Chapter Four

‘As housekeeper, I have been watching you. You may very well uphold your claim to the Tsubakikoji house. However...’

Etsuko paused, her words lingering unfinished in the perfumed air of my private chambers. Summoned to deliver a fresh ampoule of Sydenham’s laudanum tincture, she stood now beside my bedside table, her robust frame animated with nervous agitation. Clearly she intended to say something of considerable consequence, but faltered for lack of confidence. I arose from my récamier and approached her, placing my hand upon her bulky shoulder in a gesture of gentle reassurance. Suitably calmed, she deposited the requested medicine in its proper place and turned to face me, her toad-like features set in a look of grim determination.  

‘However ... you are not yet ready to challenge our matriarch. Lady Hanae’s strength surpasses that of your typical noblewoman. Were you to face her now, she would surely annihilate you, and House Tsubakikoji would remain forever beyond your grasp.’

I could not have been more surprised. Tsubakikoji property by birth, Etsuko Mita was the clan’s longest serving – and therefore most trusted – servant. For her to come before me and declare support for my cause was utterly inconceivable, and yet that appeared to be exactly what she was doing. Was it a trap? Was deceit concealed behind this simple housekeeper’s ample bosom? I had to know.

‘What precisely are you saying?’ I asked suspiciously.

Etsuko puffed up with uncharacteristic majesty. ‘I am saying a girl who cannot defeat me has no hope against the Lady. I am saying ... that I challenge you.’

‘You what?’ said I in complete disbelief. ‘Come now, do you consider me duller than a Dutchman's donkey? Do you expect me to believe that you are here to train me for the task of destroying your benefactors?’

‘It matters not if you trust my purpose,’ she replied. ‘For now, the only thing you need trust is your ability.’

Before I could respond her hand shot out and struck me on the chin, causing me to stumble and gasp. Despite her age, this rotund domestic servant hit with the ferocity of an enraged gorilla. Clearly she used her time for more than just dusting furniture and polishing ornaments. She had been trained – perhaps by Madame Smack herself.

‘Your technique,’ I blustered, my mouth filled with blood. ‘I recognise it. The Bobby’s Snuffbox. I can think of two places where a person might learn it.’

‘Indeed, madame?’ she said, lashing out with a powerful open-palmed nosebreaker. ‘I can only think of one.’

The blow hit with unimaginable force, causing me to reel as blood gushed from my nostrils in a sickening crimson torrent. Etsuko watched with encouraging calm, clearly expecting me to overcome the immense pain and continue the fight. Keen to satisfy, I regained my balance and adopted Madame Smack’s patented 63rd Posture – The Scotsman’s Willy – and beckoned:

‘I hope you’re ready for this.’

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