The courtesan had lived in a quiet residential part of the city not far from the center of town. Her house was small and hidden in the back of a lovely garden. Cherry trees bloomed and birds sang. A small fountain splashed water from a bamboo pipe into a basin and thence into a narrow pebbled stream which lost itself among the shrubbery. The air was cool and scented and birds sang in the trees, but the house lay in a deep silence.
One of the constables shouted, “Ho! Open up! Police.”
Akitada grimaced. Onlookers were already gathering in the street outside, trying to get a look, but Lieutenant Maeda seemed untroubled. When nothing happened, Maeda tried the door. It opened easily, and they entered single-file, walking along a flagged corridor to a set of folding doors with carvings of orchids on them. Maeda opened these also. Beyond lay a raised room open to a broad veranda and the back garden.
The space was not large but extremely luxurious. It had clearly belonged to a woman of exquisite taste. The reed shades over the doors to the garden were trimmed in green brocade. Silk cushions in deep purples and reds, some with gold embroidery, lay about. Painted screens and rare speckled bamboo book racks stood against the walls, as did red and black lacquered trunks. Lacquered food trays, porcelain dishes, carved braziers, and elegant paper lanterns proved that Fragrant Orchid had entertained lavishly.
Akitada noted the finely painted screens, several musical instruments, and books, and immediately pictured her in their midst. Here, in this enchanting world, Fragrant Orchid had received her lovers, those lucky men whom she had found attractive enough or who had possessed enough wealth to tempt her.
Akitada might have come here himself, and then perhaps she would not have died. He had no proof this was so, only the nagging feeling he was responsible somehow because he had ignored her invitation.
Maeda walked into the middle of the room and pointed at the floor. “We found her here,” he said. “She collapsed after vomiting. You can still see the stains.” He turned and pointed to a wall. “Over there on the little tray we found a used cup and her folded letter.”
Brought back to the ugly reality of such a death, Akitada asked, “Did your coroner identify the poison?”
“Yes. It was hishima. Common enough among prostitutes who use it in their cosmetics and in larger doses to cause abortions.” Maeda made a face.
“But in this case the dose was very large?”
“Yes. According to Doctor Fujita, it would have killed a horse. Unpleasantly. Violent vomiting and convulsions.”
“What about the letter? Do you still have it?”
Maeda pulled a folded paper from his coat. “I thought you might want to see it, sir.”
Akitada recognized the tiny flecks of gold and the stiff handwriting. His heart contracted at the memory of her beautiful face. The letter was in the form of a poem:
“Unmindful that ships must wait for high tide, I parted from you too soon … oh, for a vermilion boat and a pair of jeweled oars so that I might row across to meet you on the other side.”
The words were beautiful and sad. They spoke of lovers parting in this world and of the hope of meeting after death. Not surprisingly, Maeda and others had taken it for proof that Fragrant Orchid had ended her life because she had lost the man she loved. Akitada thought of Governor Tachibana. Was he the man who had broken her heart? Tachibana had planned to leave Kyushu, and he had been a womanizer; it made sense that his affair with the most beautiful woman in Hakata should have been a passionate one. If he had been murdered, had she known something of his death? Was that what she had been about to tell him?
He decided against the broken heart. The woman he had conversed with had not been grieving over the death of a man she loved. In fact, he did not believe for a moment that she had committed suicide.
“Where did you find this?” he asked.
Maeda pointed to a writing box. “It was inside. On top.”
“Allow me to keep this a while, Lieutenant,” he said to Maeda. “Something about this note puzzles me.”
Before Maeda could answer, they heard running footsteps in the garden and turned.
“Go away!” The little girl who had given him the note from Fragrant Orchid rushed down a path and into the room. Her eyes were filled with tears and her pretty face flushed. Behind her huffed an older woman in the clothes of a servant. When she saw them, she stopped timidly on the garden path.
Not so the little one. She dashed up the steps into the room.
“Go away!” she cried again, her small fists clenched as she stamped her foot. “This is her house. You mustn’t be here. It’s wrong to touch her things and stare at them.” She burst into loud sobs.
Tora went to her. “Sorry, little one,” he said soothingly, bending down and putting an arm around her shoulders. “We’ve come to make sure the poor dead lady is not forgotten. Who are you?”
She stared at him, sniffling and sobbing, and mumbled, “Umeko. I live here.”
Akitada said, “I think she is Fragrant Orchid’s protégée. I met her after the banquet.”
The girl turned her head to look at him and nodded. “Why didn’t you come?” she asked accusingly.
“I’m very sorry.”
“She was so worried. She kept saying, ‘I hope he comes.’”
Tora straightened up and looked at Akitada. For once, he was not grinning.
Akitada took it hard. Here was the proof. She had indeed wanted to tell him something, something she knew to be dangerous. She had hoped she would be safe by telling him about it. Instead, the risk she had taken at the banquet had brought a killer to her house.
Umeko still looked at him with eyes swimming in tears. He said softly, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was important.” With unforgivable conceit he had thought Fragrant Orchid had been flirting with him, had thought him a desirable lover.
Umeko nodded with a small sob. She dabbed at her eyes with a sleeve of the gorgeous small gown she wore.
“You must have loved her,” Akitada said, feeling inadequate.
She nodded again.
“We’ll find out what she was afraid of,” Maeda promised. “With your help. Were you here the day she died?”
A head shake.
“So you don’t know if anyone visited her?”
Another shake. “She sent me and Keiko to the dance master when the man came.”
“Keiko is her maid?”
She nodded and pointed to the woman outside.
Maeda called, “Come up here, Keiko.”
The woman approached and knelt. She had a plain face. Her hair was partially gray and twisted into a knot on her neck.
Maeda said, “So your mistress sent you and the little girl away because she was entertaining a customer that day?”
Keiko giggled. “Not a customer. No more customers after the governor.”
“Then who came that day?”
“Nobody. “
“So you weren’t here when Fragrant Orchid took the poison?”
“No, Lieutenant.” She made him a bow and stared at Akitada and his companions.
“This is his Excellency, the governor, and the two men with him are his officers. You mustn’t be afraid. We’re trying to find out why your mistress killed herself. Was she sad?”
The maid shook her head. “She was in a temper. She got in a temper when his honor Tachibana left.”
“A temper?” Akitada raised his brows. “I because the governor left?”
The maid nodded. “She liked him. My lady did not have many men come into her bed.”
Akitada’s glance went to Umeko. It was an improper conversation in front of a child her age, but Umeko was a courtesan in training. No doubt she was wise beyond her years in the ways of men and women together.