The Last Concubine Read Online Free PDF

bolder, peeping again and again. She had never before seen such exquisite creatures. It was another world, more gorgeous than anything she could ever have imagined.
    Twisting her head even more, she caught a glimpse of a magnificent palanquin like a tiny mobile palace, gleaming with reddish-tinted gold, with fat red tassels swinging over the window blinds and a red banner draped across the roof. Even the carrying pole and window frets were encrusted with gold leaf. The walls were covered in ornate designs and embossed with a chrysanthemum, surely the imperial crest. There were six porters to carry it, three at the front and three at the back. Guards marched alongside and liveried retainers shaded it with large red umbrellas. As the porters lowered it gingerly on to the palanquin stand the women fell to their knees in a graceful flurry of silks. Jiroemon and Otama kept their faces pressed to the polishedwooden floor, but Sachi was burning with curiosity. For a second she glanced up. Surely this was the princess! She had to see her.
    Attendants slid open the door of the palanquin and a woman emerged from the shadowy gold interior. The many layers of her kimonos, in subtle shades of orange, gold and green, were visible at throat and wrist. She was wearing a travelling hat with a thick veil that fell to her shoulders, but as she stepped down she raised a white hand and pushed it aside. Sachi saw her face before the veil fell back into place.
    Quickly Sachi lowered her head. She did not know what she had been expecting or, indeed, how she had dared expect anything. She had been thinking about the princess so much. She had expected to see something wonderful, but instead she felt puzzled and confused. The face she had seen did not belong to a princess – certainly not to the princess of her imaginings. The woman was certainly painted like a great lady, with a whitened face, tiny blood-red lips and eyebrows brushed in high on her forehead; but she seemed to shrivel inside her lavish kimonos. Strangest of all was the expression that had flickered across her face – a look of naked fear, such as Sachi had seen in the eyes of chickens about to be killed. She felt a sense of unease. Something was wrong.
    Even a child like Sachi knew that great lords and ladies had lookalikes. There were always enemies lurking, hoping to kidnap or even kill a lady. So perhaps that was what she was. Or perhaps she really was the princess. Perhaps princesses were just ordinary people after all.
    Swishing their bell-like kimono skirts the women ushered the princess into the inn, gliding past Jiroemon, Otama and Sachi, who were still on their knees, as if they did not exist.
    Palanquins continued to pull up, disgorging yet more women. Now only a few lingered in the porch. Jiroemon and Otama seemed frozen, still with their faces to the ground. Then a rather undistinguished palanquin with plain wooden walls and bamboo blinds drew up. Sachi was in a dream, half stupefied by the drama of the day and the obscure feeling that all was not as it should be. She lifted her head and watched as a woman stepped out. This one, dressed more plainly than the others, looked like a maid. For a moment her eyes met Sachi’s.
    The woman was a mere girl, not much older than Sachi, no older than the young wives who gathered at the well. She was not beautiful but there was something about the way she carried herself that held everyone’s attention. Her face was oval and childishly plump, with large sad black eyes, a straight nose, a pointed chin and a small mouth pursed in an expression of dazed resignation. Her skin was so white it was almost tinged with blue. She stepped awkwardly from the palanquin and stood uncertainly, as if she did not know what to do next. The other women flocked around her, hastily throwing a veil over her head. They seemed to be trying to play-act indifference, looking away from her and talking loudly to each other. But they could not hide the deference