Chapter 7 – The Mirror's Tale
"Darling Ken,
I have done as you asked and requested Edwin Rutherford's presence in my box at the theatre this evening. He agreed in a manner most slimy, and has promised to bring along his 'acquisitions' so I might practice my Japanese. Detestable man.
Don't make me wait too long,
Lucifera"Lucy Fairchild was in fine form. Dressed in an evening gown of cobalt blue silk and adorned with tasteful sapphires, she was the picture of a society matron who wielded great power among the ton. Queen Victoria herself was known to have copies of Lucy's travel journals, which detailed the various countries she had visited in her youth. Many who wished to gain the attention of the bereaved queen sought to curry favour with the sometimes outlandish Lady Fairchild; indeed, when Ken entered her box at twenty minutes before the curtain rose, it was packed with many such toadies.
As soon as she saw him, Lucy waved the others away. "My dear Mr. Hidaka," she trilled. "How very good of you to accept my offer this evening." She extended a graceful hand, which he caught and lifted to his lips.
"Dearest Lady Fairchild," he murmured. "It is you who are too good, to invite an ignorant foreigner to share your box. I know how much you enjoy the theatre." Her mouth quirked up slightly at such an exaggeration; she did not enjoy the theatre at all, and only maintained a box because society expected it of her.
"Doing it up a bit too brown, aren't you?" she murmured as the door closed behind the last exiting bootlicker. "Half of London knows I only come here to observe them."
He maintained his gentle grip on her left hand as he took the seat beside her. "Well, I couldn't very well say 'Thank you for letting me sit in your box so that I can try to get information about Rutherford from the woman he purchased in Japan while you distract him', now could I?" He made a face. "I've already let the man's bodyguard in on the surprise, there's no need to let everyone else know."
She laughed. "Poor Kenken. Still sore about that?"
He chose to ignore her comment, paying attention to their linked hands instead. The paleness of her skin enhanced the golden tones in his; his sturdiness made her slenderness all the more fragile. He turned her hand over and smiled. "You wear this, even though it doesn't match your dress?"
This was a large oval moonstone set in silver. It changed colour as the light hit it; a translucent white stone that flashed iridescent blues and pinks as she moved. He had given it to her twenty-five years before, on their last night together.
She smiled. "I always wear it," she said. "A gift from a friend I cherish above all." He lifted her hand to his cheek, pressing it softly, and released it. He was conscious that many eyes were on the Fairchild box. He couldn't afford to expose Lucy to the gossiping masses; though she claimed that she cared little for the rules of society, she had a position to maintain. In the eyes of many, she could appear to be a foolish older woman, throwing herself at a man young enough to be her son. The two of them knew the truth of their relationship, but Society functioned on appearances and Society could be cruel.
He was glad he had relinquished his hold on her hand a moment later, as the door to the box opened. Edwin Rutherford entered with his foreign entourage, and the collective gaze of the audience turned on him.
Rutherford, in black evening wear accented with a garish waistcoat of sky-hued silk, was a-glitter with rings, pocket watches, fobs, and other vulgar displays of wealth. Ken guessed the man was wearing more jewellery than he and Lucy combined. Fujimiya wore almost the exact outfit he had worn the evening of Lucy's ball. His only adornment was a thin gold earbob that dangled from his left ear almost to his shoulder. Ken couldn't remember if he had worn it before.
It was Takaoka, though, who drew all eyes. Her kimono was black silk with an embroidered pattern of waves around the hem in every shade of blue nature could produce. The pattern was repeated in shades of grey on her dark blue obi. The outfit coordinated with both of her companions, and nicely complimented Lucy's gown. The neckline of her kimono, while modest by English reckoning, was much lower than Japanese standards, exposing the hollow at the base of her throat and hinting at the generous curve of her breasts. Her carefully upswept hair revealed the delicate column of her neck, and her ears glittered with silver and shell.
Ken marvelled at her beauty. If he had compared Ran to a warrior statue, Takaoka resembled nothing so much as a doll crafted from ivory. There was no one in the theatre with whom to compare her; the fairest English rose faded in the presence of such an exotic blossom.
Rutherford was bowing over Lucy's hand when Ken finally tore his eyes away from Takaoka.
"Lady Fairchild," he said. "Words cannot express the delight I felt when I received your invitation this morning. So gracious, so imperious, so…unexpected." He pressed a wet kiss to her hand.
"You give me too much credit, Lord Rutherford," she said, extracting her hand from his grasp. "I felt that our last meeting was…somewhat unpleasant, and I have no desire to always be quarrelling." She smiled up at him, veiling her eyes beneath her lashes. "It is bad for one's reputation, to quarrel constantly with a fellow leader of the ton."
He smiled down at her. It was a singularly unpleasant expression. "I wasn't aware you held your reputation in such high esteem, my dear Lucy." His glance flickered in Ken's direction. "If you do, associating with Hidaka here is doubtless doing you no good."
"Play nicely, Sir Edwin," she said, a hint of censure creeping into her tone. "Mr. Hidaka is my guest, as you are, and I must insist that you behave yourselves. Besides," she added, "you are keeping me from my other purpose." She rose, and crossed from her chair to the door of the box where Takaoka and Fujimiya stood. She inclined her head formally, saying in Japanese, "Takaoka-san, Fujimiya-san, you are both very welcome. I hope your stay in England thus far has been pleasant."
Ken prided himself on the musical quality of her voice; he had given her the rudiments of his language, and she had proven a quick study. She had barely a trace of an accent, and her intonation and inflections were those of a native speaker.
Fujimiya inclined his head but said nothing. It was Takaoka who responded, thanking Lucy most humbly for the opportunity to take in an evening in a European theatre. Her voice was high and soft. His first lover, Yuriko, had had such a voice. He had learned at a cost that a small voice could mask great secrets. Ken wondered how many secrets hid beneath Takaoka's voice.
Ken had remained seated during the play of manners between Lucy and Rutherford, and left it to Lucy to manipulate the seating arrangements. There were five chairs in the box: four in a gently arched semi-circle, with the fifth near the door. Fujimiya stood closest to the door, but showed no inclination to sit. Lucy led Takaoka by the hand, and seated her in the furthest chair to the left, next to Ken.
She led Rutherford to the chair furthest from Ken and seated herself between the two men, saying, "I must keep you to myself, Sir Edwin. I will confess my ulterior motive in inviting you to the theatre this evening."
"I await your confession with bated breath," he drawled, his gaze heavy-lidded. "Dare I hope you are about to admit your undying passion for me?"
Lucy laughed, a delicate, frothy sound. "Sir Edwin, surely you know that no woman dares to do so to your face? Fully half the women in London cherish a secret tendre for you… For me to admit mine would expose me to the barbs of my fellow afflictees." She made a great show of self-deprecation, and he laughed.
Her expression became more serious. "Seriously, my dear sir, my reason for summoning you so autocratically this evening is purely selfish. I must have details of your journey to the East. And do not think to fob me off with your insistence that it was all filthy and savage," she said, cutting him off before he could protest. "I have journeyed as far as India, and I have seen much. But you have tales from further East than I will ever journey, and I must insist that you relate them to me."
She leaned closer to him. "And in return, I will provide you with a sumptuous repast at intermission. You know you enjoy my chef's labours."
"I think you are not being completely honest with me, Lucy," Rutherford drawled. "If all you wished of me was travel details, why meet at the theatre? Why insist on my bringing my servants?"
She leaned back, resting her left arm on the arm of her chair. "Several reasons, Edwin. First, for the cachet. There are many in the theatre this evening who will envy me your companionship. Second, for the stories. Yours, and Takaoka's. I'll get around to questioning her later. And third, because it pleases me to do so." She smiled again, sphinx-like. "I seek my pleasures where I can find them, my dear."
He stared at her for a moment longer, carefully considering. Eventually, he gave in to the inevitable, and he began to regale her with the story of his journey to Japan by land and sea. The rise of the curtain, signalling the beginning of the play, did not deter him in the telling.
On Lucy's other side, Ken had not been idle. As soon as Lucy had started beguiling Rutherford, Ken had turned slightly in his seat. Takaoka sat beside him, her back straight and eyes towards the stage.
"Good evening, Takaoka-san," he murmured. "How are you enjoying your theatre experience so far?"
"It has been most pleasant thus far, Hidaka-san," she murmured in reply. "However, I was surprised at how…physical…these English are when they are in a crowded space. I was jostled several times as we made our way from the carriage." He smiled at the carefully concealed distaste in her voice. He had made a similar observation when he first came to the West.
"The English are quite contradictory," he said. "They dislike too much casual contact with their peers most of the time, but push against each other like animals when they want to get somewhere."
"Ahh," she said. "I had wondered if they were always like that." They sat in silence for a long moment, both observing the audience below them. The sounds and scents of the crowd mingled into one sensation. He found it at once compelling and unsettling.
"I had hoped you might answer a question for me, Takaoka-san," he said, turning his head further in her direction. She said nothing, but her posture and air seemed receptive. "How much of our language does Lord Rutherford understand?" The lights were lowered; the curtain rose, and the first actors stepped on to the stage below them. He used the cover of applauding to sneak a glance at Rutherford, whose gaze was on the stage.
Takaoka's face was serene as she watched the beginning of the play unfold. "His grasp of the language is good enough for casual conversation in Tokyo, Edo-that-was, but in the countryside to the west of the city, he is at a loss."
"It's fortunate, then, that I spent several years in Osaka," he said, switching into the slightly archaic dialect of the west. "We can speak privately."
"It is so," she agreed in the same tongue, flicking her gaze towards him. "But what can you have to say to me that my master may not hear?" Her eyes were unfathomable; dark pools fringed by darker lashes.
"It is the questions I have to ask I would prefer him not to hear," Ken answered. "First, might I have your given name, Takaoka-san?" It was impertinent on his part, and he knew it; as an unmarried woman, she was under no obligation to reveal her name to him.
"My father named me Kyoko." Mirror. A smile briefly crossed her lips. "He said that the koi in his pond were still at the moment of my birth, and the moon's reflection on the pond's surface was so clear it was as if two moons lit up the night." The smile faded. "But I do not think that my name is what you seek."
"You are perceptive, Takaoka-san," he said. "I seek to know more about you and the warrior behind us." He was conscious of Fujimiya behind him, and Rutherford to his right. Lucy was keeping Rutherford occupied with questions which he answered with great animation. Every so often, however, his eyes would drift, and Ken would feel the man's gaze upon him, burning him. Kyoko kept her eyes to the stage and her voice low, trying to give the appearance of commenting on the play.
"He does not wish to be here," she murmured, not bothering to look behind her at Fujimiya's rigid form. "I cannot say I blame him. His heart is far from here." She smiled slightly again, sadness shading her eyes.
"With his Aya?" he asked, careful to keep his voice low. She slanted a gaze at him, questioning.
"You know of Aya?" When he nodded, she sighed. "Aya is the key to his obedience. Should he fail in his duty, she is the one who will pay. The poor kitten…"
"Can you tell me why the two of you are here?" he asked.
"The story is not wholly mine to tell, Hidaka-san. Indeed, my part in his story is minimal, and does not reflect well upon me." The sadness he had observed in her eyes had made its way into her voice.
"Please," he murmured, keeping an ear toward the others.
"Very well, Hidaka-san," she said. "I shall tell you what I know, and leave the judgment of that knowledge to you. Ran's father was a samurai, talented and strong, but of insignificant birth. Ran's mother was a sweet and gentle woman, who had endured much during her lifetime. She was the second child of one Kitada-san, a warrior who had taken a gaijin wife, a wanderer from the West. Katsue-san had her mother's colouring, scarlet hair and violet eyes, which she passed on to her son. Aya-chan more closely resembled her father, but bore also the strange eyes of her grandmother. They were a very close family."
She paused, as if uncertain of how to continue. "I do not know how much you know about the beginning of the conflict in our homeland, Hidaka-san. Ran has not been forthcoming about what he has learned of you."
"I know of the roots of the conflict," Ken replied. His voice was hard, remembering how Japan had changed over the course of his lifetime.
"Ah. Fujimiya-san died in a skirmish before the war officially began. He supported the Ishin movement, and had many supporters in the ranks of the lower samurai. Katsue-san followed soon after. Some said it was a chill that settled in her lungs that carried her off; I have always felt that her grief was too strong for her body to contain it."
She paused again, observing the actors onstage. "The playwrights enjoy similar themes, do they not? A love so overpowering that the lovers cannot exist without each other? Strange, to twine love and death so closely together…" Her voice trailed off, watching the story of a different conflict unfold before her. She drew a lacquered fan from the sleeve of her kimono and plied it delicately before her.
"The children?" he prompted, drawing her back.
"Yes," she murmured. "The children… When their parents died, they fell into the care of their mother's niece, Hanae. It was Ran's misfortune that the elder brother of Hanae's husband was a calculating, manipulative demon."
"Takatori," Ken said. She nodded.
"Reiji Takatori saw the boy's potential immediately, his drive and determination, and he played upon his desire to see the new world emerge." She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "He was the right hand of the Revolution, an executioner in the name of progress, but it took a terrible toll on him. One cannot labour long in darkness without losing a piece of one's soul. For Ran, the only spot of light in his life was Aya. All it took was one smile, one laugh, and his strength was renewed."
The young hero made his first appearance on the stage, tall and strong, filled with the pride of youth. The audience applauded.
"And Reiji observed…and plotted," she said. "He was one of a number of men who turned the Revolution to their profit. He amassed more wealth and power during the Bakumatsu than any of its visionaries. And while he was observing Ran, Ran was watching him…and Ran came to understand that the new era he was struggling for would belong to men like Reiji in the end."
Ken could picture it clearly. The idealistic young warrior turned into a puppet, his strings pulled by a clever schemer, falling further and further into darkness. And at the end of those long years, to be sold into slavery far from the homeland he had sacrificed so much to reshape.
"I was often in their house during that troubled time," she continued, "as my brother served Reiji and my sister, before her death, was his wife. Their cousin Hanae is my closest friend, and her husband has always been kind to me. And so it was that Reiji chose to send me into this exile with Ran. My brother would not raise a hand to defend me; even if he were not loyal to Reiji, he cares nothing for me."
There was no bitterness in her voice. If her brother's betrayal of their family connection bothered her, it did not show in her re-telling. She might have been discussing the weather, or any number of innocuous subjects.
But pity coloured her voice when she continued. "I am Ran's constant reminder. If he does not fulfil his duty to Rutherford, Aya will suffer my fate. Reiji will use her in the same way Rutherford has used me." She glanced at him again. "And that is as much of the tale as I can relate, Hidaka-san. If there is more you wish to know, you must ask Ran."
He nodded his thanks, and they both turned their attention back to the stage. Ken was lost among his thoughts, re-enacting the events that had led Kyoko and Ran into Rutherford's hands. He understood completely Ran's shock and rage at the sight of Cherry, who so resembled his Aya. He understood why a noble warrior would protect a man he despised, to keep safe the last member of his family. And he knew that Ran had been listening the entire time Kyoko had spoken of the things he endured.
Ken could feel Ran's gaze on the back of his neck, could hear the steady beating of his heart. He tried not to fidget, not to betray his awareness of the other man, but it was difficult. He forced himself to concentrate on the play.
It was one Ken had seen often in the years he had been in Europe. He didn't care much for the tale of warring families and star-cross'd lovers, but he could sense Kyoko's interest. It seemed the dainty woman's grasp of English was good enough to follow the archaic poetry and prose, and he wondered from whom she had learned the language.
When the curtain fell at intermission, he asked her about it.
"Before my father's death, he was friends with a Dutch physician named Van Helsing. Van Helsing's wife was English by birth and spoke little Japanese. I learned Dutch and English from her." She offered a guarded smile. "In many ways, I found Dutch easier to learn, but English more melodious to speak."
He laughed. "I will take your word for it, Takaoka-san. I found them both difficult to learn, and to speak." He glanced to his right, to make certain Lucy was keeping Rutherford occupied. "Lady Fairchild speaks both Dutch and Japanese. If there is something you wish to speak of privately with her, it would be wise to use Dutch. To the best of my knowledge, Rutherford doesn't speak it."
She lowered her lashes demurely. "I tested that when he was in Reiji's house. Unless he is a better dissembler than he appears to be, he understands nothing. Not many men respond well to being called the flatulent offspring of a pig and a rat." She pronounced it so modestly that it took a moment for the insult to sink in, but when it did, Ken laughed so hard that both Lucy and Rutherford looked at him.
He was trying to come up with a suitable cover, when the door of the box opened, and one of the theatre's liveried servants entered, bearing a note on a tray. It was addressed to Ken, and he scanned through it quickly. Folding it neatly, he turned to Lucy.
"My dear Lady Fairchild," he said, "I'm afraid I've been summoned away. I hope you'll forgive my departure." She met his eyes directly, searching. What she saw there made her worry, but she simply nodded. He looked at Rutherford. "So sorry to cut our evening short, Rutherford," he said. "It's been interesting."
"Indeed," Rutherford drawled. "Most interesting." He looked as though he would say more, but Lucy prudently interrupted him, allowing Ken the opportunity to escape.
As he passed by Fujimiya, the samurai turned his head slightly, making eye contact. Once again, as their eyes met he felt the strange feeling of connection he had sensed between them in his study. It played at the back of his mind, taunting him; he felt that he should recognize it, should be able to name it…but before he could, Fujimiya turned his face forward again, and the moment was lost.
Once outside the Fairchild box, Ken hurried down the corridor, down the stairs, through the lobby. The teeming masses of theatregoers hampered his progress, and he struggled with a desire to simply push them all out of his way. Eventually, he made it through the overly perfumed crowd and exited the theatre.
He hailed a cab immediately, and gave the driver the address. As the horses pulled away from the curb, he settled back against the seat and pulled the note from his pocket. The scent of perfume, a wild and intoxicating blend, was caught on the parchment, and the message, in elegant cursive, was cryptic.
"Cher,
I know you are engaged at present with the so-witty Lady Fairchild and most-disagreeable Rutherford, but I have a desperate need of your company on the third floor. I have a visitor who you should speak with – he may be dined on shortly.
Your favourite hunting partner."
Author's Notes
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this so far – your encouragement means a great deal to me.
Just a couple of notes on the meanings I have attached to different names – when I started this story, I wasn't aware of which kanji was used for Ran's name. I chose to use the kanji for 'chaos', because I felt it was appropriate to his character. After finally getting my copy of the manga, I realized they used a different kanji, but had 'chaos' too firmly embedded in my mind to bother changing it.
For Kyoko Takaoka, I've never seen her actual name spelled out, only her code-name. I got her background info from a website, and it may be mistaken, I'm not sure. I chose 'mirror' as my interpretation of her name, for reasons that hopefully will reveal themselves in the coming chapters.
Also, I've been having a little difficulty with my research – if you've observed any historical inaccuracies that rub you the wrong way, let me know.
Like it? Hate it? Wish to tear me to shreds for Ran's similarity to another redheaded Bakumatsu-era samurai? Drop me a line