The Serpent's Shadow

those who were merely making a living for themselves. It was he who asked for several more cards, on seeing it and hearing my words, and made me to believe that he would be giving them to some of the young ladies.'

'Aha!' Maya responded. The cards she had given to Gupta, unlike her 'official' business cards, had not been printed up, but had been calligraphed elegantly and by her own hand, because what they implied was risky, even scandalous.

Doctor Maya Witherspoon, Lady Physician. Female complaints. Absolute discretion, and her address. On the next lot, she would add, Licensed to practice at St. Mary's, Paddington, and Royal Free Hospital.

What the cards implied was that she would treat the women who came to her for treatment of their 'female complaints'—including inconvenient or unwedded pregnancy—without a lecture or a word slipped outside the office. And that she would give instructions and supplies to prevent inconvenient pregnancy, regardless of marital status.

'Ah, but I was wise and cunning, mem sahib,' Gupta continued, his face wreathed in smiles. 'I followed well- dressed gentlemen as they left the theater last night, and marked the houses they went to. This morning I looked the houses over, and chose the finest. There, too, did I leave your card, and pleased were the dwellers in those places to see it, though one did sigh that it was too bad you were a lady and they could not pay for your services with an exchange of trade.'

'Gupta!' she exclaimed, and giggled, although her cheeks did heat up. 'That was very well done! How clever of you!' She had not been able to work out a way to get her cards into the hands of the mistresses of the wealthy men of London. Now Gupta had managed that, and once one or two of the 'Great Horizontals' came to her, they would see that the rest of their set knew her name.

'Yes,' Gupta replied, not at all modest. 'I know, mem sahib. I think you will have callers tomorrow, if not today.' He cast his eye around the garden, which was growing darker as evening approached. 'Will you have your tea here, mem sahib? I could light the lamps.'

'Please,' she said, as Charan nestled down into a corner of the chair. 'And if friends call, bring them here instead of the parlor.'

'And callers of another sort?' Gupta raised his eyebrows to signal what he meant.

'Use your own judgment,' she told him. 'You are a wise man, Gupta; I think you will know best whether to summon me to the office or bring the caller here.'

Gopal soon brought her tea, a hybrid mix of the High Teas of India and of Britain. She shared the feast with her menagerie, other than Mala and Nisha, who ate only what they hunted, or the starlings and pigeons Gopal's eldest boy brought down with his catapult. Charan adored the clotted cream, as did Sia and Singhe; the latter swarmed up her skirt into her lap to lick their paws and faces clean as Rajah picked at the last tea-cake.

There is one good thing about this cold country, she thought, scratching the two little rowdies under their chins. It is too cold for snakes.

Or at least, it was at the moment.

She could only pray it would remain that way.

GOPAL had come and gone, taking the tea things with him, and Maya retreated to a hammock swung between two vine-covered posts in lieu of the tree trunks that would have suspended it back home. Surrounded by scented warmth, cradled in the gently swaying hammock, she closed her eyes and listened to the play of the water in her fountain, the soft chatter of the mongooses and the parrot. This time of the afternoon, full of shared treats, they all felt sleepy and were inclined to nap. Mala had been fed late this morning, and Nisha would be fed once dusk settled, so they, too, were content to doze. Charan curled up beside her, a little soft ball with his head pillowed against her cheek and both arms wrapped around her neck, and she had actually begun to doze when Gupta reappeared, waking her.

Charan awoke, too, and scampered up to an observation post in the dead tree. 'Mem sahib, you have a caller,' Gupta said, his expression one of intense satisfaction. He made a grand gesture toward the front of the house. 'This will be a client, I do believe. I have taken her to the surgery office. She waits there for you.'

Oh, heavens! She quickly tilted herself out of the hammock, glad that she had at least not taken her hair down, and that the sober brown dress disguised its comfort in its severity. Primly buttoned up to the neck, waistband tightened, and cuffs twitched straight, it would pass for professional attire. With a pat to her hair, she followed Gupta inside, and hurried to the surgery itself, for it would not do to have a potential client see her enter by the same door that the client herself had used. She passed through it, wrinkling her nose a trifle at the familiar scent of carbolic, entering the office from the surgery door rather than the hall door.