The Peony Lantern (14 page)

There were some more declarations of vengeance, but the men didn't argue. They stumbled out the gate.

When their voices had retreated, I heard what sounded like a groan of pain.

It was Shimizu, his face waxy and pale in the flickering light, and Misaki ran forwards.

‘Oh, Minoru,' she cried. She was by his side in an instant. Isamu had one arm around his uncle; in the other he still held his sword.

‘Kasumi, boil some water,' he called over his shoulder as together he and Misaki half led, half carried Shimizu to the reception room.

I hastily lit a lantern in the kitchen, and stirred the embers that were still smouldering in the stove.

Ishi appeared as I moved to the back door to go to the well and draw water. ‘What is it? I was too scared to come till all those men left.'

‘They were from the domain,' I explained. ‘The master has been injured.'

‘No! What happened? Is he badly hurt? Was it
rōnin
?'

‘I don't know. Someone has gone to the mansion for a doctor. Do you have anything we could use to bandage his wound?'

‘I'll find something. You go see if your mistress needs help. I'll take care of things in here.'

I left her to it and went back to the reception room. Shimizu was resting on the
tatami
, his injured arm folded across his body like a broken wing.

I could hear Isamu's footsteps outside, pacing on the gravel as he awaited the doctor.

‘I'm sorry . . . to have alarmed you . . .' Shimizu gasped. There were beads of sweat on his brow.

‘Please.' Misaki laid a hand on his cheek. ‘Don't speak.'

At last a shouted greeting from the courtyard told us that the doctor had arrived.

‘Get me some boiling water,' he demanded curtly as Isamu led him into the room. His eyes fixed on his patient, he asked in a more deferential tone, ‘What have you done to yourself, my lord?'

As he carefully peeled back the blood-soaked sleeve of Shimizu's kimono, I went to the kitchen to alert Ishi, who carried in a basin of hot water while I followed with strips of linen. We then went back to the kitchen and I busied myself making tea.

By the time I returned to the reception room with a tray, Lord Shimizu's arm was bandaged and he was sitting up.

The doctor was packing away his instruments. ‘No activity for a couple of days; the wound needs to heal.' His voice was respectful but firm. He bade us farewell.

Lord Shimizu lifted a cup of tea awkwardly in his left hand. When he saw the rest of us watching with concern, he assured us, ‘It's only a scratch. It will heal quickly.'

‘What happened?' I burst out.

Misaki gave me a reproving look, but Isamu answered, ‘We were at the Yaozen restaurant when we were attacked.'

‘But who would attack a meeting of a poetry circle?'

Isamu looked at his uncle, who put down his cup, the movement making him wince.

‘Ah, the poetry circle . . .' He was staring at the cup — Misaki and I had earlier fetched a set of cups painted with chrysanthemums from the storehouse, in celebration of the day. He turned it so that he could see first one painted flower then another, but he was clearly distracted. At last he said with a sigh, ‘I suppose it's time I told you the truth.'

My heart began to beat in expectation. Shimizu lifted his steady gaze to meet his wife's fearful one. ‘The poetry circle is just a cover. In fact the group is made up of men representing the domains that support the Shogun, and senior members of the Shogun's government. Some domains are reluctant to be seen to be publicly condoning the negotiations with the foreigners, so we have been holding secret meetings to discuss the treaty terms. Only high-ranking officials are included, and we always dress informally and meet in restaurants and teahouses. As far as anyone outside the group knows, we are meeting to discuss literature.'

That explained why Shimizu and his companions were frequenting the lively district of Yoshiwara; it was a good disguise.

‘But our last three meetings have been attacked. Our enemies — those who oppose any form of treaty with the foreigners — seem to know where and when our meetings are held. The Shogun has spies following everyone in the circle, looking for a weak link, but so far we have no clue as to who is passing on the information. I still find it hard
to believe there's a traitor among us.' He passed his left hand across his face wearily.

‘Three meetings?' I asked. Of course I had no right to speak, to question, but Shimizu didn't seem to mind.

‘I wasn't present at the first one: it was the night we saw the fireworks.'

‘So the fight . . .' Misaki began.

‘It was not really as innocent as I made out.'

‘And the second attack?'

‘That was on Tanabata.'

I thought back to the evening when Shimizu had come home so upset. I recalled him in the garden with his sword the day after.

‘And tonight was the third. We were in a private room in the restaurant when our meeting was disrupted by masked men.'

Isamu added, ‘There was no doubting the reason for the disruption; they were shouting,
“Sonnō jōi!
Revere the Emperor, expel the barbarians!”'

I said to Isamu in alarm, ‘You were in the meeting too?'

‘Not inside. I was guarding the door.'

‘But they didn't come through the door,' said Shimizu. ‘They were concealed behind a screen.'

‘So the owner of the restaurant had let them in?' I exclaimed.

‘They had booked a room nearby, claiming to be merchants travelling from the north. They knew ahead of time that we would be there,' Isamu explained.

‘But if they are from the
sonnō jōi
movement, shouldn't they be attacking the foreigners rather than our own people?' I asked.

‘They oppose negotiations with the foreigners. They see us as the enemy as much as the barbarians.'

Revere the Emperor, expel the barbarians . . .
Was it a coincidence that the attack should fall on Chrysanthemum Day, a day celebrating the Emperor? The yellow blossoms that had earlier brought me such joy seemed poisonous now. I put down the cup I was holding as if it burned my hand.

‘But don't they understand that the Shogun is trying to save us from foreign attack?' I said indignantly, remembering the discussion between my master and his nephew as we climbed the Torii pass. ‘That things will be worse for us if we don't negotiate?'

‘I'm afraid their idealism doesn't allow for pragmatism,' Shimizu said.

‘You have to stop the meetings,' Misaki urged. ‘What if you'd been killed?' Her face was stricken.

‘Then I would have died honourably serving my lord and the Shogun,' said her husband calmly. ‘The meetings will continue. They must. And we will find the traitor.'

‘It has to be someone in the circle.'

Shimizu shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Men talk to their wives, servants overhear.'

Suddenly I understood the significance of what Rin had been saying. She knew about the previous attacks, that there was a traitor — of course she did; as the daimyo's sister-in-law there would not be much in the domain that she didn't know. And she thought the traitor was Misaki! That it was Misaki — perhaps with my aid — who had given the details of the meetings to the circle's enemies.

And now there had been a third act of violence. If Rin truly believed Misaki was a spy, surely she would say something now. And if Misaki was found to have lied about her background, who would believe she was telling the truth when she denied the accusations of spying?

Ink-black earth waiting

Till heaven's pearl crests the hill;

The valley draws breath

Misaki and I were drinking tea in the garden a few mornings later when Lord Shimizu came outside. His arm was healing well and Misaki told me he only wore a light bandage under the sleeve of his kimono.

I bowed. ‘Would you like some tea, sir?'

‘No, thank you. I just came to deliver this to Misaki.' He held up a letter.

His wife brightened. ‘Is it from —'

‘It's from Rin-san.'

I stiffened.

‘From Rin-san?' Misaki's surprise mirrored mine, though there was no trace in her voice of the fear that now coursed through me. ‘What does it say?'

‘She's inviting you to join her and a few of the other ladies on an excursion to Hakone. You must have made a good impression.'

Misaki gave an exclamation of pleasure just as I said, ‘We can't go.' The words had shot out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Misaki's expression faltered. ‘We can't? Why not?'

I opened my mouth then closed it again. My mistress and her husband were both staring at me, clearly startled by my outburst. But what could I say? I couldn't tell them that the daimyo's sister-in-law suspected Misaki of spying. As kindly as Lord Shimizu had treated me, I knew his loyalty to the daimyo meant he would never believe ill of anyone in Lord Kinoyoshi's family. Indeed, the daimyo's family had until recently been his own by marriage. Finally I said, ‘It's such a long way to Hakone. You'd find the palanquin too uncomfortable.'

Shimizu smiled. ‘It's to be an overnight excursion, so the journey shouldn't be too bad. And I'm sorry, Kasumi, but the invitation is for Misaki alone.'

‘Oh.' I sat back on my heels. It couldn't be a coincidence that this invitation had come so soon after the attack on Shimizu; I was sure Rin meant to expose Misaki. I couldn't let her go with them — but how could I stop it?

Misaki put a hand on my wrist. ‘You're sweet to be so worried for my comfort, Kasumi, but I'll be fine.'

‘Actually I would like a cup of tea,' Shimizu broke in. ‘Misaki, would you fetch me a cup?'

‘Of course.'

As his wife hurried away, Shimizu gave me a shrewd look. ‘Something's troubling you, Kasumi.' It wasn't a question.

Before I could frame a response, he continued, ‘I wonder if you know something that is making you fear for Misaki?'

I stared at him, open-mouthed.

‘What is it, Kasumi? Whatever it is, you can tell me.'

I couldn't tell him about Rin, but I had to give some reason that would prevent Misaki from going to Hakone. In desperation I said, ‘I know . . . I know she's not a samurai.'

Shimizu nodded slowly. ‘I see. Did she tell you?'

‘No. I . . . I guessed.' I kept my head bowed so that he wouldn't read the lie in my eyes.

Glancing up through my lashes, I saw his expression was rueful. ‘I was right about your powers of observation.'

I said nothing; I could hardly tell him about my powers of eavesdropping.

‘And you're worried that Misaki might somehow appear at a disadvantage among these ladies?'

‘No!' My voice was more vehement than I'd intended. ‘Misaki is as much a lady as any of them.' I thought of Aiko and her friends and added firmly: ‘More so.'

He smiled. ‘Then there's no need to fear.'

He was right — yet my sense of unease remained.

‘What are you frightened of, Kasumi?'

It was Misaki, with a cup for her husband and a fresh pot of tea.

Shimizu replied, ‘I was just telling Kasumi that I'll be away for a few days next week myself, but the servants will be here.'

‘You're not scared to be left alone, are you?' Misaki asked, her voice concerned. ‘Perhaps I shouldn't . . .'

‘I'll be fine,' I assured her. ‘But, sir, didn't the doctor say you should rest your arm?'

‘The doctor doesn't have my responsibilities.'

‘Your first duty is to the daimyo and the domain,' Misaki said.

‘And I'm pleased that the ladies of my domain are accepting you as one of their own.'

Misaki and Shimizu smiled at each other. They were so happy about this invitation, both so sure that it was a sign of acceptance and welcome. I wished I could warn them that it was the opposite.

By the time the following week came, I was feeling less anxious. Rin could try as she might, but she would never be able to trap Misaki into admitting she was a spy — because she wasn't. As for Misaki's real secret, well, Misaki herself knew well enough how to keep it. I would stop worrying, I decided, and instead bask in the unexpected luxury of having the house to myself.

Shimizu left early one morning, and Misaki the next. After saying goodbye to my mistress, I wandered through the empty rooms, imagining myself as the mistress of the house. I even tried on one of Misaki's kimonos, feeling for the first time the smooth slither of silk against my body. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw not an awkward country girl but an elegant lady. Perhaps Isamu would pay a visit and see me like this; he would see how easily I could fit into his world. I was
gaining the accomplishments of a lady, after all. If I had the right clothes, who would know that I wasn't? But then I thought of the burden Misaki and her husband always carried. Shimizu, torn between his loyalty to the daimyo and his love for his wife, weighed down by the knowledge of his betrayal. And Misaki, knowing that her husband was betraying his honour for her. I couldn't carry such a burden, and I couldn't ask Isamu to carry it either. The slipperiness of the silk began to unnerve me and I hastily untied the obi and let the kimono fall from my shoulders. Pulling on the familiar cotton I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't be who I wasn't. No more daydreaming about Isamu, I told myself sternly. At least if I was to marry the yam back in Tsumago, I would be doing so as myself. Yet the Kasumi of the Kira Inn didn't feel like my true self either . . .

I passed the afternoon painting in the garden, trying to capture the dappled light on the maple leaves. I was startled when I noticed that the shadows had grown long while I'd been sitting there, and smiled to remember how I'd passed so many hours in the forest preoccupied with a patch of moss on a log, seeing a forest world in miniature. Now, gazing at a maple whose leaves ranged from yellow to orange to red like the flickering of a fire, I was no longer content to stare: I wanted to paint it. But the Tsumago Kasumi would have no opportunity to paint. Not for the first time I felt a twinge of unease. When my time in Edo came to an end, how would I give up painting?

I had told Ishi I could cook for myself, and as the sun sank I made a supper of soba noodles, then went to bed.

It was strangely quiet. The servants had long since retired to their quarters. I was alone. Where was Misaki now? I wondered. Was she lonely with her secret? What means would Rin use to try to entrap her? I was sure the invitation hadn't been innocent; the older woman must have something planned. Once this thought began to worry at my mind, any possibility of sleep fled. Opening my eyes, I turned my head and from my alcove could see the reception room was bathed in moonlight. The thought of the autumn moon reminded me of the moon-viewing parties back at home, when the adults would drink sake and we would eat round white dumplings and wait for the moon to rise from behind the mountains.

Hit by a sudden surge of homesickness, I got up, fumbled for my kimono and a jacket, and went outside. The moon hung large and low in the sky. Was my mother looking at this same moon?

Idly I stroked the moon-tipped leaf of a hydrangea bush, imagining my fingers as a brush. Somehow the lack of colour made everything seem more vivid. Maybe this was why ink paintings, though they didn't have the vibrant colour of the woodblock prints, were still more moving to me.

I was shocked out of my reverie by a shout.

‘Who's there?' someone called.

Turning, I saw a shadow flit from the reception room and disappear around the side of the house. A wave of goose bumps washed down my body as if from a cold breeze. Was it a fox? No, it couldn't be; it had come from inside.

‘Who's there?' came the gruff voice again.

Now I saw a lantern bobbing through the house. I must have imagined the fleeing shadow, I realised with relief. A trick of the light thrown by the lantern.

Rising, I crossed the lawn and entered the house.

‘Hello?' I said.

I heard footsteps stumping heavily over the
tatami
, then Goro held up his lantern and peered at my face.

‘Oh, it's you, Kasumi-san.' He put a hand to his chest. ‘I saw a shadow moving around in here and thought someone must have got by without me seeing.'

I didn't ask how this person could have come through the gate unnoticed; Goro's snores could often be heard mingling with the cries of the night birds.

‘Perhaps you —' I'd been going to say dreamed it but that wouldn't be tactful. ‘Maybe you imagined it,' I finished. Like I had.

‘Maybe,' he conceded. ‘What are you doing up at this hour, anyway?'

‘I was out in the garden watching the moon. I'm going to bed now.'

‘All right then. Let me know if you need anything.'

‘I will. Thank you.'

I watched the movement of his light as it passed through the entry, where he paused to slip his feet back into his sandals, then I heard the scrape of his footsteps on the gravel as he headed back to his post. I stood for a moment, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness left by the lantern's absence. When the dark room was gently illuminated by moonlight once more, I walked back to my alcove, untying my jacket.

Then my eyes fell on my futon and I let out a terrified scream.

The quilt I had flung aside when I rose from my bed had been slashed to ribbons.