“I heard her whispering. And him whispering in reply. They laughed together.” Nitta’s eyes burned fever-bright with outrage, as if he thought the couple had been mocking him, the cheated lover. “I couldn’t bear to listen anymore.”
Then he seemed to realize that he’d exposed his private feelings. His expression turned deliberately neutral. Squatting, he gazed past Sano. “I stole out of the ageya, then joined my men at the gate. We paid the guards and began the journey home.”
Excitation quickened in Sano, because Nitta had placed himself at the scene where the murder had occurred, at the crucial time. “You didn’t go into the chamber?” he said.
“I did not,” Nitta said with asperity. “Haven’t I made that clear enough?”
“Did you see Lord Mitsuyoshi at all?”
“I did not. But the fact that I heard them means Lord Mitsuyoshi was alive when I left.” Nitta arranged his body in a kneeling posture, his complexion its normal hue again, his emotions hidden behind a smug smile. “Therefore, I am not the killer you seek.”
The male voice Nitta had heard might have belonged not to Lord Mitsuyoshi, but to his murderer. “Was there anyone present who can confirm what you heard and did?” Sano said.
Nitta shook his head. “The corridor was quite empty.”
So he could have entered the room, Sano thought, and stabbed Lord Mitsuyoshi. The treasury minister could have lied about hearing a man’s voice. Sano had only Nitta’s word as proof that he’d left Mitsuyoshi alive, and no witnesses to say otherwise.
“What about Lady Wisteria?” Sano said. “Did you see her that night?”
“I already told you I’d given up my appointment with her, and I left without seeing her.” Nitta’s look accused Sano of denseness. “Furthermore, what difference does it make whether I saw her or not?”
“Lady Wisteria is missing,” Sano said. “She seems to have vanished around the time of the murder.”
A heartbeat passed. “Indeed,” Nitta said. His silver eyebrows lifted; his tone reflected concern. “And no one knows where she is?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” Sano couldn’t determine whether Nitta really hadn’t been aware of Wisteria’s disappearance, or was pretending surprise.
“Unfortunately, I’ve no idea.” Now the treasury minister regarded Sano with incredulity. “Ssakan-sama, do you harbor the absurd notion that I am responsible for Wisteria’s disappearance, as well as the murder of the shogun’s heir?” His voice rose on a shrill note of scorn. “Such acts would be pure stupidity, and no man rises to my position by being stupid. Even if I did love Lady Wisteria, I would never steal a courtesan from Yoshiwara. Nor would I commit treason on her account. Even if I’d hated Lord Mitsuyoshi, I would never risk my life and honor just to eliminate him.”
Yet a man in a jealous rage could act on violent impulse, regardless of his intelligence or desire for self-preservation. And Sano could well believe that Wisteria was a woman capable of inspiring violent impulses. He’d not loved her himself—their relationship had been primarily physical—but he guessed that a man who did love her would do anything to gain exclusive possession of her.
“What route did you take to the gate?” he asked Nitta.
“I walked up Nakanoch.”
“Did you pass anyone who knows you?”
“Perhaps. But I didn’t notice, because I was in a hurry.” Nitta laughed, a dry, mirthless chuckle. “Surely you don’t think that I abducted Lady Wisteria and hid her somewhere? Or that I killed her and hid her body?”
Someone had done one of those alternatives, Sano believed. “If you didn’t, then you’ll permit me to search your property and question your household.”
Nitta looked affronted. “As you wish,” he said, rising. “But you’ll discover nothing worth your while.”
Sano and his detectives searched the whole estate, including offices, parlors, bathchambers, cellar, and kitchen, barracks, storehouses, stables, garden pavilion, and the family’s and servants’ quarters. They opened chests, barrels, and cabinets large enough to contain a person, and hunted for secret rooms. But they found no sign of Lady Wisteria, nor any evidence to connect Treasury Minister Nitta to her or the murder. They questioned Nitta’s retainers, wife, concubines, relatives, and servants—some eighty people in total—and all told the same story: Nitta had arrived home from Yoshiwara with the retainers who’d accompanied him there, and no one else. Finally, Sano and his men regrouped in the courtyard.
“Maybe everyone’s lying to protect Nitta,” said Detective Fukida, a serious young man. “Their first loyalty is to him, not the Tokugawa regime.”
“Ask the checkpoint guards whether he brought a woman into the castle when he came home,” Sano said. “He might have bribed them to ignore Wisteria.”
“But if she’s here, Nitta must have made her invisible, because otherwise, we’d have found her.” Detective Marume had the strong build of an expert fighter, and a jovial manner now sobered by disappointment. “Did he seem upset to learn that she’s missing?”
“Not very,” Sano said.
“Maybe he knows where Wisteria is,” Fukida said.
“He could have had an accomplice remove her from Yoshiwara and shelter her away from here,” Sano said.
“That would have posed less risk to him than smuggling her out of the pleasure quarter and into the castle,” Marume agreed.
“And if he did, Wisteria would be someplace nearby, where he can have easy access to her,” Sano said. He gave orders to his other detectives: “Watch Nitta. Follow him wherever he goes, and perhaps he’ll lead us to Wisteria. Order troops to begin searching Edo. They should go neighborhood-by-neighborhood and arrest any women who aren’t listed on the residential records kept by the headmen.”
The door of the mansion opened, and Nitta emerged. His face wore a look of vindication. “Are you finished here, Ssakan-sama? Am I free to go about my business?”
Sano nodded; he and his men bowed, conceding defeat.
“His Excellency won’t be pleased to hear that you’ve wasted so much time on me, instead of pursuing his heir’s killer,” Nitta said with sardonic pleasure. “But just to show you that I bear no hard feelings toward you, I shall give you a bit of advice. If you’re looking for a likely culprit, you might consider a hokan named Fujio.”
A hokan was a male entertainer who sang and played music for guests in Yoshiwara and for wealthy nobles and merchants around Edo. “Why should I?” Sano said.
“Fujio was a client of Lady Wisteria when she first became a courtesan. His love for her is the subject of his most popular songs. But when Wisteria rose to the rank of tayu, she rejected him in favor of samurai clients. This made Fujio very angry at her, and jealous of her new lovers, who included Lord Mitsuyoshi.”
The treasury minister spoke in a tone heavy with significance, as if to make sure Sano understood that Fujio had reason for killing Mitsuyoshi and Wisteria. However, it was obvious to Sano that Nitta sought to divert suspicion from himself by implicating the hokan.
“Fujio performed at the party in the Owariya,” Nitta continued. “He could have slipped into the bedchamber, stabbed Lord Mitsuyoshi, and abducted Lady Wisteria.”
Yet perhaps Nitta had killed Lord Mitsuyoshi himself, and now wished to destroy another man who’d enjoyed the favors of his courtesan.
“Thank you for the information,” Sano said, keeping his expression neutral. Though he didn’t trust Nitta, he desperately needed leads. He intended to pay Fujio a visit, whatever Nitta’s motive for casting suspicion on the hokan.
As Sano rode down the street with his men, a clatter of hoofbeats caused him to look backward. He saw Police Commissioner Hoshina and a squadron of troops arriving outside Treasury Minister Nitta’s gate.
8
The Saru-waka-cho theater district had been selected as the location of the miai.
Hirata and his father, wearing their best silk robes and finest swords, walked up the street with Segoshi
, a palace guard captain whom Sano had engaged as a substitute go-between. Behind them followed two family retainers, Hirata’s mother, and her maid.
The district sparkled with life in the bright, clear weather. Theater buildings sported colorful banners that announced the current plays. Bursts of song and applause emanated from windows. In towers on the roofs, men beat drums to attract customers. People jammed the teahouses or queued at ticket booths, lugging quilts to keep them warm during the performances that lasted all day. Fragrant smoke wafted from outdoor braziers where vendors roasted chestnuts. But Hirata and his party walked in somber quiet. As they neared their destination, anxiety clenched his stomach tighter and tighter.
They stepped aside to let a wedding procession pass. A palanquin carried the bride in her white kimono. Friends, relatives, and lantern-bearers accompanied the palanquin.
“What an auspicious sign for the day of a miai,” said Captain Segoshi. A good-natured older samurai, he obviously wanted to lighten the mood of his companions.
“As far as I’m concerned, the sight of a wedding procession is a bad-luck omen,” Hirata’s father said in a grumpy tone. He walked with a severe limp, caused by an accident that had necessitated his retirement from the police force. “I attend this miai against my wishes, and I’d rather turn around and go home before we take a step we’ll regret.”
“But everything has been arranged,” Hirata said, alarmed by his father’s attitude. “Backing out now would be a terrible breach of courtesy. And you won’t regret beginning my marriage negotiations. Midori-san is a good, honorable match for me, for our family.”
This was but another argument in the dispute which had begun three months ago, when Hirata had told his parents that he wished to marry Midori and asked their permission. They opposed the idea, and had only consented to the miai because the formal request had come from Sano, whom they couldn’t refuse.
Disapproval darkened the broad, lined face of Hirata’s sire. “Honorable matches can only occur between families of similar tradition, and that’s not the case here. We are hatamoto—hereditary Tokugawa vassals. Lord Niu is an outside daimyo. His clan didn’t swear allegiance to the Tokugawa until after it was defeated at the Battle of Sekigahara.”
“That battle ended almost a hundred years ago,” Hirata said. “Ever since then, the Niu have been loyal subjects of the Tokugawa, just like us. Can’t we forget the past?”
“Tradition is too important to forget.” His father’s voice sharpened with reproach. “It’s the mainstay of our society. And surely the Niu clan desires this alliance no more than I do. If you marry this girl, you’ll never really be accepted by her kin, nor she by ours.”
Hirata glanced backward at his mother. Small though sturdy, dressed modestly in gray, she gave him a smile that said she sympathized with him, but agreed with her husband. Captain Segoshi looked embarrassed to be caught in a family dispute.
“Why can’t you be satisfied to marry into one of the suitable families who’ve offered their daughters to you?” Hirata’s father said.
When Hirata had left his lowly position as a doshin and become chief retainer to the ssakan-sama, his status in the marriage market had soared. His family began aspiring to a better match for him than they could have expected before his promotion. After Hirata gained a place in the shogun’s inner circle, proposals from high-ranking clans had inundated Hirata and his parents. They’d attended many miai, but Hirata had spurned all the fine young ladies introduced to him.
“Niu Midori is the woman I want to marry,” he said now. “I love her. She loves me.”
His father gave a disgusted snort. “Love is unimportant in choosing a bride. Social position and duty to your family are what really matter. If you marry a woman who’s right for you, then the two of you will learn to love each other after the wedding, as your mother and I did.” He halted in the street. “I can’t approve of this match, even though the ssakan-sama does. You should marry someone I choose for you, because you’re unable to choose wisely for yourself.”
Hirata’s mother bowed her head, silently seconding her husband’s words. Desperation forced Hirata to employ the one argument that could aid his cause.
“I respect your opinion, Honorable Father,” he said, “but I must remind you that my marriage to Niu Midori would solve a big problem for us.”
That problem was their chronic shortage of money. Hirata had elderly, ailing grandparents, two widowed sisters with small children, and many destitute relatives, as well as longtime retainers and servants to support. Unfortunately, Hirata’s father earned little by teaching martial arts to police officers. Hirata contributed as much to his family as he could, but even his generous stipend didn’t go far enough. He needed to make a financially advantageous marriage, and he’d hoped that this need would convince his parents to allow him to wed Midori.
Although the Niu clan had been subjugated and stripped of its ancestral fief after the Battle of Sekigahara, it remained one of Japan’s most powerful families. The first Tokugawa shogun had realized that unless he pacified his conquered foes, they might later rebel. He’d granted the Niu a fief in Satsuma, and the right to rule that entire province. Lord Niu Masamune, the current daimyo, possessed huge wealth, and whoever married a daughter of his would gain a valuable dowry.
Now Hirata’s father glowered at the knowledge that he needed this match he repudiated. “That’s the only reason I’ll even consider a marriage between you and this girl,” he said, resuming his awkward, limping pace down the street.
“Here we are,” Captain Segoshi said cheerfully, as though determined to get the family through the miai. “The Morita-za Theater.” This was a large building with painted scenes from plays above the entrance. Outside stood a squadron of soldiers who wore a dragonfly crest on flags attached to their backs. “Look: Lord Niu has arrived. He and his daughter must be already inside, waiting for us.”
“Such an ostentatious display,” muttered Hirata’s father. “Typical of his kind.”
Hirata cast him a look that begged him to put aside his envy and prejudices. Captain Segoshi bought tickets from the attendant in the booth, and the party entered the Morita-za.
Inside, a drafty, cavernous room echoed with a roar of voices. A play had just ended, and on the stage, a lone musician plinked a samisen. Tiers of box seats along the walls held crowds of people awaiting the next performance. More people occupied the floor, which was divided into compartments, separated by raised dividers. Hirata scanned the audience, then saw Midori in a compartment near the stage. The light streaming through windows along the upper gallery illuminated her scarlet kimono. As their gazes met, his heart lifted. She smiled, but quickly turned away. The miai was supposed to seem like a chance encounter, so that if it failed, both families could pretend it had never occurred, and thus save face.
Hirata led his party along the dividers, past refreshment sellers bearing trays of drinks and food. He halted above the compartment where Midori sat with an elderly woman, two slightly younger female attendants, and two middle-aged samurai. Stricken by nervousness, Hirata knelt on the divider and bowed to the group, as did his companions. Midori darted a wide-eyed, solemn glance at him, then looked at the floor.
“Greetings,” Hirata said in a voice that quaked.
The group bowed and murmured in polite reply. Captain Segoshi said, “What a coincidence that we should meet.”
As he ably assumed the role of go-between and managed introductions, Hirata learned that the crone dressed in black was Midori’s paternal grandmother, and the other women her ladies-in-waiting. The elder of the samurai, a dour man named Okita, was Lord Niu’s chief retainer. Hirata barely noticed these people because his attention focused on Lord Niu.
The daimyo was small, but his torso was broad, his posture regal in maroon garments emblazoned with his dragonfly crest in gold. His tanned, square face disturbed Hirata. Its two sides didn’t match. The right half was slightly askew; the eye gazed off into space.
“Please join us,” Lord Niu said. Only the left half of his mouth smiled at Hirata.
As Hirata and his family settled into the compartment, Midori sat rigid with panic, her heart hammering, not daring to look at anyone. Please, she prayed inwardly; please make our families consent to our marriage! If they didn’t, she was doomed, because love wasn’t the only reason she must wed Hirata.
During their courtship, they’d enjoyed more time together, and more freedom, than was usual for unmarried young gentlemen and ladies. Their connection with Reiko and Sano placed them in constant proximity, and they’d taken advantage of their situation. While Reiko thought Midori was busy waiting on Lady Keisho-in, and Keisho-in thought Midori was with Reiko, Midori was actually meeting Hirata in deserted gardens or empty storehouses. There, chaste embraces had led to things less than chaste.
A flush of pleasure and guilt enflamed her as she recalled lying naked with Hirata beneath pine trees at dusk. How much she’d wanted to satisfy him, and to experience the rapture of having him! And how much she now wished they’d exercised self-control, for soon afterward had come the cessation of her monthly blood, a continual nausea, a fullness in her abdomen. Midori had threaded a needle with red thread and stuck it in the wall of the privy, hoping that this ancient folk remedy would cause the blood to come, but to no avail. She was pregnant.
Now she listened to her companions exchanging courteous pleasantries. None of them knew her problem, not even Hirata. She hadn’t told anyone. She couldn’t admit her shame, or admit that if she and Hirata didn’t marry, she would bear an illegitimate child, disgrace her honor, and ruin herself.
“Your family has a proud tradition, does it not?” Lord Niu said to Hirata’s father. “I understand that your people have served the shoguns since the Kamakura regime four hundred years ago.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Hirata’s father looked stern and intimidating to Midori, but also gratified that the daimyo recognized his heritage. She relaxed as she began to think that her father would continue to behave properly.
The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria Page 8
