain his impatience he looked around the tiny room in which Yanagihara passed his days. It was plain in the extreme, with only a single kakemono, or scroll painting mounted on silk fabric, adorning a small alcove. He mentally compared it to his own suite of rooms, which had hangings and painted screens on every wall, and wondered if perhaps he should have some removed. There was something restful about the simple approach of his old teacher.

  ‘You have lived for so long, Sensei, there must be some advice you can give me?’ he prodded at last, when it seemed as though Yanagihara had forgotten the subject under discussion and lost himself in his calligraphy.

  Yanagihara pointed to the character he had just formed on the paper in front of him. ‘What does that say?’ he asked
.

  Taro frowned and stared at the kanji for a moment, wondering yet again if the old man’s mind had gone soft. He was how old now? Taro wasn’t sure, but he did know Yanagihara was at least seventy. It took him a while to summon up the meaning of this particular character as it wasn’t one he used often. ‘The mysterious? The unknowable?’ he guessed.

  ‘Indeed, my lord.’ Yanagihara nodded. ‘And do you notice that it is made up of two parts?’

  Taro looked again and then smiled as understanding dawned. ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Separately one part means young and the other one woman. Very clever.’

  ‘There is your explanation. Even the Chinese, who made up these characters so long ago, equated women with mystery. There is something about them we men will never grasp, not in a million years.’

  Taro sighed. ‘So what you are saying is that I can’t change Hasuko, I have to accept her as she is?’

  ‘Well, it is of course your prerogative to demand things of her, but I think you’ll find she will never do anything out of liking for you, or even respect. In my visions I believe I have seen her true self and nothing you can do will change the way she sees you. It’s sad, but since you chose to marry her, it is your Fate.’

  ‘You know I couldn’t have backed out at the last moment. That would have been unthinkable. And surely she must realise this is her fate too, so why can’t she accept it with good grace? Most other women would. It’s not as if I ill-treat her, quite the opposite. Maybe I’m being too lenient?’

  ‘It’s not in her character. It’s possible she was indulged too much by her father. She’s the most beautiful of his daughters and the youngest child, a dangerous combination.’

  ‘And what of this concubine business? Hasuko parades little Kimi before me at every opportunity, no doubt hoping she will entice me. I’m insulted my wife abhors my touch that much, although she tried to tell me she was doing it out of consideration for me. Hah! She’s only thinking of herself. Any other woman would have given up after I refused the girl, but not Hasuko.’