“Masahito, perhaps you would like to speak with the priest yourself.” Lady Niu’s voice held the merest hint of warning.
But Lord Niu didn’t take the hint. He crossed the room to kneel at one side of the dais, facing Sano. He had a slightly stiff gait, and when he knelt he used both hands to position his right leg beside the other.
“Yoriki Sano is here to discuss some administrative matters regarding Yukiko’s death,” Lady Niu told her son. “They need not concern you.”
“On the contrary, Mother. I can’t think of anything that would interest me more.” Lord Niu waved an imperious hand at Sano. “Continue. Please.”
Lord Niu’s presence worried Sano. It was a distraction that might render Lady Niu less cooperative, and himself more likely to make a misstep. Still, he was glad of a chance to meet another member of Yukiko’s family.
“What was Miss Yukiko like?” he said, longing to ask whether she had had any enemies, but forced to disguise his intent with a polite query. “How did she get along with others?”
Lady Niu spoke quickly, as if to prevent her son from answering. “Yukiko was secretive. She kept her thoughts to herself. Still, she was a most gentle and accomplished girl. Everyone admired her.”
“Everyone, Mother?” Lord Niu put in, emphasizing the first word.
He seemed to enjoy baiting her, but except for one pleading glance, she didn’t react. She evidently indulged her son, tolerating behavior from him that would earn a daughter harsh punishment. Sano decided that Lord Niu’s presence had an advantage after all. His remark clearly contradicted his mother’s portrait of Yukiko.
“Who did not?” Sano asked Lord Niu directly.
Lady Niu intercepted the question. “Masahito is only joking. There was no one who did not hold Yukiko in the highest regard.”
This time Lord Niu didn’t interject. He kept his eyes on Sano, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Sano tried a change of subject. Wanting to learn how Yukiko’s murderer could have gotten an opportunity to kill her, he said, “Wouldn’t it have been difficult for Miss Yukiko to get out of the house alone?” He would let them think he was merely asking how a sheltered young lady had managed to meet her lover.
“This is a large house, Yoriki Sano,” Lady Niu answered. “Many people live here, and it is difficult to keep track of everyone. And we have learned that Yukiko bribed one of the guards to let her out the gate after dark on at least one occasion.” Her lips tightened. “He has since been dismissed.”
Sano’s interest stirred. “Did anyone see her leave the night she died, or know where she went?”
“No.” Lady Niu sighed. “Unfortunately, we all attended a musical entertainment given by Lord Kuroda.” She tilted her head in the direction of the neighboring yashiki. “No one missed her.” She added, “The event did not end until rather late.”
Lord Niu emitted a sharp, ringing laugh. “‘Rather late’? That’s putting it mildly, Mother.” To Sano, he said, “We were up until almost dawn. Small wonder that no one bothered to check on who was where when we got home. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes.” Sano was growing discouraged. The Nius had told him nothing he could take to Magistrate Ogyu as evidence of murder. And he was running out of questions.
Lord Niu leaned toward him, a speculative gleam in his feverish eyes. “From your questions, one would almost think Yukiko had been murdered. Because you seem to be trying to find out whether anyone would have, or could have killed her, and if we know who.” He raised an eyebrow. “Yes? No?”
Sano, dismayed that Lord Niu had seen through him so easily, said nothing. He forced himself to hold the young man’s penetrating gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Niu shift restlessly, but she did not intervene.
“But Yukiko committed suicide,” Lord Niu continued, his smile widening into a grin that revealed perfect teeth. “So there is no need for further questions, is there?” His tone conveyed dismissal.
Sano had no alternative but to make his farewells and follow the guard back through the corridor and main reception room. Disappointment weighed heavily on him as he reclaimed his shoes and swords in the entryway. He’d learned nothing much of value during this call, except that Lady Niu and her son apparently accepted Yukiko’s death as suicide. Perhaps a bit too readily? Shouldn’t they want to explore the possibility of murder, which endangered the entire family? Sano reined in his imagination. Although jealousy and rivalry could provoke murder within the best of families, he had no reason to believe that one of Yukiko’s own relatives was involved in her death. The tensions he’d observed within the daimyo’s household probably stemmed from another source. The crying maid, the daughter’s gasp, and Lord Niu’s hint at an enemy in Yukiko’s past did not necessarily indicate otherwise.
Outside, the guard stopped to confer with another whom they met on the garden path. Sano waited, wondering if he would have better luck when he questioned Noriyoshi’s family. Then a low whistle turned his head. Not birdsong, but a snatch of classical melody.
Sano looked around. Except for himself and the two guards, the garden was deserted. The shuttered windows of the surrounding barracks gazed back at him like blind eyes.
“Sir!” a voice whispered urgently. “Sir!”
Then he saw a face peering out of a doorway in the mansion, not far from the main entrance; a young girl’s face, with long straight hair that fell around it from a center part and tossed in the wind.
“I have something to tell you,” she hissed. “Come with me. Quickly!” She thrust out a hand to beckon him, and Sano caught sight of her kimono. It was red, like the fold he’d seen sticking out from behind the lattice screen. Then she vanished through the doorway.
Sano hesitated. What would happen to him if he followed her? Men had suffered demotion, maiming, or exile as punishment for even the hint of improper behavior toward a lord’s daughter. He glanced at the two guards. Deep in conversation, they’d drifted down the path, their backs toward him. His desire to catch the killer gave him daring. The call of inescapable destiny beckoned. He took the risk.
Once through the doorway, he found himself in a long, narrow passage that ran between a high bamboo fence and the walls of the mansion’s other wings. Following it, he saw no sign of the girl or anyone else, but he could hear voices coming from inside the house. He quickened his pace, looking over his shoulder and expecting someone to accost him at any moment.
The passage angled left and came to an abrupt end at an open gate. Sano peered cautiously through it. All clear. He tiptoed across the threshold and into a garden. There the gnarled limbs of a tall pine blocked the sky and made the dull winter day seem even gloomier. A bridge made of a single stone slab lay across a pond whose surface was littered with pine needles and dead leaves. Several boulders, their sides brown with lichen and moss, stood on the bank of the pond.
She stepped from behind the largest boulder so suddenly that he cried out in surprise.
“Shhh!” The girl put a finger to her lips, casting a furtive glance toward a veranda at one side of the garden.
Now that he stood face to face with her, Sano could see that she was no more than twelve or thirteen years old. She had plump cheeks, full lips, and a round chin. Eyes that must normally sparkle with merriment now regarded him solemnly.
“Can I trust you?” she asked.
Surprised by her ungirlish boldness, Sano answered her as he might have done one of his pupils. “I can’t tell you who to trust and who not to trust,” he said. “Miss … Midori?”
Apparently his honesty satisfied her, and he’d guessed right about her name. She nodded, threw another glance at the veranda, and whispered, “Yukiko didn’t kill herself!”
“But your mother thinks she did.” Sano fought down a surge of excitement, striving for objectivity. “And so does your brother.” And the magistrate, and everyone else but Dr. Ito and me.
Midori stamped her foot, small fists clenched at her sides.
“She’s not my mother!” she cried. “Don’t ever call her that.” Her voice rose, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Then, in a whisper nearly as loud, she hurried on. “She’s my father’s second wife. My mother—Yukiko’s mother—was his concubine. She’s dead. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. Yukiko would never kill herself. Especially not that way, with a man. She didn’t know any men. At least, not …” Blushing, she lowered her head so that her silky hair curtained her face.
Not as a lover, Sano thought, completing the sentence Midori was too embarrassed to finish.
“How do you know?” he asked. He reminded himself that she was a child, with a child’s unwillingness to believe the worst about a beloved older sister.
Something of his skepticism must have entered his voice, because she flung her head up, eyes blazing. “I know!” she stormed. “I can prove it.” She yanked on his sleeve so hard he thought the fabric would tear. “Someone killed Yukiko. Please believe me. You’ve got to—”
“Midori! What do you think you’re doing?”
Sano jumped at the sound of the harsh voice. Turning, he saw Lady Niu standing on the veranda, the open door framing her. Fury distorted her beautiful face. Beside Sano, Midori let out a little moan. The three of them stood in frozen silence for a moment.
Then Lady Niu said, “Go to your room at once, Midori.” A deadly calm replaced the anger in her voice, but her expression did not alter.
Without looking at Sano, Midori scuttled off, head ducked, down a path leading out of the garden.
“As for you, Yoriki Sano,” Lady Niu continued, “I advise you to leave at once. And never to return.”
Sano heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw his guard, looking angry and resentful.
“Take him away,” Lady Niu told the guard.
Sano let the guard escort him to the gate, feeling relieved and very foolish. How ironic if, after all the other risks he’d taken, he had ruined his career to indulge a fanciful child!
Once safely back on the street, he regretted not hearing Midori’s tale. It might have provided him with the evidence to convince Ogyu that more investigation was necessary. Maybe he would risk trying to question Midori again later, after he’d seen Noriyoshi’s family.
Midori ran through the inner gate and garden, up the steps to the door of the section of the women’s quarters that housed her bedchamber. But instead of going inside, she paused, shivering in the cold wind. Then, making an impulsive decision, she stepped out of her wooden-soled shoes. Carrying them by their thongs, she ran lightly along the veranda in her split-toed socks, past the row of doors beneath the roof’s overhanging eaves.
An open window brought her up short. Through it she could hear the maids chattering as they swept the inner corridor. Midori ducked beneath the window so they wouldn’t see her. As she turned the corner, more female voices filtered through the thin paper windows: her father’s concubines gossiping with their attendants as they groomed themselves or sewed. A baby cried. Someone began to play a tune on the samisen, then stopped suddenly.
“No, no!” she heard her younger sisters’ music teacher scold. “Too fast!”
The melody began again, slower this time. Midori slipped past the music room, thankful that the children were occupied and couldn’t tag along after her.
Finally she reached her destination, a door at the north end of the women’s quarters. She slid it open and peered cautiously inside. The corridor was empty. She darted across it and through another door that stood opposite—into Yukiko’s bedchamber, where Lady Niu had forbidden everyone to go.
Midori closed the door behind her and looked around the chamber. All the windows were closed, allowing only a dim light from the corridor to filter in. She could barely make out the pattern of silver leaves on the white paper that covered the spaces between solid wooden doors leading to the adjacent rooms. Unlit charcoal braziers in the floor gave off no heat. A chill settled over Midori, one only partially due to physical cold. She hugged herself for warmth and comfort.
All Yukiko’s things—her bedding, clothes, floor cushions, writing desk, calligraphy implements, and toilet articles—had been put away. The mats had been swept and the cabinets that covered one wall closed. The bare room offered no sign that Yukiko had once lived there, or even existed.
A sob caught in Midori’s throat. The room’s impersonal emptiness finally brought home to her the fact that Yukiko was really gone. Even the sight of Yukiko’s shrouded body, laid out in the family chapel amid smoking incense burners and chanting priests, hadn’t done that. Tears coursed down her face as she realized that Yukiko’s death was not, after all, a nightmare from which she could awaken.
Dropping her shoes, she wiped her tears away with her sleeve. She must wait to mourn her sister. Now she had something else to do—something she’d been meaning to do for months. With Yukiko dead, it seemed more important than ever. She hurried over to the cabinets and flung the doors open. Then, frantic with her need to finish and escape before someone found her there, she began a wild search through the shelves of neatly folded clothing.
Her brave resolve almost crumbled. Touching Yukiko’s kimonos, she could feel her sister’s presence. She could smell the elusive flowery scent of her bath oil. Midori’s eyes blurred again, and a tear dropped onto the clothing. But she forced herself to move on to a large chest that sat on the floor beneath the shelves. There, under a stack of summer kimonos, she found what she’d been looking for: A pile of volumes, each a thick sheaf of cream-colored mulberry paper bound with a black silk cord.
Yukiko’s diaries.
Midori snatched up the top volume. Carrying it over to the window where the light was best, she opened it, heart pounding. Now she would—or at least she hoped she would—learn why Yukiko had died. Despite her bold declaration to the handsome yoriki, she wasn’t all that sure that Yukiko hadn’t committed suicide. Lately her sunny, tranquil sister had seemed moody and withdrawn. All Midori did know was that Yukiko always recorded her thoughts, as well as her daily activities, in her diary. Now the diary would tell Midori whether Yukiko had really had a lover and grown desperate enough to take her own life—or whether something else had led to her death. Midori scrabbled impatiently through the soft pages, looking for the last entry. But halfway through, a passage caught her eye. With the tip of her tongue caught between her front teeth, she began to read.
Yesterday we went firefly hunting at Lord Kuroda’s villa in Ueno. In our gauzy summer kimonos, we flitted, ghostlike, over the dark fields, chasing the mysterious glimmering lights given off by the tiny creatures. The sweet scents of earth and fresh-cut grasses rose up from the ground. Crickets chanted a steady accompaniment to the children’s shouts and laughter. We captured the fireflies in small wicker cages, where they continued to glow and flicker softly—living lanterns!
Midori smiled despite her grief. Yukiko’s words brought back the enchantment of that evening. As long as she read, she felt as though her sister were still with her.
On our way back to the house, Midori and Keiko, in an excess of high spirits, began to run and giggle and push each other. They dropped and trampled one of the Kurodas’ firefly cages. As much as I disliked seeing their woebegone faces, I instructed them to confess what they had done and apologize to Lady Kuroda. But they saw it was the right thing to do, I think, because they were not angry with me afterward.
No one could ever be angry with Yukiko, Midori thought, as grief seized her again. As eldest sister, she had disciplined Midori and the seven other girls firmly, but always with such love and gentleness that they were eager to obey, just to please her.…
Soft footsteps sounded in the corridor: stockinged feet making the thin wooden floor creak. Midori’s head snapped up. Guiltily she clapped the diary shut and looked for a place to hide. She mustn’t get caught here; her stepmother would punish her. The footsteps passed. Midori opened the diary at a different place, near the end. She began to read again, this time resisting th
e temptation to relive happy times, searching in earnest for clues.
The next passage she chose disappointed her. A description of an event that had taken place six years ago could have no bearing on Yukiko’s death. Here Yukiko’s tone grew troubled, her prose choppy as if she had written reluctantly, without her usual pleasure.
The seventh day of the eleventh month. A dark, rainy day. On such a day as this, my brother Masahito had his manhood ceremony. It was held in the main reception hall. Our father gave him his new adult name and special cap. Afterward, the fundoshi iwai ceremony. The whole family was present. Guests, too, in fine robes. Father’s retainers stood in ranks at the back of the main hall. Lanterns burned. I was so proud and happy to see Masahito receive his new loincloth, the first clothes of manhood. Now I look back on that day and weep. Would that I could feel the same joy and pride for the man of twenty-one years as I did for the boy of fifteen!
Midori puzzled over this passage. Yukiko and Masahito had been very close for a half-sister and -brother, but lately she’d noticed a certain coldness between them. She turned the page, hoping to learn the cause of their estrangement. But the passage didn’t continue. Instead she found a shopping list: embroidery thread, hairpins, face powder. Remembering that she had no time to lose, she hastily thumbed the remaining pages, looking for Noriyoshi’s name. She almost laughed aloud in triumph when she didn’t find it. Just as she’d thought: Yukiko hadn’t known the man. She ignored the nagging suspicion that perhaps Yukiko had not written about her lover because she was afraid someone would read her diary. Midori turned to the last entry, written the day before Yukiko’s death.
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