The Peony Lantern by Frances Watts Page B

from the deck onto an area of raked gravel. The gravel narrowed to a path which crossed a manicured lawn dotted with shrubs that had been trimmed with such precision they were as round and smooth as eggs. Misaki walked without speaking so I kept my exclamations to myself as the path wound to our left through a cluster of maple trees and black pine and opened to a clearing with a pond in which I glimpsed the golden shimmer of koi. A series of stepping stones led to asmall stone bridge, which we crossed into a cool glade of ferns, at its centre a large stone lantern covered with moss. A grove of tall straight bamboo rustled to my right as the path continued, curving through plum and cherry trees, which had finished flowering, and a patch of pale mauve and purple iris which had just begun. Whoever had designed the garden had ensured there was a colour for every season, I noted. It was like the world in miniature.
    By the time we returned to our starting point, Misaki still hadn’t said a word. Was she always this reserved? Or was it just me? She had seemed happy enough to see her husband the evening before, so it must be me, I concluded. I had probably shown myself to be so gauche and inexperienced that she was wondering how to get rid of me without offending Shimizu.
    As we neared the house, fat drops of rain began to fall.
    We retreated to the reception room and resumed our positions on the tatami , watching in silence as the drops came thicker and faster until there was a torrent of water drumming on the deck. The rains had come.
    And so my fate was sealed. There was no possibility of travel now; the rains would fall for the next six weeks, turning the highways from the city to mud. As much as she might wish to send me away, I had nowhere to go. I was stuck in this still and silent house, shut up with its secrets.

Chapter
            Five
    Strands of silk streaming
    Light steps on quivering leaves
    Dance of the plum rains
    My first day in Edo set the pattern for the days and weeks to follow. We served breakfast to Lord Shimizu, I dressed Misaki and did her hair, and then we went to the reception room. Outside it rained; inside we sat and watched it.
    It wasn’t that I missed the never-ending work of the inn exactly, but it was strange to have nothing to do. At home my hands had always been busy, and my legs and mind too. Most days I’d spent at least a few hours in the forest, and every time there had been something new to see. But in the weeks since I had been in Edo I had rarely left the house. We would occasionally wander through the garden, in the intervals between rain showers — me walking behind Misaki, carrying an umbrella — but wehad never once ventured beyond the gate and no one other than Shimizu came in. I thought of the young man I had seen the night we arrived in Edo. He had been staring at the gate with such intensity, as if wishing himself inside it, and now I was his mirror reflection, wishing myself out of it. At times it felt almost as if I was being held captive here.
    It would have been better if my mistress conversed with me occasionally — I remembered Ayame’s description of the gossiping ladies-in-waiting — but Misaki didn’t seem at all inclined to talk to me unless it was to issue an instruction. And no wonder: what could an innkeeper’s daughter have to offer a fine lady by way of companionship and conversation? Misaki’s aloof manner was an eloquent answer: nothing. She would as likely strike up a friendship with Otami the maid.
    Shimizu had asked me to be observant, and so I watched my mistress like a hawk — but there was nothing to observe. She spent the day gazing into space. If there was a reason for her faraway air, she never spoke of it. Perhaps she was just naturally melancholy in the same way Hana had been naturally sharp? I’d never thought I’d miss Hana and her stinging comments, but at least she