The sadness of it overwhelmed her.

No.  It had always been too late.  It had been too late the day the perfumed darkness first swallowed her, and now she was truly lost.

She refolded the stained slip of paper and put it next to her warm skin, along with her mother’s letter, and went back to her duties.

After the brightness outside, the rooms were doubly dark.  She passed through the eave chamber into the corridor and did not see Lady Sanjo until her arm was grasped at the door of the eave chamber.

“What were you doing out there?” the woman demanded.

Her words were rude and inappropriate to someone who was not a servant, and Toshiko was not only well-born but had been distinguished by His Majesty’s favor.  However, her listlessness extended to Lady Sanjo’s bad manners and, freeing her arm, she said only, “I went to check on the azaleas.  They have buds already.”

It was a disingenuous explanation, and Lady Sanjo snapped, “Nonsense.  You were looking for the man you used to meet here.  I saw you picking up his note.”  She extended an imperious hand.  “Give it to me.”

Toshiko’s heart failed her.  In the dim corridor, the older woman’s eyes glittered with excitement.  “You are mistaken,” Toshiko said, her voice trembling as her hand moved protectively to her breast.  “I dropped an old letter from my mother, that is all.”

“How dare you lie to me?  I saw you reading it.  Give it here.”

Toshiko backed away and gathered her courage.  Let the woman think the worm had turned into a hissing snake.

 “I shall inform His Majesty that you have insulted me,” she said angrily.  “Surely even you must know that I am to be treated with respect.”

But Lady Sanjo was not so easily intimidated.  She called for witnesses.  The ladies arrived in twos and threes, eyes wide with curiosity.

“You will attest to the fact,” Lady Sanjo told them, “that Lady Toshiko has been receiving messages from a man.  Just now I caught her with a letter that was left on the veranda.  She refuses to give it to me.”

They looked shocked and perhaps a little pleased.  Toshiko knew that they must think her very foolish indeed to carry on a romantic affair, no matter how innocent, in her present situation.  She straightened her shoulders and said, “I dropped my mother’s letter and picked it up.  Because I am far from home and miss her, I often come to this room to read her words.  But Lady Sanjo has called me a liar, and that I will not tolerate.”  Pulling the letter from her gown, she extended it to the lady closest to her.  “See for yourselves.”

Lady Kosaisho took the letter with a glance at Lady Sanjo and unfolded it.  “This is indeed from her mother, Lady Sanjo,” she said when she had glanced at it.  “It appears to be an old letter.”

“Give me that!”  Lady Sanjo snatched it from her hands.  She looked at it, muttered something, and dropped it on the floor, then left with an angry twitch of her skirts.

As Toshiko bent to pick it up, Shojo-ben said, “Oh, that was too much.  Not even she can treat you this way, Toshiko.  We all heard her.  I shall write to His Majesty and tell him what happened.”

Toshiko shook her head.  “No, please don’t.  I had rather not trouble him.  And it is better not to make Lady Sanjo even angrier.  Let us forget it.”

And so things went back to normal — or almost so.  Some of the other ladies became a little friendlier to Toshiko, and Lady Sanjo seemed preoccupied with other matters.  The First Month’s holidays kept them all very busy.  They were on call for parties and banquets and must present themselves in elaborate costumes to attend the retired emperor when he received the congratulatory visits of his family and senior staff.

Whenever that happened, they filed into the hall, their faces hidden behind fans, and seated themselves in rows behind silk-trimmed curtain stands.  But the stands were not very tall and had chinks and they could be moved apart a little to make room for the elaborate, multi-layered costumes the ladies wore.  Many of the young courtiers took the opportunity to peer over, perhaps with an apology that they had hoped to see a relative among the ladies.  As always, Toshiko stayed in the back, but the curious male eyes found her, and she learned to keep up her fan at all times.

The ladies received visits from relatives during these days, and one sunny day Toshiko was told her brother Takehira awaited her on the south veranda.  The news stunned her because there had been no letters or messages from her family for many months now.  She had almost accepted her orphaned state, and did not know whether to be happy or sad at his visit.

The south veranda was very long and at this hour and on such a balmy early spring day,  several other guests were sitting outside the grass curtains.  The maid servant showed Toshiko to the section where Takehira awaited her.  From the dim interior, she could see quite well through the loosely woven curtain and noticed right away that Takehira was wearing a very handsome blue military uniform and carrying a bow.  She seated herself with a slight rustle of her gowns.

Takehira, who had been studying the other visitors, turned his head.  “Toshiko?  Is that you?”

“Yes, Takehira.  How handsome you look.  Isn’t that an imperial guard uniform?”

“Right.”  He grinned and stood to show it off.  Narrow white trousers were tucked into knee-high black boots, his blue robe had full sleeves and was long in the back where his bow and quiver of arrows rested against his back, and on his handsome head was the formal black headgear with the fanlike ornaments above each ear.  “Yes, Little Sister,” he said, sitting back down, “I finally got my letter of appointment.  I’d just about given up on you.  Mind you, it wasn’t quite what I expected, but it’s better than staying home listening to Father’s complaints all day long.  I’m Junior Assistant Lieutenant Oba no Takehira of the Outer Palace Guards, Left Division.”  He pointed to the large black lion crests that decorated his sleeves, chest, and the skirt of his over-robe.

“Very handsome,” Toshiko said, but her heart contracted.  The emperor had paid off his debt to her family.  “Congratulations.  I am sure you will soon distinguish yourself and receive a promotion.”

Takehira made a face.  “Not likely, unless there’s some fighting.  All I do is inspect the conscripted soldiers when they arrive, make sure they are fully equipped by their people, and then drill them.  You’ve never seen such oafs.  If it wasn’t for the nightlife, I’d resign.  Listen, can you put in a word for me with the emperor?  If you think about it, this is little enough for the brother of an emperor’s favorite.  I’ve got my heart set on a captaincy, and I’d rather be with the Inner Palace Guards.  You should see their scarlet outfits.  And Father says to tell you he wants the magistrate’s post in our district.  He’s tired of paying rice tax when his daughter serves the emperor.”

Toshiko was sickened by the message.  A provincial official is released from annual taxes on his lands — a considerable figure in the case of the Oba holdings.  Just what did her father expect her to do?  She protested, “But Father is no magistrate.  He knows nothing about the laws.  How can he ask for such a position?”

Takehira laughed, a little too loudly — some of the other visitors turned to stare at him disapprovingly.  “What a foolish thing to say,” he cried, raising more eyebrows.  Unaware of the effect of his bad manners, he ploughed on, “You’re just a female and hardly grown for all that you warm the bed of —”

“Takehira!” his sister cried.  “You mustn’t . . . please do not say such things . . . and so loudly.  It will ruin both of us.”

He looked around, saw the eyes watching him, and ducked his head.  “Sorry.  Got carried away,” he muttered.  They both sat in silence for a while.  Then he said in a lower voice, “What Father means to do is hire some fellow from the capital.  Some poor law professor who’ll do the job for a reasonable fee and a house for himself and his family.”