“I see. But none of this explains what you are doing here in the lady’s room.”

The flush returned to the youth’s slightly pimply face. “I … I come here sometimes. To remember her.” He shuddered. “It was terrible.”

“Were you lovers?”

The student jerked upright and stared at him. “No. Never. She wouldn’t have me,” He nearly sobbed. “I wouldn’t have dared. Oh, dear heaven!” And now he broke down. Turning away, he hid his face in his hands. Akitada could see his shoulders shaking as he wept. “Let me go!” he pleaded. “I can’t bear it.” He started for the door.

Tora moved to stop him, but Akitada said, “No. Let him go.”

The student having disappeared at a run, they looked at each other.

“Did you believe him?” Tora asked. “I mean that there was nothing between them?”

“I think he was in love with her. At that age, love is a very powerful emotion. Perhaps she rejected his advances, or else she was unaware of them.” He looked around the room. “Not very luxurious,” he commented. “Hardly the accommodations one provides for a mistress. I may have misjudged Tasuku.” He opened the trunk again and looked at the Chinese jacket. Tamako had one like it. Hers was a rose color and had been a fairly costly present he had given her some years ago. In time it had become worn. This looked hardly worn and had been folded most carefully on top of the other clothes. He laid it aside and unpacked the trunk. It was filled with sumptuous gowns and undergowns, with shimmering trouser skirts, and embroidered slippers, with exquisitely painted fans and embroidered sashes. All of it seemed new, or nearly so, and each piece was deeply creased in the folds as if the clothes had rested in the trunk for a long time. He replaced everything, not as neatly as he wished, then opened the second trunk. This one held very different clothes. Only two gowns were silk, and they were badly worn. The rest of the clothes were as ordinary as what a shopkeeper’s wife might wear. And there were not many of them: two gowns for summer and two quilted ones for winter, plus some ordinary ramie undergowns and a few much mended white socks. The final garment was a white nun’s robe and shawl, the kind worn by women on pilgrimages. On top of these clothes, lay a small silk bag containing a few coins, hardly enough to buy food for a month.

The very bottom of the trunk was taken up by two books of scrolls and some writing paper. Akitada unrolled the books and found they were tales from Genji, the famous novel about the imperial prince with the many love affairs and his one true love for his Lady Murasaki. Lady Ogata, or someone else, had annotated the novel here and there. The handwriting was elegant. Replacing the contents of the second trunk, Akitada sighed.

She had once led an elegant life, perhaps at court or else as wife or daughter of a powerful nobleman. The expensive clothing proved this much. Her education had made her a woman with refined tastes in reading. But something had happened, and she had found refuge here, no longer protected by wealth, but so poor that she wore ordinary clothes and mended her socks. What had brought her to this?

Tora called from a dark corner under the far eaves. “Come look at this.”

Akitada joined him and saw a rough wooden board that held a plain brazier with some remnants of ashes, an iron pot, two bowls, a basket with half a turnip and a bundle of wilted greens, a small sack of rice, and another of beans. On a shriveled leaf rested two dried-out slices of yokan, a sweet made from bean paste, honey, and chestnuts. “Surely she didn’t cook her own meals,” he said, shocked by the poor fare and equipment.

Tora was unmoved. “Oh, it’s easy enough to boil a bit of rice gruel and add some radish and greens. Quite tasty, I’d say.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. But for a wellborn lady this spells abject poverty. If the good abbot was a truly charitable man, he would not have let her live like this. Let’s go find this caretaker. He should know more about the owner, the people he has taken in, and their stories.

6

Murder in a Bathhouse

After hurrying to finish with the Sugawara accounts, Saburo left the main house and went to the kitchen. The cook, a new member of the household, hired by Lady Sugawara while they had been in Kyushu, was a round, short country woman who was missing some of her front teeth. Unlike her predecessor, she was cheerful and did not mind work.

Saburo had asked her what had happened to her teeth. It appeared that her husband had knocked them out one night when he had come home drunk and she made the mistake of telling him he shouldn’t have spent their last coppers on wine.

Saburo had pitied her, but she just laughed. “It was a good thing, Saburo,” she explained. “It made me leave the bastard before he got me with child. I’m done with men now. No offense.”

Ever since, Saburo had treated her with the greatest respect.

Today he found her starting the fire under the rice cooker. “Do you need anything from the market, Masumi?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve already been. Went early.” She straightened up and gave him a smile. “Go see your girl. Nobody’ll miss you. Not much happening since our lady died and her babe with her.”

Saburo nodded. The sadness was creeping back, and he hurried off into town. Shokichi would drive the demons of darkness from his mind.

Shokichi had given up prostitution and was earning some money by applying the make-up for entertainers and courtesans. Recently she had also begun to arrange their hair and select their costumes. She had always had a knack with this sort of thing, helping her friends get ready for their customers. Now she worked for a number of “aunties” who sent for her when they were rushed and needed to get a number of women ready for a party. Shokichi’s income was very small compared to what she could earn as a prostitute, but it was getting better and Saburo augmented it. She rented a room near the amusement quarter.

Saburo was glad she had given up her trade. Quite apart from the fact that he did not want to share her with other men, Shokichi was thirty. She was younger than he by fifteen years but becoming too old for her former occupation. On the other hand, her changed circumstances and their changed relationship presented new problems. Lately he had noticed a certain possessiveness in her. He loved Shokichi, but he did not want to get married. For one thing, he could not very well bring another ex-prostitute into his master’s house, expecting him to support an additional family, and for another … well, he really was not the marrying type. The present situation was what he liked: knowing she was there for him whenever he needed a woman’s touch.

When he turned down her street, he saw Shokichi come flying out of her door and taking off at a run.

“Shokichi,” he shouted, hurrying to catch up.

She turned, flushed with excitement. “Saburo, I’m so glad you’re early. You must come quickly.”

First things first. Saburo took Shokichi in his arms and swung her around. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he murmured into her ear.

She struggled free. “No time for that now. A terrible thing has happened. They’re going to arrest Sachi. They say she killed a customer.”

Saburo searched his memory. Ah! Sachi was one of Shokichi’s friends. She was the blind girl. He asked, “Why did she kill him or her?”

Shokichi stamped her foot impatiently. “She didn’t. And it was a man, a horrid man. His name’s Nakamura. They say she slit his throat with the razor. Come on. You must stop them.”

The blind Sachi earned a living by shampooing and shaving customers. Blind people frequently took such jobs because they could perform them by touch. Sachi was supposed to be popular with her customers for her gentle hands, and possibly also because she was pretty.