The Samurai's Daughter (14 page)

There were yells and thumps and sounds of pushing and scuffling, followed by the screech of ripping fabric and a woman’s indignant shout. Nobu hesitated. Eijiro was his sworn enemy, he had every reason to hate him. He’d beaten him, thrown him out
on
the street, and he was the son of General Kitaoka, the scourge of the north. But he was Taka’s brother. He was on his own. Nobu couldn’t stand by and see him killed.

He scrambled to his feet and plunged into the crowd of gawping spectators, pushing aside damp silk and sweaty bodies. People staggered back protesting, shouting curses at him.

Eijiro was surrounded by a gang of youths, brandishing sticks and knives. Some were in cotton jackets, others stripped to their loincloths with tattoos rippling across their chests and backs and sinewy thighs gleaming with sweat. Eijiro had squared up to the youths. As far as Nobu could see, he was unarmed. Tsukasa stood beside him, her dainty fingers curled around the hilt of a dagger half drawn from her obi, her scarlet lips pursed in disdain. Eijiro’s friends had melted away at the first hint of trouble.

Nobu charged through the gang, shoving them out of the way, trampling over them, sending a couple tumbling like round-bottomed Daruma dolls, and took his stand beside Eijiro.

The youths clenched their fists and crouched, shifting their feet, getting ready to attack. There were ten or twelve of them. If they all jumped on him and Eijiro at once the two of them would be in trouble. But he had a hunch that beneath the aggressive tattoos they were merely shifty-eyed, bandy-legged bullies who’d turn on a soft target like Eijiro but slink away if there was any chance of getting hurt themselves.

Hard black eyes stared back at him and he wondered if this time he’d run out of luck. A fellow with a swarthy complexion and narrow forehead pushed out his scrawny chest like a fighting cock. ‘Out of the way, m’ boy, or you’ll get hurt,’ he snarled.

Nobu held his ground. ‘Ten o’ you and one o’ him?’ he grunted. He could mumble like a low city gangster with the best of them. ‘Bunch o’ cowards. You wanna fight, you’ll have to fight me too.’

‘Northerner, in’t you?’ growled the man. ‘What’ya wanna take sides with this potato-faced bastard for? Don’t you know who
he
is? His dad’s the chief of those southern generals who massacred your lot.’

‘The war was over a long time ago. Forget north and south. Leave him be.’

The men pressed in closer, brandishing their sticks. Then there were shouts of ‘Now then, now then, what’s going on here?’ Several burly men, sleeves tied back ready for a fight, were pushing their way through – the Yoshiwara police. The troublemakers looked at each other, shuffling their feet. A moment later they’d melted away into the crowd.

Nobu turned on his heel. He needed to get back to his post quickly before Mori-
sama
summoned him and Bunkichi and Zenkichi noticed his absence. If he wasn’t careful he’d be out of a job and this job hadn’t been easy to find. He was eager to disappear before Eijiro recognized him. He hadn’t forgotten the beatings he’d given him.

A large hand landed on his shoulder. ‘You certainly took care of those thugs, my man. They scattered as soon as they saw you. I’m in your debt. Let me treat you to dinner and a woman! Well known in these parts, are you?’

Reluctantly Nobu turned. Eijiro was smiling. It was obvious he had no idea who he was. Two years had passed since they had last seen each other. Nobu had been a scrawny sixteen-year-old and a servant, practically invisible, barely human as far as his master was concerned. Now he was a man, tall and firm-muscled. As for Eijiro, he was the same florid, rather flabby fellow that Nobu remembered.

Eijiro’s expression changed and his jaw dropped. He snatched his hand from Nobu’s shoulder and took a step back. ‘It can’t be. Not … Nobu, is it?’

Nobu cursed himself, wishing he hadn’t been so impetuous. The last thing he wanted was for this man to track him down. He didn’t want anything to do with him or his family any more. ‘Kitaoka-
sama
. At your service, sir.’

‘You saved my skin, young Nobu,’ said Eijiro, trying to sound
bluff
. ‘It must be your karma, always showing up when you’re least expected. Rescuing Kitaokas is your speciality.’

Nobu nodded brusquely, looking for a way to escape. Eijiro was clearly embarrassed. He needed to find a way to save face but Nobu had no intention of helping him out. ‘Are they well,’ Nobu asked, ‘your family, your honourable mother?’

‘All well.’ Eijiro narrowed his eyes. ‘You remember that foolish little sister of mine, Taka? She’s to be married soon – an excellent match, to the heir of the Shimada house.’

Nobu froze. He stood stock still for a moment, staring at the rough ground. The trample of feet, the shouts and music and revelry faded. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. It all came back – the reading and writing lessons, her sweetness, his happy days in the big house in Shinagawa. He’d been so sure he was over all that but nevertheless it was a blow. But there was no point wishing things could have been different, no point regretting or yearning. He swallowed. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, bowing with what he hoped was a careless smile. The last thing he wanted was to give Eijiro the satisfaction of seeing his dismay. ‘Wish her happiness. And give my best to your honourable mother.’

‘And you, Nobu. What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were a Yoshiwara man.’ Eijiro flung out his arms in a sweeping gesture that took in the glowing lanterns, the cages of prostitutes, the crowds pushing back as a procession approached with a preening courtesan parading along on high clogs. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the commotion.

‘I’m in service,’ Nobu said, scowling. ‘I’m attending my master.’

Tsukasa tugged at Eijiro’s sleeve. ‘Eiji-
kun
, it’s getting late. Give the footman some money and let’s go.’

Nobu heaved a sigh of relief. He was about to flee when a flat, ugly face with protruding lips pushed out of the crowd.

‘Nobu! There you are!’ Bunkichi was grinning. He stopped short, his face changing as he took in Eijiro’s prosperous belly and expensive robes. He visibly shrivelled and bowed his head. ‘So
sorry
, sir,’ he mumbled. ‘Is this lad bothering you? Nobu, not getting into trouble again, are we?’

‘Not at all,’ said Eijiro. ‘We’re old acquaintances. He helped me out.’

Bunkichi tilted his head and gave Nobu a quizzical stare, then made an elaborate bow. ‘Bunkichi, unworthy servant in the household of Mori Ichinosuke,’ he said, puffing out his chest.

‘Mori-
sama
. I know him well,’ said Eijiro. ‘Is your master here?’

He grinned as Bunkichi’s face conveyed the answer that his master was indeed in the Yoshiwara but at present otherwise engaged.

‘Young Nobu here is our newest recruit,’ said the attendant. ‘Glad he’s been of service. There’s a lot of ruffians hanging around the Yoshiwara,’ he added solemnly. ‘You’d best watch your step, sir, a wealthy man like yourself.’

As Nobu turned, he felt a prickling between his shoulder blades. He could feel Eijiro’s eyes boring into his back. He hated him as much as ever, it made no difference that he’d rescued him. Nobu would have to make sure their paths never crossed again.

But seeing him had reawakened the memory of his sister, Taka. He told himself firmly not to be a fool. He’d just have to forget her again and as quickly as possible. The best way was by losing himself in the arms of the Yoshiwara girls. Unlike Taka they were for sale, the imp-faced girl most of all.

Morosely he followed Bunkichi back to the Pine Cone House.

9

‘I’LL BE LONELY
without you, Taka,’ Fujino wailed, pushing her needle into the seam of the kimono she was working on. She pulled the thread through, knotted it and cut it off neatly. ‘You’re all I have left now that Haru’s gone. Who will I talk to when you go too?’

Taka pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. It’s your own doing, Mother, she thought. It’s nothing to do with me. She kept her mouth firmly shut. There was no point in saying anything.

They were sitting together companionably, finishing off some sewing, while the maids swept and dusted. Light poured in through the paper screens. In the kitchens the servants clattered about, tidying away the breakfast dishes.

‘I promise you, you’ll thank me in the end,’ Fujino said, putting down her sewing, taking out her fan and waving it briskly. ‘Don’t look so miserable. Why don’t we take a couple of rickshaws and go to Ginza, to the Ebisuya dry goods store? We’ll surprise Mr Kawakami! He has the most wonderful selection of silks. We can look through his pattern books and order a gorgeous dress for you from that tailor in Yokohama. If you’re to be Masuda-
sama
’s wife, you have to know how to run a house. Madame Masuda will give you a good training, but it will be as well to have a head start. Let me tell you a secret. Being a rich man’s wife won’t be all hard work. You’ll be ordering silks, going out to dine, just as we do now. Speaking of which, I have an idea!’

She dropped her fan and clapped her plump hands. ‘We’ll go
and
try the beef stew at Nishikawa. It’s just opened and my dear friend, your aunt Kiharu, tells me it’s the place to be seen. You have to get over your aversion to beef. All the fashionable people eat it.’

She pushed aside her sewing, slipped her fan back into her obi, heaved herself to her feet and padded away across the tatami.

The sounds of the garden floated in – cicadas droning, birds twittering, the trickle of water, the tock of the bamboo water pipe. The gardeners crunched about, chatting to each other, clacking their shears and scraping their rakes across the gravel.

Her mother was probably right, Taka thought. She was making a fuss about nothing. Masuda-
sama
had seemed a perfectly decent man, though she hadn’t liked the patronizing way he’d corrected her English and the arrogant pout she’d seen when he addressed the servants. But it wasn’t really anything to do with him. It didn’t matter how rich he was. She wanted a chance to spread her wings, not flit out of one cage straight into another.

But there was no way out. Fujino was busy drawing up plans for the wedding, interviewing palanquin owners, selecting silks for wedding kimonos and planning an enormous feast, at the end of which Taka knew she would step into a palanquin even more luxurious than Haru’s and the lacquered door would slide shut and when it opened again she’d be at Masuda-
sama
’s mansion. She’d tried arguing and pleading, but in vain. Her mother kept telling her it was the greatest opportunity she would ever have and that she knew better than Taka what was best for her.

She was probably right. It was not surprising she was worried and afraid when she was marrying a perfect stranger but once she was Masuda-
sama
’s wife no doubt it would all be fine. ‘“When winter comes, spring can’t be far behind,” ’ she murmured.

She picked up her sewing again but then she heard something unexpected – raised voices on the other side of the house. The voices stopped abruptly and there was an ominous silence.

Okatsu came pattering through the vast open rooms and
dropped
to her knees beside her, a worried frown puckering her pretty face. ‘Your honourable brother’s home.’

‘Something must have happened. He never gets back before midday.’

‘I think you’d better come.’

Fujino and Eijiro were facing each other across a table, talking in low voices. They were so caught up in their argument they barely noticed Taka as she dismissed Okatsu and knelt beside them.

Fujino was on her knees, her back softly curved. ‘My dear son, I really don’t think …’ she began in her wheedling geisha coo. Suddenly her face changed and she leaned forward. ‘I will not let you bring this house into disrepute.’

Taka started. She’d never heard her mother speak so fiercely.

Eijiro was sprawled across the mats like a beached whale. He was wearing the rakish silk robes he had put on to go to the pleasure quarters, of finest pongee with an embroidered lining. One expensive sleeve was torn and hung loose at the shoulder.

‘You forget, Mother,’ he growled, his voice rising. His large square face was dark and his brow creased in a stubborn furrow. Fujino raised her hand, gesturing to him to speak more softly. It wouldn’t do to quarrel in front of the servants. ‘In my father’s absence I am master of this house. I accord you due respect, but you are still a woman. It’s your duty to obey my command.’

‘Say what you like, my son. We have no money. Your father has been away for years and how often do we hear from him? I’m at my wits’ end trying to keep this household together. And now Taka is to marry and we must find a dowry.’

Taka wondered if she was telling the truth. Perhaps that was why she was so eager for her to marry Masuda-
sama
– for his wealth.

‘Tsukasa is the most celebrated courtesan in the city, Mother. Even you must have heard of her.’ Taka looked at him in surprise. Surely he couldn’t be talking about the famous Tsukasa? Many of the girls at school had copies of Kuniteru’s woodblock print
of
her, impossibly elegant and slender, and everyone studied her kimonos and the modern way she wore them. Tsukasa’s daring ‘eaves’ hairstyle, sweeping out over her ears liked the eaves of a house, was the latest fashion. Even Fujino sometimes arranged her hair in the Tsukasa style. There were photographs of her too, posed on a chair, as if to show that there was civilization and enlightenment even in the Yoshiwara.

‘Everything’s arranged. I’ve negotiated the terms,’ said Eijiro impatiently. ‘Our family will be disgraced if I don’t produce the money. I promise you, Mother, taking Tsukasa as my concubine will bring glory to our house.’

Fujino smacked her fan down hard on the tatami, sending up a shower of dust. ‘Fool. It will bring shame, nothing else.’ Taka had never seen her so angry. ‘You don’t even have a wife. How can you take a concubine? We are a secondary house and we’re under all the greater an obligation to maintain our respectability. Look at you. You’re a wastrel, all you do is drink and whore. You bring shame to your father’s good name. And your expensive clothes, all torn. I can’t believe a son of mine would let himself be taken in by a whore, and a Yoshiwara whore at that. If your father knew it he would disown you.’