says something over her shoulder about fresh air and disappears again. Ren has no idea whether she’s seen anything. Probably not, since it’s dark.
When he turns around, William has gone in, and Nandani stumbles back to Ren. To steady herself, she puts her hand on his shoulder. It’s cold and Ren suddenly has a bad feeling, as though it isn’t really Nandani, but some other chill and bony creature following him in from the dark.
* * *
William slides back into his seat just as dessert comes out. Sago gula Malacca, pearls of tapioca drizzled with coconut milk and dark brown coconut-sugar syrup, and kuih bingka ubi, that fragrant golden cake made from grated tapioca root. Ah Long has really outdone himself, but William has no appetite. He forces it down anyway, nodding as he pretends to listen to the conversation.
When dessert is over, the guests drift back to the front room, now rearranged for dancing. William overhears Mrs. Banks saying nervously to her husband, “Perhaps we should go home early.”
He wishes they would all go home right now. It’s rattled him, Nandani showing up at this dinner party. She’s become a dangerously unpredictable factor, but mostly he’s angry with himself. Stupid, stupid, he thinks, as the familiar feeling of self-loathing washes over him. William should have realized early on that Nandani’s willingness was actually a naïve infatuation. Bad. Very bad. If a few stolen embraces are enough to give her delusions, then it’s best that their connection end.
Of course, he hasn’t said anything like that to her, only kind words and noble expressions of regret. He hopes that will satisfy her, though if she goes to her employer—the plantation manager who’s Lydia’s father—and makes a fuss, it will be damaging. How ironic, considering that he was far guiltier of being involved with Ambika. William decides then and there that he must limit himself to paid women. That’s better than being accused of seducing young virgins. He’s a fool, despite all his resolutions. And yet he can’t help himself.
The tall, stooped figure of Rawlings, the pathologist, drifts over and William hesitates. He’s not afraid of Rawlings anymore, not since the magistrate ruled Ambika’s death an unfortunate accident, but he’s still wary around him.
Tonight, Rawlings looks more like a stork than ever. “Too bad about the tiger hunt, eh?”
William nods. “I’m sure they’ll try again.”
Rawlings rubs his jaw. His hands are large and white, and William tries not to imagine them slicing through skin with dissecting scissors. It’s silly, since he himself is a surgeon. But I only cut open the living. Not like Rawlings, whose patients are all dead.
“You know I wasn’t happy with the inquest.”
William keeps his face neutral.
Rawlings says, “There’s always cases like this, when something’s fishy but nobody believes you. Had one when I was stationed in Burma: they said it was witchcraft, people dying one after the other, but that was rubbish. It turned out to be arsenic poisoning from a private well.”
“And your point is?”
“This case,” says Rawlings, scraping at the floor absently with his shoe. “That woman, Ambika. It gives me the same feeling.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting that someone’s keeping a pet tiger!” William laughs uncomfortably.
“Not the tiger. The vomit. Remember how I said when we found the head, there were traces of vomit in the mouth?”
Unbidden, the image of Ambika’s broken body flashes in William’s mind, the way he found it half lying under a bush. A headless torso with grey, rubbery skin.
“If she ingested something poisonous, that would account for the kill being untouched. Animals have surprisingly good instinct: if it went for the stomach and intestines first, as most of the big cats do, it might have decided there was something in the body it didn’t like. But Farrell didn’t believe me, of course. Probably we’ll never prove it unless a proper investigation is done—who were her associates, whether there’d been any lovers or scandals. All this local talk about witchcraft and tigers is just a smokescreen.”
This is becoming a terrible evening for William. He swallows, reminding himself that he hasn’t committed a crime. Though given the force of public opinion, being associated with both Ambika and Nandani would be enough to sink him in this small social circle. People will follow him with their eyes, drop their voices when he enters a room. William has already had a taste of this back home.
Steady, he tells himself. It’s only Rawlings grumbling. His luck will save him. “So have you ever come across