“A match between my son and the Sagara girl would be most suitable,” said Hirata’s father. “Their common heritage in the police force would be a foundation for a harmonious life.”

“There would be other benefits for both sides,” Okubo said. “Speaking frankly, your son’s status in the bakufu is valued by the Sagara clan. And their fortune is considerable.”

Hirata opened his mouth to protest; but his father spoke: “What about the girl herself? Is her character pleasing?”

“Quite,” Okubo said. “She is modest, obedient, and dutiful.” He turned to Hirata. “She is also sixteen years old and very pretty.”

Hirata didn’t care how wonderful the Sagara girl was. “Father,” he said.

An ominous look from his father and a frantic shushing gesture from his mother forestalled his protests. He squirmed in wordless agitation as the talk proceeded.

“The next step is a miai, I presume?” said his father.

“That can be arranged,” Okubo said. “The Sagara are most eager for a meeting.”

Polite farewells ensued. Afterward, Hirata’s father said to his wife, “My leg hurts from kneeling so long. I must have my medicinal bath.”

Hirata helped his mother fill a tub with hot water and herbs. His father sat on cushions with his thin, crooked leg immersed in the water.

“Father, I don’t want to go to that miai,” Hirata said.

“You must, because we’ve already committed ourselves.” The older man spoke offhandedly, as though manners were their sole concern and he’d decided to pretend that Hirata had no serious reason for objecting to the miai. “For us to back out now would offend Yoriki Okubo and the Sagara clan.”

“Well, I won’t go,” Hirata said. His voice shook even as he folded his arms and planted his legs wide. He, who supervised Sano’s hundred detectives and troops, still quailed before paternal authority; he hated to defy his father. “I’m upset that you began this marriage negotiation behind my back.”

A glint of anger sparked in the older man’s eyes. “It’s my right to make arrangements on your behalf, and your duty to obey me,” he said. “You will go to the miai and fulfill our obligations. Then, if you don’t like the Sagara girl, we can politely refuse the proposal. There are plenty of other good clans eager to wed a daughter to you.”

“Father, I don’t want anyone but Midori. I beg you not to force me into a marriage with another girl.” Desperate, Hirata dropped to his knees. “Please reconsider allowing me to marry the woman I love. Please forgive Lord Niu and resume our marriage negotiations.”

“If you came here hoping to change my mind, then you’ve wasted your time.” His father flexed his leg in the tub and glowered. “I forbid you to marry Lord Niu’s daughter. I order you to choose one of the girls whom I consider suitable.”

“But, Father-”

The older man angrily waved away Hirata’s protest. “Your desire to marry the Niu girl is selfish. It shows a disrespect toward me, and a deplorable lack of consideration for our family.” He addressed his wife, who was stirring more herbs into the tub: “Let it alone! Stop fussing!” To Hirata he said, “We have too many mouths to feed and too little space. For you to expect your parents and grandparents, your sisters and their children, to live off crumbs from your stipend is disgraceful, when the Sagara girl’s dowry would fill our rice bowls in the comfort of a bigger house.”

Hirata felt his cheeks flush and his spirit contract with shame at the idea that he placed his personal needs above his family’s welfare. “The Niu have far more money than the Sagara. If I marry Midori, you’ll want for nothing.”

His father’s expression turned grave. “For you to marry her and us to share her clan’s wealth is impossible, and not just because I oppose the match.” Turning to his wife, he said, “Mother, bring the letter that came from Lord Niu today.”

She hurried from the room, then returned bearing a scroll, which she gave to Hirata. He read:

This is my official notice that I am ending the marriage negotiations between our clans. That I should wed my daughter to the son of a rascal like you, who are my sworn enemy, is preposterous!

I warn your son to sever all contact with my daughter. His inferior person shall not be allowed to defile Midori. He shall suffer severe misfortune for daring to court her. And if he so much as goes near her, I shall slay him with my own sword and mount his head over my gate as a warning to other unwelcome suitors.

Niu Masamune

Daimyo of Satsuma Province

As Hirata stared at the letter in shock, his father exclaimed, “Not only did Lord Niu threaten me in public, he now threatens you! You must do as Lord Niu says and keep away from his daughter.”

Never to see Midori again! The thought horrified Hirata. “Perhaps there’s been some misunderstanding that could be cleared up if we all sat down together and talked-”

“I’ll not see Lord Niu again and invite more of his vicious insults,” Hirata’s father declared. “And I refuse to reconsider this match.”

Though his father’s face wore a stony aspect that repelled further argument, Hirata had promised Midori that he would find a way for them to marry. He spoke in desperation: “If Lord Niu were to make amends for insulting you, take back his threats, and welcome me as a son-in-law, would you change your mind about the marriage?”

His father regarded Hirata with a torn, wistful expression. Though he didn’t speak, Hirata understood that his father loved him and wanted him to be happy. Hope leapt in Hirata, then died as his father shook his head.

“If Lord Niu did as you suggest, I might be persuaded,” the older man said. “But you might as well pray for a miracle as expect him to change his feelings about the match, because he seems bent on hating us. You must learn to live without that girl and accept the idea of marrying another.”

He raised his leg from the tub. As his wife dried it with a cloth, he said to Hirata, “This whole business has distracted you from duty. The last thing you need is for the sōsakan-sama’s investigation to suffer because of your personal concerns. You had better get back to work.”

“Yes, Father,” Hirata said dejectedly. He left the house with his hope of marrying Midori seeming as futile as locating Lady Wisteria’s lover.

Be very quiet, Kikuko-chan,” Lady Yanagisawa whispered.

Crouching beneath low, sloped rafters, mother and daughter crept across the floor joists in the attic between the second story and the roof of the chamberlain’s mansion. This attic, which ran above all the interconnected wings of the house, was a dim, unfurnished labyrinth. Cobwebs festooned the rafters; dust, mouse droppings, and dead insects littered the floors. The only light came from grills set in the peaked gables.

Kikuko tiptoed, a finger pressed to her lips, her eyes dancing in enjoyment of what she thought was a game. They lay down on a futon set upon a tatami mat, and Lady Yanagisawa covered them with a quilt to protect them from the damp cold in this place where they alone ever came. She positioned herself on her stomach, chin propped on her folded arms, and peered through a palm-sized hole in the floor.

This hole, bored through the ceiling below and concealed by intricately carved and painted woodwork, gave Lady Yanagisawa a view of the chamberlain’s office. Years ago she’d discovered the hidden route from her wing of the house to his. She’d cut the hole at night while everyone else slept, so that she would have this window into the life of her husband.

He never told her about his business; he rarely spoke to her at all, and if she wanted to hear his voice or learn what he did, she had to eavesdrop. And because he spent virtually no time with her, when she wanted to lay eyes on him, she watched him in secret. Perhaps he was unaware of what she did; probably he knew and didn’t care.