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soothed her friend. Masahiro keened, and she bounced him on her lap. “There’s no need to rush. You and Hirata-san have your whole lives to be together.”
    Inconsolable, Midori chewed her thumbnail; her other fingers were already bitten raw. “I can’t wait,” she fretted. “We must marry soon. But Hirata-san’s parents weren’t very pleased when he told them he wished to marry me.” Midori’s round face was thinner, its usual rosy color turned pallid; her blissful glow had faded soon after she and Hirata had pledged their love. Her eyes were bright with anxiety instead of joy. “And my father wasn’t pleased when I asked him for a miai.”
    A miai was the formal first meeting between a prospective bride and groom and their families. A ritual of exchanging gifts, negotiating a dowry, and eventually a wedding, would follow-if both families consented to the marriage.
    “You know my husband has already arranged the miai,” Reiko said. Sano, acting as Hirata’s go-between, had convinced both families to attend.
    “But it’s scheduled for tomorrow. What if Hirata-san is so busy with the murder investigation that he can’t go?” Midori wailed. “What if his family doesn’t want me, and mine doesn’t want him?”
    These were distinct possibilities, given the circumstances, but Reiko said, “Just hope for the best. Don’t worry so much.” Though preoccupied with her own troubles, she tried to comfort Midori, and wondered why her friend was so upset.
    The exterior door slid open, letting in a rush of cold air. A somber, elderly maid entered. She announced, “I present the Honorable Lady Yanagisawa and her daughter, Kikuko.”
    Conversations died as everyone turned toward the newcomers who stepped hesitantly into their midst: a woman in her mid-thirties, and a little girl of perhaps eight years.
    “The chamberlain’s wife and child?” Midori whispered.
    “Yes.” Curiosity leavened Reiko’s spirits. “But why are they here? They’ve never attended these parties.”
    Lady Yanagisawa was utterly plain, with legs so bowed that they curved the skirt of her black brocade kimono, and a dour face so flat that all her features seemed to lie on the same plane. Her eyes were horizontal slits, her nostrils wide, her lips broad. In striking contrast, her daughter was a beauty, resplendent in a lavish pink kimono embroidered with silver birds. Kikuko had inherited her father’s tall, slender body., luminous black eyes, and sculpted features. She gazed at the assembly, her face oddly vacant.
    Womien hurried forward to welcome the pair. They seated Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko in front of the alcove, where maids served them tea and snacks. As the women went up one by one to meet the exalted guests, Reiko eyed Lady Yanagisawa with covert fascination, because she’d always wondered about the wife of the man who had often schemed against Sano. When her turn came, Reiko took Masahiro by the handl and led him to the alcove. They knelt and bowed; an attendant introduced them.
    Lady Yanagisawa barely looked in their general direction. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Reiko.” Her soft voice was rusty as if from disuse, her expression downcast.
    “The honor is mine,” Reiko said, noticing that Lady Yanagisawa wore no makeup, except for the brows drawn upon her shaven forehead, perhaps to show off her one good trait-smooth, flawless, moon-white skin.
    Masahiro gazed at Lady Yanagisawa with solemn childish scrutiny, and a fleeting smile rippled her somber aspect. He then thrust his chubby little hands toward Kikuko. “Hello,” he said.
    She giggled. Turning to her mother, she said in a high, sweet voice, “Mama, see boy. Nice boy. Funny boy.” Saliva welled in the corners of her lovely smile. Kikuko acted and sounded much younger than her years, and Reiko realized with a shock that Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s child was feebleminded. There was an uncomfortable silence until Reiko lit upon a topic for