“Having to stay indoors in cold weather makes me restless,” said Reiko. “How do you pass the time?”

“I read poetry. I sew clothes for Kikuko. I try to teach her a little reading and writing. We play together.” Long pauses separated Lady Yanagisawa’s sentences. “Sometimes we go out to a temple.”

“How nice.” Reiko thought Lady Yanagisawa’s life sounded circumscribed, dull, and lonely. Perhaps she didn’t want to expose Kikuko to people who might mock her.

Lady Yanagisawa glanced at Reiko, then away, then back again, repeatedly, scrutinizing her hair, figure, clothes, and face. Although Reiko could detect no malice in Lady Yanagisawa’s narrow eyes, she grew uneasy.

“Does your husband share your interest in poetry?” Reiko said.

“My husband is very busy.”

This reply told Reiko that the chamberlain, like many a man, paid his wife little attention, but Lady Yanagisawa gave no hint of whether she minded. Reiko began to feel as though the other woman’s gaze were taking small bites out of her, and at a loss for how to entertain Lady Yanagisawa. Then Reiko noticed Kikuko fidgeting restlessly with her hair ornaments.

“Maybe Kikuko-chan would like to play with my son,” Reiko said. “Shall we take her to the nursery?”

“That would be fine.” Lady Yanagisawa spoke in a tone of indifference, but rose and held out her hand. “Come, Kikuko-chan.”

The way to the nursery took them past Sano’s office, Reiko’s study, and the bedchamber. Lady Yanagisawa paused at each doorway to peer inside, her face expressionless, her gaze unblinking. Kikuko imitated her mother’s pose, and Reiko’s uneasiness burgeoned. Their behavior seemed intrusive, but Reiko dared not object. With considerable relief she ushered Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko into the nursery. There, Masahiro had dismantled his block house and begun building another while O-hana watched.

“Masahiro-chan,” Reiko said, “look who’s here.”

He saw Kikuko and gave a happy chortle. The girl smiled. Letting go of her mother’s hand, she hurried over to kneel beside Masahiro and his blocks. O-hana bowed to Lady Yanagisawa, who studied the maid for a moment, then ignored her.

“Me do,” Kikuko said, piling blocks in an untidy heap.

“No,” Masahiro said. “Here. Like this.”

He showed her how to build a wall, and they began working together. Kikuko, docile and clumsy, chewed on a block. Lady Yanagisawa impassively observed the game without a change of expression, but Reiko feared that the glaring contrast between their children would upset her guest.

“Masahiro-chan, how about showing Kikuko-chan some of your other toys,” Reiko said.

The little boy went to a cabinet and took out wooden animals and soldiers. Kikuko examined each with lively curiosity. Lady Yanagisawa knelt, apparently content to watch the children, and Reiko relaxed, spared the onus of making conversation and glad not to be the focus of her guest’s attention. Soon the children began tumbling and wrestling. Now Kikuko’s greater age and strength showed to advantage. She picked up Masahiro and spun around with him until he whooped in joyous excitement, while a slight smile leavened Lady Yanagisawa’s stern aspect.

A pleasant hour passed in this manner. Then Lady Yanagisawa said, “I am afraid we’ve outstayed our welcome. Kikuko-chan, it’s time to go home.”

The little girl obediently rose from the floor, where she and Masahiro were turning somersaults. “Good-bye,” she said to Masahiro.

Reiko escorted her guests to the entryway. Lady Yanagisawa donned her sandals and cloak and helped Kikuko put on hers. “Many thanks for your hospitality,” Lady Yanagisawa said, bowing.

“Your presence did me an honor.” Reiko also bowed, thinking that Lady Yanagisawa seemed as aloof and unfathomable as when they’d first met.

“Perhaps you will bring your son to see Kikuko-chan and me someday,” Lady Yanagisawa said.

“Yes. I will.” Though Reiko still had doubts about the prudence of associating with the chamberlain’s wife, courtesy required her agreement.

“The days are often long and melancholy when one is alone, and your company is most cheering… I must thank you for your friendship.”

The pauses in Lady Yanagisawa’s speech lengthened the farewell ritual. Reiko, suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue, wished to be alone, but waited politely.

Then Lady Yanagisawa said, “This business of Lord Mitsuyoshi’s death… Please excuse my candor when I say that I know you collaborate with your husband on his inquiries into such matters, and I know the peril that now threatens you both.” Face averted from Reiko, she hushed her voice. “I shall do whatever I can to assist you in your endeavors.”

“Your generosity is much appreciated.” Reiko hid her surprise: Nothing had prepared her to expect that the chamberlain’s wife would offer help in the investigation. “A thousand thanks.”

As Reiko stood in the doorway and watched her guests climb into their palanquin, she wondered if a woman like Lady Yanagisawa, isolated in her home, with few friends and no talent for talking to people, could possibly provide any worthwhile information. Reiko sighed and returned to the nursery, where she sat watching Masahiro play and waited for Sano to come home.

Music and laughter drifted across the dark countryside from Yoshiwara, while latecomers queued at the gate. Through the streets of the pleasure quarter marched a long procession. Lantern-bearers led a shy young girl dressed in elaborate kimono, female attendants, and a horde of spectators eager to see the young courtesan make her debut. More spectators craned their necks from balconies as she stopped at teahouses to solicit business. But Hirata paid scant attention.

He walked alone down Nakanochō, his mind preoccupied. After the miai, he’d escorted his parents to their home in the hatamoto district north of Edo Castle. He’d tried to talk to them about what had happened at the theater and persuade them to allow his marriage to Midori in spite of it; but they had proved intractable.

“Lord Niu is a vile monster,” his father had said. “Never mention him or anyone connected with him to me again.”

Hirata’s mother had bowed her head in assent.

“You’ve wasted far too much time on your foolish romance,” Hirata’s father said. “Go back to your work and forget that girl.”

The impossibility of their marriage had only shown Hirata how much he loved Midori. But although he longed to see her and hated to leave matters as they stood, he decided to resume the murder investigation. He felt he’d already shirked his duties today, and he mustn’t let Sano down.

But when Hirata had gone to Edo Castle, he’d been unable to find Sano or any of the detectives assigned to the case. He didn’t know what they’d learned during his absence, or what he should do. Feeling left out and guilty, Hirata had come to Yoshiwara in the hope of catching up with the investigation. Yoshiwara was a gathering place for people from all around Edo as well as points distant, and thus a lode of news that Hirata had often mined for tips about crimes and criminals during his career as a doshin. Now he strolled along Nakanochō, seeking acquaintances who’d been helpful in the past.

Loud drumming throbbed from a teahouse. Hirata peered under the doorway curtain and saw a group of men seated in a circle, clapping in time to the drummer’s beats. In the center of the circle, three young women dressed alike in red kimono minced, whirled, and gestured in a flirtatious dance. Their tense smiles and awkward movements told Hirata that they weren’t courtesans. They were odoriko-girls from peasant families who scrimped and borrowed to buy dance and music lessons for their daughters, then put them on display. The object was to attract rich men who would marry the girls or hire them as household entertainers. At the edge of the audience Hirata saw an older woman he recognized, a gossip who had her nose in all the business of Yoshiwara.