“For the sake of self-preservation, we may be forced to make different arrangements,” Ohgami concluded.
Sano had foreseen the possibility of losing their support; allegiances constantly shifted in the bakufu. But that didn’t lessen his dismay that it could happen so soon. Should his allies desert him, Sano would be doomed to demotion, banishment, and perhaps death. His family would suffer even more.
“I appreciate your loyalty, and I understand your position,” he said in an attempt to appease the men. “What would you have me do?”
General Isogai answered, blunt, forceful: “Back off on making any more enemies.”
“Placate the ones you already have,” Uemori said.
“Try to avoid getting in any more trouble,” said Ohgami.
During the tense, unfriendly silence that followed, Detective Marume appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, Honorable Chamberlain.” The tall, burly samurai had been a member of Sano’s detective corps when Sano was sosakan-sama; now he was a bodyguard and general assistant. “Sorry to interrupt, but Hirata-san is here to see you.”
Sano was surprised; although Hirata was technically his chief retainer, they didn’t have much to do with each other these days. While Sano ran the government, Hirata kept busy investigating crimes.
“It can’t wait.” Marume’s expression was somber rather than characteristically jovial.
Sano dismissed General Isogai and the elders. As he and Marume walked down the corridor, Sano said, “What’s this about?”
“Your wife. There’s been some kind of trouble.”
“Reiko?” Alarm jolted Sano. He hurried to his private quarters. There he found Hirata and Reiko kneeling in her chamber. With them was Reiko’s old childhood nurse Osugi.
Hirata looked relieved to see Sano. “Greetings.”
“What’s going on?” Sano noticed that Hirata appeared healthier, more fit, yet strangely older than the last time they’d met a few months ago. But Reiko quickly captured his attention.
She was wrapped in a quilt, shivering violently despite the summer heat. Her hair hung in damp strings. Her face wore a stunned, sick expression. Her complexion was blanched, her lips colorless. Osugi hovered anxiously near her, holding a bowl of hot tea. Reiko beheld Sano with blurred eyes, as if she couldn’t quite figure out who he was.
“What’s wrong?” he exclaimed as he knelt beside her. He started to take her in his arms, but she flung up her hands to prevent him.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “The blood. It’ll get on you.”
“We washed it off, little one,” Osugi said in a soothing voice. “It’s all gone.”
“What blood?” Sano demanded, growing more confused and alarmed by the moment. A disturbing thought occurred to him. “Was it the baby?” He feared Reiko had lost their child.
“No, the baby’s fine,” Osugi assured him, but worry clouded her kind, wrinkled face. She held the tea bowl to Reiko’s lips. The steam smelled of medicinal herbs. “Try to drink, dearest. It will make you feel better.”
Reiko pushed the bowl away. An attack of dry heaves doubled her over.
Sano turned to Hirata. “What happened?”
Hirata’s grave expression warned Sano that the problem was serious. “I found her at Lord Mori’s estate.”
Surprise jarred Sano. He couldn’t think what business Reiko had there. “When was this?”
“About an hour ago,” Hirata said.
Sano hadn’t known that Reiko had left the house. On most nights since she’d become pregnant this time, they’d not shared a bed. Sano often came home late from work, and he’d slept in a guest room rather than disturb her rest. They had so little time together; they seldom talked. He was dismayed to realize that she could have been gone almost every night and he wouldn’t have noticed.
“What was she doing at Lord Mori’s estate?” Sano asked Hirata.
“I don’t know. She hasn’t said.” Hirata glanced warily at Reiko as Osugi tried to comfort her. “But…” He inhaled a deep breath. Sano recalled the many times when Hirata had fulfilled the chief retainer’s duty of telling his master things he needed to hear but wouldn’t like. “Lord Mori has been castrated and stabbed to death. I found Lady Reiko alone with him in his bedchamber. She was naked and covered with blood. I’m sorry to say that it looks as if she killed him.”
Sano felt his jaw drop as shock slammed through him.
“If she were anybody other than your wife, I’d have arrested her and taken her to jail,” Hirata added. “Instead, I gave her the benefit of doubt and brought her home.”
Even while Sano stared at Reiko in dazed disbelief and horror, his mind calculated ramifications. His wife caught at the scene of a murder was bad enough. That the victim was an important daimyo who happened to be a major ally of Lord Matsudaira promised disaster. The penalty for murder was death by decapitation, and although the law was lenient for high-ranking members of the samurai class, in this case even Sano’s power might not protect Reiko even if she was innocent.
If indeed she was.
Sano experienced fresh horror. This was his wife of eight years, the mother of his son, the woman he passionately loved, whose character he held in the highest esteem. She would never murder anyone!
Yet what had she been doing naked in Lord Mori’s bedchamber? They’d drifted so far apart; did he even know her anymore?
He seized her shoulders and demanded, “Did you kill Lord Mori?”
“No!” Reiko’s reply was loud with hurt and outrage. But confusion drifted across her gaze. “At least I don’t think I did.” Her manner turned plaintive: “I couldn’t have, could I?”
“Of course not,” Osugi said, staunchly loyal to Reiko.
But Sano was far from satisfied by Reiko’s answer. He turned to Hirata, who shrugged helplessly and said, “That’s what she told me.”
“Well, if you didn’t kill Lord Mori, who did?” Sano asked Reiko.
“I don’t know.” Tears leaked from her eyes.
Impatience girded Sano against the sympathy that rose in him. He shook Reiko. “What happened? Tell me!”
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I can’t remember.”
Sano had heard this from too many murder suspects trying to hide their guilt. “I don’t believe you. What were you doing with Lord Mori? I want a straight answer.”
She drew a long, shaky breath, swallowed, and rubbed her face. “I was looking for the boy. I was only trying to help.”
That made no sense. “What boy? Help whom?”
Reiko spoke over his questions: “I never meant to hurt anyone. Lord Mori was a terrible, evil man.”
Coldness stabbed like ice crystals into Sano’s bones. What she’d said could be interpreted as a confession to murder. He clutched Reiko tighter. “Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re in serious trouble. If you want me to help you, you must tell me the truth. Now, what happened?”
“I am telling you the truth!” Hysteria raised Reiko’s voice. She twisted in his grasp. “You’re hurting me. Let go!”
Sano held on, shouting at her in desperation: “Did you kill Lord Mori? Tell me!” As Reiko sobbed and babbled incoherently, he felt someone watching them. He turned and saw Masahiro standing in the doorway.
“Mama? Papa?” Seven years old, tall and serious for his age, Masahiro carried a wooden sword. His white jacket and trousers were dirty and his hair tousled from martial arts lessons. “What’s the matter?”
Sano was dismayed by the sudden awareness that he spent even less time with his son than with Reiko. Masahiro was growing up so fast that Sano barely knew him. Sano’s job as chamberlain had taken its toll on his whole family. He hastened to try to shield the boy from the present horror. “Masahiro, go outside.”
“But why is Mama crying?” Masahiro asked. “What are you doing to her?”
“Nothing. It’s all right,” Sano said. “Osugi, take him outside. Now!”
The nurse bustled Masahiro away. Reiko buried her face in her
hands and wept. “I can’t believe things have turned out so badly! And I still haven’t found him!”
Sano shook his head in incomprehension. But whatever had happened, he must take quick action to protect Reiko and minimize the damage. Turning to Hirata, he said, “Who else knows about this?”
“Just my men and myself.” Hirata reconsidered. “And by now, probably everyone in the Mori estate.”
That would be hundreds of people, including the daimyo’s family members, retainers, and servants. Sano blew out his breath. “Well, keep the news from spreading any further for as long as possible.”
“I’ve already closed off the estate,” Hirata said.
“Good. What have you learned about the murder?”
“Nothing yet. I thought I’d better bring Lady Reiko home.”
“I want you to go back to the estate and start figuring out what happened,” Sano said. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“Yes, Honorable Chamberlain.” Hirata bowed and left.
Sano wished he could be in two places at once. It had been three years since he had investigated any crimes, but he wanted to handle this one personally. Reassuring himself that Hirata knew what to do, Sano faced his immediate problem: Reiko. He grabbed her hands and pulled them away from her face.
“Reiko,” he said, “listen to me.”
Trembling, she gazed at him with red, streaming eyes.
“Lord Mori has been murdered,” Sano said, speaking slowly and clearly. “You look so guilty that if you were an ordinary citizen instead of my wife, you’d be executed. You still might be, unless we can come up with a reasonable explanation for why you were at the crime scene. Now tell me!”
“I did!” Reiko cried, her voice rising shriller in fresh, insistent agitation.
“You have to do better than that, or not even I can save you.” Fear and frustration turned Sano’s manner harsh. “Now one more time: What were you doing there?”
Words poured from Reiko in a babbling torrent: “I went to spy on him. I saw him do it.” Keening and sobbing, she wrenched her hands out of Sano’s. “I wanted to stop him, but I was too late!”
Madness this all sounded! In desperation, Sano slapped her cheek. Reiko screamed. She drew back and stared at him, more shocked than hurt—he’d never struck her before. But she was suddenly quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Sano said, regretful and ashamed. “I didn’t know how else to bring you to your senses. We don’t have much time. And all this excitement isn’t good for the baby.”
The mention of the baby seemed to revive Reiko’s awareness. She clasped her hands protectively across her swollen belly, sat up straight, and nodded. Her breath was still raspy with sniffles and emotion, but steadier.
“That’s better,” Sano said, relieved.
“So many things happened. One thing led to another,” Reiko murmured. “I don’t know where to start.”
At this rate, the news of the murder would spread all over town and a maelstrom of hazard and scandal would engulf them before Sano learned anything from her. He mustered his patience. “Start at the beginning.”
The dazed confusion cleared from Reiko’s face, like mist dissolving in sunlight. She looked more like her usual alert, sharp-witted self. “The letter. It started with the letter. In cherry blossom time.”
3
The Lady’s Tale
GENROKU YEAR 11, MONTH 3 (APRIL 1698)
Cherry trees in the garden bloomed with radiant pink splendor. Petals drifted to the ground like snowflakes, dappled the grass, floated on the pond, and crowned the stone lanterns. They fell on Masahiro as he shot arrows from a little wooden bow at a straw target. Reiko watched from the veranda, where she reclined on cushions, sleepy and lethargic because she was two months pregnant.
Hirata’s wife, Midori, came out of the mansion, carrying a steaming bowl of tea. Plump and pretty, she wore a kimono patterned with cherry blossoms. In one arm she cradled her baby boy. Her four-year-old daughter, Taeko, toddled after her. She knelt beside Reiko and handed her the tea. “Drink this. It will make you more lively.”
Reiko sipped the brew of ginseng and aromatic herbs. “When I was carrying Masahiro, I felt so energetic. But I guess every pregnancy is different.”
Taeko ran into the garden toward Masahiro. She adored him even though he was too grown-up to pay much attention to a little girl. Now he ignored her and took aim.
“Watch out, Masahiro. Don’t hit her,” Reiko called.
“I know. I won’t.” He had the masculine, adult air of an expert and scorn for feminine worries.
A maid appeared, carrying a tray laden with bamboo scroll containers. “Here are some letters for you, Honorable Lady Reiko.” She set the tray beside Reiko, bowed, and departed.
“You get so many letters,” Midori said. “Are these from more people who want your help?”
“Probably.”
During the past few years, Reiko had developed a reputation as a person capable of solving problems. This stemmed from the fact that when Sano had been sosakan-sama, she’d assisted him with his investigations. Her deeds had been reported in the gossip that circulated through high society and in the news broadsheets sold in town. Controversy surrounded Reiko. Most people thought her unfeminine, scandalous, and disgraceful, but others had come to regard her as a sort of Bodhisattva, a merciful deity who would bring them salvation.
“It’s so good what you’ve done,” Midori said. Reiko had been running a sort of private assistance bureau, particularly for women in trouble. She’d found jobs and homes for them, paid for doctors to cure their sick children. “Those people would have died if you hadn’t gone out of your way to help.”
“I’m glad to do it.” Her work made Reiko feel useful. Serving the public also served honor, and occupied the time when Sano was too busy to be with her. She reflected that she and Sano were so seldom together that it was a wonder they’d managed to conceive a second child.
“Other people might have been executed,” Midori said.
Reiko had intervened on behalf of people unjustly accused of crimes. She’d investigated their cases and found the real culprits. The daughter of Magistrate Ueda, she’d used her influence with him to get the innocents acquitted. This gave her an outlet for her detective skills, which would otherwise have gone unused because Sano didn’t investigate crimes anymore.
“So many have you to thank for protecting them from people who did them wrong,” Midori said.
Reiko had also rescued women from cruel husbands, lovers, and employers. “I’m afraid not everybody would thank me.”
She began opening the scroll containers, read a letter full of obscene curses, and winced. Evildoers had gotten their comeuppance due to her. She’d made enemies who didn’t appreciate her interfering in their affairs. She’d also felt the sting of social disapproval because she took actions unheard of for a woman. Ladies of her class were polite to her and curried her favor, but they talked about her behind her back. Samurai officials looked askance at her, even though they wouldn’t dare criticize the chamberlain’s wife.
“And I’m afraid I’ve become a target of everybody who wants something.” Reiko read aloud from another letter: “ ‘Dear Lady Reiko, I need money. Please send me 100 koban.”’
The next message was written on cheap paper in calligraphy that was very neat, the characters as square as though printed from a woodblock. As she skimmed the words, Reiko sat up straight. “Listen to this one.”
Dear Lady Reiko,
Please excuse me for imposing on you, but I need your help. My name is Lily. I am a poor widow. We met at the Hundred-Day Theater in Ryogoku a few years ago. I helped you then, and I think it’s time for you to return the favor. My little boy has been stolen. He’s only five years old. Will you please find him and bring him back to me? I’m a dancer at the Persimmon Teahouse in Nihonbashi. I beg you to come and see me there as soon as possible.
Complicated directions to the teahouse followed. Reik
o said, “I remember this woman.” Lily had been a witness who’d aided Reiko’s search for an escaped murderess.
“Are you going to help her?” Midori asked.
“I do owe her a favor,” Reiko said. “And to lose a child is a terrible calamity.” She looked through the lush, pink cherry trees at Masahiro in the garden.
“Bring me the arrows, Taeko,” he called.
The little girl gathered up the arrows he’d shot, pranced up to him, and handed them over. Reiko smiled because he’d found a clever use for his admirer.
“But you’re expecting,” Midori said in concern. “You shouldn’t risk your health.”
Red Chrysanthemum Page 2