"I expect they were very sad when they found out," said Tora.

"Well, Master cried." She took his bowl and stacked it into her own. "But not her!" She spat. "When he was gone she danced a little dance and sang all day long."

"Really? Was there bad blood between them?"

The girl nodded. "They quarreled all the time. Master would leave to get away from them."

"What did they quarrel about?"

"The young miss had pretty things, and the mistress was forever borrowing them. The young miss didn't like it. And then the young miss would talk about the guests, and the mistress would get very angry."

Tora pricked up his ears. "Your master had many visitors?"

"Not the master." She stood up and took the bowls back to the vendor. When she returned, she said, "We must go now. Thank you very much for the good noodles." Reaching for the basket with the vegetables, she added, "I feel much stronger now and can carry the basket very well."

"Not on your life," said Tora, snatching the basket away. "How would it look if a strong young fellow like me let a little lady like you carry such a very large radish by herself?"

She giggled. "I'm no lady. And you shouldn't be carrying vegetables, sir," she protested.

"I'm not proud. Come, we'll chat as we walk. What about those guests?"

She suddenly looked wise beyond her years. "Oh, they come to see the mistress. There's one at the house now. She says they're cousins from her village, but I've seen them around town."

Tora whistled a few notes of a popular salacious ditty, then asked, "And the daughter? Did she entertain guests, too?"

"Oh, no. The mistress would not have allowed it. She was that jealous of Miss Omaki. Specially when Miss Omaki started getting all the presents from her gentleman."

Tora looked down at the little maid fondly. What a very useful child she was! "Was she going to get married then? What sort of fellow was her betrothed?"

The term puzzled the girl. "Her betrothed? I don't know that word. I've never seen Miss Omaki's gentleman. The mistress only called Miss Omaki names, like 'slut' and 'whore.' I know what those mean, and I don't think she would've done that if Miss Omaki was about to get married, do you?"

"No, I expect not. Well, here we are!" Tora paused before the umbrella maker's house and looked it over. "Did they give you Miss Omaki's room?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I sleep in the kitchen. Miss Omaki's room is upstairs in the back. The mistress has locked it up, because Miss Omaki's things are still in it." The little girl looked nervously at the upper part of the house. "I don't go up there. A dead person's spirit stays in the house for forty-nine days and nights, and I bet Miss Omaki's spirit is angry the mistress is wearing her things."

Tora felt his own hair bristle. He wished the girl had not mentioned spirits. "Well, come on," he said gruffly.

The little maid gave him an anxious look. "You will talk to her so she won't beat me again? You promised."

"Yes."

She took the basket and opened the door. They stepped into the dark front room of the house. The little maid struck a flint and lit an oil lamp. The room was deeper than it was wide. To their left was a kitchen area. Its floor was bare earth and the customary two plaster ovens with their rice steamers were built into the side wall of the house. A fire under one of the steamers was nearly out. The girl exclaimed and, dropping her basket, she ran to put more wood on and to blow at the glowing embers.

On the right side, a raised wooden platform held neat stacks of materials for making umbrellas. Bamboo shafts, rolls of oiled and painted paper, pots of glue, hemp and dried grasses for tying were all kept in tidy bundles and rows. On one side lay a pile of half-finished umbrellas.

In the back, a steep stairway climbed by way of stacked storage cabinets to a loft, and beyond this a narrow passage led to the rear. There was no one about.

"Oh, mistress?" shouted the girl, rising from her efforts with a fresh coat of ashes and soot on her pinched face. Her voice echoed from the smoke-blackened ceiling rafters.

"What do you want?" a shrill voice responded from somewhere beyond the stairs. "You're late! Get busy with those vegetables!"

"There's someone to see you," cried the girl.

After a moment's silence, there was the sound of a door and some whispered conversation. The door slid shut, and soft steps padded towards them.

"You should have said so right away, girl!" said the lady of the house, emerging from the dark passage into the faint light. She pulled some shimmering yellow garment around her and peered towards Tora uncertainly. He stepped forward into the light and bowed. Taking in his neat blue cotton robe with its black belt, and then his broad shoulders and slim hips, his handsome face and his neatly tied hair, she reached up to touch her own hair. "Oh!"

Tora eyed her with equal interest. The yellow garment seemed to be a fancy embroidered jacket, and she wore it over a thin under robe. She appeared to be in her thirties, her face somewhat coarse but not unattractive, and her body well-padded.

She asked, "Would the honored gentleman like to order an umbrella?" and came towards him with mincing steps, swinging her hips from side to side. Pointing to the platform, she said, "Please to be seated, while I get the patterns." Slipping dirty feet out of straw sandals, she stepped onto the platform to lay out a cushion for Tora. As she bent, he could see that she was naked under her robe.

"Do not trouble," said Tora, tearing his eyes away from her heavy breasts and seating himself on the edge of the platform. He gave her an admiring smile, showing off his white teeth, and said, "I came to speak to your husband, ma'am, but on another matter. Your little maid was kind enough to show me the way. I'm afraid I made her late, because I had some business to take care of first."

The woman waved the apology aside, saying, "Please don't worry! There is plenty of time. But my husband will be late." She glanced nervously at the darkness outside the window, then smiled at Tora and asked, "Can I be of some assistance?"

"Ah." Tora stroked his small mustache and eyed the lady appreciatively. "It is my very good luck to find his beautiful lady instead."

"Oh!" She batted her eyes and touched her hair again. "I'm afraid you caught me at my worst. I was taking a nap."

"You look elegant. Your husband is a lucky man. At least he shows his appreciation!" Tora touched the hem of the yellow jacket admiringly.

"Oh, this? My husband didn't give that to me. He's an old man who has no interest in such things. Besides he barely scrapes together enough to put food on the table. I married beneath my station." She noticed the little maid, who was still standing there, clutching the basket of vegetables and watching the exchange open-mouthed. "How filthy you are, girl! Go wash your face!" she cried. "And get on with the laundry while you're at it!"

"But you said to fix the vegetables for the evening rice . . . ." One look at her mistress's face, however, made her set down the basket and scurry along the passage and out the back door into the yard.

"Please excuse this humble and uncomfortable place," the woman said, kneeling down near Tora. "Will you take a cup of wine?"