Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [96]
In this case he had heard only murmurings against the scheme. These could quite easily be seen as envy or timidity for such a huge venture. He was on his way to keep an appointment to dine with Watson Forbes at his house, where there would be time to extend the conversation as far as it needed to go. He had not canceled it because of Minnie Sorokine’s death, which might prove that the whole issue was Julius Sorokine’s personal madness, some sexual deviation with no real relevance to the Cape-to-Cairo project at all. Some of the other possibilities were too fearful to think of. The ghost of the Ripper still haunted his mind.
Regardless of that, there were questions about the railway that troubled him, doubts that, if well founded, could damage the Empire for generations to come.
He arrived at Forbes’s house and was received by the butler, who conducted him into the same pleasant room as before, with its African paintings and curios.
Forbes offered him sherry, then stood by the mantel, although the fire was not lit. The late-summer sun streamed in through the long windows, making jeweled patterns on the colors of the Turkish rug. He seemed mildly amused, his eyes bright.
“What is it I can tell you at such length, Mr. Narraway? I am not involved in this railway project. Did I not make that clear?”
“Quite clear,” Narraway replied. “Therefore your views on it may be less driven by the desire for it to succeed.”
Forbes smiled. “You think Dunkeld is too partisan to entertain a rational judgment?”
“Wouldn’t you be, if your future and your honor depended on it?” Narraway asked.
Forbes sipped his sherry, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing. “Of course I would. It is the greatest adventure of a lifetime, and more than most men ever dream of. Have you some specific fear in mind?”
“Cost?” Narraway suggested.
“Every building venture costs more than one calculated,” Forbes replied with a rueful smile. “Whether it is a garden shed or a transcontinental railway. One expects it and plans accordingly. Or are you afraid it will cost more than it is worth?”
“Could it?” Narraway asked. Cost was not what he had feared at all, but he wanted to test Forbes on everything. He needed to know why, with all his African experience, he was not involved—in consultation at least.
Forbes was watching him over the rim of his glass. “No,” he said simply. “The exercise of building it will bring in vast profits of all sorts: engineering, trade, timber, steel, sheer reputation. And Marquand is brilliant. All the investment money will be protected, as far as the builders are concerned. Africa has diamonds, gold, copper, timber, ivory—just to start with. Cecil Rhodes is totally behind the venture. Money will pour in.” There was no doubt in either his voice or his face.
Narraway tried to read him more deeply and knew he failed. There was a reservation of some kind in Forbes, but he had no idea what it was. It could even be some personal emotion that had to do with the people involved rather than the project itself.
“Is it likely that we do not have the engineering skills?” he asked. “Much of it is relatively unknown country. Chasms will have to be bridged, mountains cut through, deserts and shifting sands crossed, hostile territory of all sorts, possibly even jungles traversed.”
“It will be surveyed before they begin,” Forbes replied without hesitation. “What they cannot cross they will skirt around. That may require some extra diplomatic skill, but Sorokine has it. And when he wants to, he has enormous charm. Congo Free State may prove difficult, but he won’t have to bother with them if German East Africa is willing to oblige. No doubt he will play one against the other.” He sipped at his sherry again. “Most of the territory is British anyway. They’ll manage.” The tone of his voice dipped a little. There was a sadness in the lines of his face.
Narraway moved to lean forward, then changed his mind. What was the shadow in Forbes’s mind, the reservation that still troubled him?
“It sounds like a great advantage for the British Empire,” Narraway