They drank, then Hirata said hesitantly, “We might still be able to talk to Ichiteru.” From under his kimono he removed a letter and handed it over.
As Sano read, excitement eclipsed his depression. “She has information about the murder? Maybe this is the break we need.”
“You mean you think I should go?” A wild joy flared in Hirata’s eyes before consternation clouded them. “To see Lady Ichiteru, alone, at this place she describes?”
“It’s you she’s asking for,” Sano answered. “She might not be willing to speak to anyone else. And we can’t endanger her-or defy the shogun’s orders-by meeting in the castle.”
“You trust me with such a critical interview? After what I’ve done?” Hirata sounded incredulous.
“Yes,” Sano said, “I do.” His purpose for sending Hirata to the rendezvous was twofold: he wanted Lady Ichiteru’s information, but he also wanted Hirata to regain his self-confidence.
“Thank you, sōsakan-sama. Thank you!” Fervent with gratitude, Hirata bowed. “I promise I won’t let you down. We’ll solve this case.”
After Hirata had gone, Sano went to his desk. Reading reports from his detectives, he wished he could share Hirata’s faith. His men had questioned every member of the Miyagi household; no one admitted to tampering with the ink, or seeing anyone do so. They’d traced the bottle’s path to Lady Harume. The messenger who had delivered it claimed he’d neither opened the sealed package nor made any stops along the way. Interviews with the castle guard who’d taken in the package, the servant who’d carried it to the Large Interior, and numerous individuals with possible access to the bottle while in transit had proved inconclusive.
Sano rubbed his temples, where a dull headache throbbed-he shouldn’t have imbibed liquor on an empty stomach. His journey into Lady Harume’s past had made the case more perplexing instead of less; he still believed that the facts of her life related to the murder, but couldn’t make the connection. Sano felt drained of energy, in need of solace. Where was the comfort he’d expected to find in marriage?
Then Sano felt Reiko’s presence: a mental sensation vaguely akin to the ripple of a distant stream. He realized he’d been feeling it ever since arriving home, like an undercurrent beneath his thoughts. In the space of a mere three days, he had become attuned to his bride. He would always know when she was near. Marriage had worked this strange magic despite the conflicts that divided them. Did Reiko feel it, too? The thought gave Sano hope for a chance of mutual understanding and harmony. Now, as the sensation grew stronger and he heard the creak of the floorboards under her soft footsteps, he forgot the cares of the day. She was coming to him. His heart pounded; his mouth went dry in anticipation.
A knock at the door: three quiet, firm raps. “Come in.” Sano’s voice hoarsened with nervousness, and he had to clear his throat.
The door slid open. Reiko entered the room. She wore a red dressing gown printed with gold medallions, its lush folds emphasizing the delicate yet seductive curves of her figure. Her knee-length hair swathed her like a shimmering black cape. She looked utterly beautiful and unapproachable. In her proud posture, Sano could see generations of samurai ancestors. Reiko’s gaze was cool as she knelt a good distance away from Sano and bowed, her voice level when she said, “Good evening, Honorable Husband.”
“Good evening,” Sano said, chilled by her formality. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Where did you go? Sano wanted to ask. What did you do? But those questions would sound like an interrogation, and probably cause another quarrel. Sano controlled his tendency to batter against any obstacle that stood between him and the truth. Marriage was teaching him patience. He felt as though he’d aged years since his wedding, slowly, painfully maturing into the role of husband. Instead he waited for Reiko to speak. Didn’t her visit indicate a desire for his company?
“My father paid a call while you were out,” Reiko said. “He wishes to see you tomorrow morning at the hour of the dragon, in the Court of Justice.”
Realizing that she’d come only to deliver this message, Sano experienced the heavy letdown of disappointment. “Did he say why?”
“Only that there’s a trial that he believes will interest you. I asked if it had anything to do with your investigation, but he refused to say.” A bitter smile twisted Reiko’s mouth. “Like you, he thinks it’s none of my business.”
With difficulty, Sano resisted the bait. “Thank you for bringing me the message.”
How he ached to touch her! He could imagine the silken sheen of her hair on his fingers, the soft pliancy of her body against his. The tantalizing scent of jasmine wafted across the distance between them. Oddly, her strength of will only increased the attraction she held for him. To win the love of this proud wife would be a greater conquest than domination of a weaker woman. The battle would require less brute muscle than intelligent strategy-the skill on which he prided himself in his detective work. His warrior spirit rose to the challenge.
Reiko bowed, signaling her intention to leave. Seeking a way to keep her with him, Sano said the first thing that came into his head. “About last night-I’m sorry if I hurt you when I pushed you out of Lieutenant Kushida’s way.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” Reiko’s voice remained cool, her expression implacable. “And you needed my help more than I needed your protection. Why don’t you just admit it?”
This was getting them nowhere, except further apart. In desperation, Sano blurted, “I admired that stroke you used against Kushida.”
Now Reiko’s eyes rounded in surprise at the compliment. “Thank you, but it was nothing, really.” A becoming flush of pleasure bloomed in her cheeks. “It’s just something I learned from a martial arts treatise by Kumashiro.”
“You’ve read Kumashiro’s works?” Now it was Sano’s turn to be surprised. The great swordsman, who had lived two hundred years ago, was a hero of his own. Now his love of the history of martial arts prevailed over his belief that a wife shouldn’t practice them. He found himself and Reiko discussing kenjutsu. Because she’d read as widely as he, this was one of the most satisfying conversations he’d ever had on the subject. Reiko’s intelligence impressed him, and he enjoyed watching her glow with enthusiasm. She moved closer; her posture relaxed; her smile mirrored his pleasure in their mutual interest. Sano believed that she’d come here because she’d wanted to see him: after all, she could have sent a maid to deliver her father’s message. She, too, felt the attraction that sparked between them.
Then, in the middle of a passionate argument about the merits of a particular style of swordsmanship, Sano realized he was making the same mistake that Magistrate Ueda rued: encouraging Reiko’s interest in unfeminine pursuits.
His expression must have shown his dismay, because Reiko stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. Sadness quenched the sparkle in her eyes; she’d read his thoughts. “It’s late,” she said regretfully. “I shan’t interrupt your work any longer.” As their camaraderie died, the room seemed to grow suddenly colder. “Good night, Honorable Husband.” Reiko bowed and rose.
“Wait,” Sano said. When she paused at the door, a question in her eyes, he wanted to say: Investigating Lady Harume’s life has opened my eyes. I understand what it’s like to be female in a world ruled by men. I realize the cruelty of a society that limits a woman’s existence. I know how you feel!
Yet how could he claim to understand Reiko’s position, while still maintaining his own? He didn’t want her involved in a murder investigation that had grown even more perilous with Lady Keisho-in’s emergence as a suspect. He still doubted her ability to accomplish anything worth the risk of her life. Knowing this, Reiko would surely repudiate his sympathy as a mere ploy to win her affection against her will. Sano cast about for a neutral topic of conversation, but anything he might say could lead to the central issue of her independence-his authority- and another quarrel.