The Peony Lantern by Frances Watts Page A

from my husband’s family, perhaps. I didn’t know it was there. I haven’t really looked through the cupboards.’
    That seemed to me to show a remarkable lack of curiosity. Or politeness; I shouldn’t have been looking through my master’s possessions without permission, I realised with shame. Still, it was done now.
    I opened the top of the box. ‘Look at the shells. They’re exquisite.’
    Moving closer, Misaki kneeled beside me and pulled a shell from the box. ‘So many of them! Oh, look at this one.’ On the inside of the shell were painted cherry blossom branches on a gold background, with what looked like a line of verse written down the side.
    â€˜What does it say?’
    She peered at it, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
    â€˜I think there are supposed to be three hundred and sixty pairs,’ I offered. ‘Shall we play?’
    We laid out the shells from the top tray so that their pictures were visible.
    The morning passed very happily, though Misaki pretended to sulk when I had found two pairs for every one of hers.
    Fortunately the rain didn’t last long. By the afternoon the skies were clear and we were able to take tea by the pond. It was the same spot in which Taro had revealed Lord Shimizu’s secret, the only difference being the appearance of blue and white bellflowers in the garden. Misaki had a fan painted with bellflowers, I recalled, thinking I must remember to give it to her to carry the next time we came outside. She was still carrying the iris fan, but their season was coming to an end. What would be suitable for the fireworks? I wondered. If there was a wrong note struck in her dress or accessories, would it be observed? I turned to her to ask, then decided not to trouble her with my anxieties. I was only worried because I knew her secret — she didn’t know I knew, and I wanted to keep it that way.

    As it turned out, I was not alone in my anxiety. In the week since Shimizu had first announced that they would be going to Shunsho’s viewing party, Misaki had seemed excited by the prospect, enlivened, but on the morning of the fireworks festival itself she was pale. She ate nobreakfast, and my attempts to engage her in conversation about the event were met with short answers.
    Finally I asked, ‘Are you unwell, my lady?’
    The face she turned on me was drawn not with illness but apprehension. ‘To be honest, Kasumi, I’m a little scared. Tonight will be my first time meeting my husband’s friends.’
    The afternoon of the festival was spent in getting ready. We went through Misaki’s kimonos trying to decide which best suited the occasion. ‘What do you think of this one?’ She held up a kimono of bright red silk embroidered with threads of yellow, indigo and pale blue.
    â€˜That must be what fireworks look like,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh good, I thought so too. You don’t think it’s too bright?’
    â€˜But the fireworks will be bright,’ I pointed out. ‘And besides, it’s so beautiful.’ I traced an embroidered flower with my finger.
    I redid Misaki’s hair, using the red comb from Yabuhara as an ornament. Then she reapplied her white face makeup, and I took the brush to paint around the nape of her neck. A light application of rouge to her cheeks and lips, and then it was time for the kimono.
    â€˜What if they don’t like me?’ she said tremulously as I tied the obi.
    I suspected what she meant was: What if they see through me? After all, the only person she’d had to fool so far was me, and while I could spy the new shoot of a fern among a carpet of leaves, my eye for people had proved not quite so discerning: I hadn’t suspected her secret at all.
    â€˜How could they not like you?’ I responded, pushing her towards the reception room.
    To our surprise Isamu was waiting there with Shimizu, so striking in his formal