“Is that all?” Narraway asked, remembering that Vespasia had said he envied his brother. Surely not for an ability he was too lazy to use?
“Quite possibly. But then that is all they will need from him for the railway.” There was still a shred of humor in Forbes’s face, but other emotions also: anger, regret, and also an immense power.
“And Hamilton Quase?” Narraway asked, dropping his voice without having meant to. He knew the relationship between the two men.
“My son-in-law?” Forbes’s dark brows rose. “I am hardly impar-tial.”
“I will set it against other people’s opinions.”
Forbes measured his words carefully this time. “He is a brilliant engineer, imaginative, technically highly skilled. Anyone proposing to build across an entire continent could do no better than to employ Hamilton.”
“You are telling me of his professional skills. What of his character?”
“Loyal,” Forbes said immediately. “Essentially fair, I believe. He will pay for what he wants. A hard man to read, very much out of the ordinary in his tastes, and perhaps in his dreams. He drinks too much.
I am not betraying him in saying so. Anyone else will tell you the same.”
Narraway remembered what Vespasia had said of Quase, and of his courage and discretion over Eden Forbes’s death because he was in love with Liliane. And Liliane had wanted Julius Sorokine. It sounded as if her father’s bargain with Quase had earned her the better man. Narraway hoped with considerable depth that she had acquired the wisdom to appreciate that also.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
“Is it of any assistance to you?” Forbes inquired.
“I have no idea,” Narraway confessed. “Do you believe they will succeed in building the railway, with the right backing?”
Forbes hesitated, his eyes flaring with sudden, intense feeling, masked again almost immediately. “The Queen will approve it,” he said softly. “The risk will be high, in the short term, but in the medium term-say for the next four or five decades-it will be the making of men, perhaps of nations.”
Narraway watched him carefully, noting the minutest shadows of his face. “And the long term?” he asked. “After the next half-century, as you judge it?”
“The future of Africa and its people?” He dropped his guard.
“That will be in our hands. There will be good men who will want to teach Africa, bring it out of darkness-as they see it. God only knows if they will see it clearly.” His mouth twisted a little. “And on the heels of the good men will come the traders and the opportunists, the builders, miners, explorers. Then the farmers and settlers, scores, hundreds of white men trying to turn Africa into the English suburbs, but with more sun. Some will be teachers and doctors. Most will not.”
Narraway waited, knowing Forbes would add more.
“Good and bad,” Forbes said, tightening his lips. “But our way, not the Africans’ way.”
Narraway was disturbed by the thought. “Is it not inevitable? We cannot undiscover Africa,” he pointed out, but it was as if he were speaking of something already broken.
“Yes, it probably is,” Forbes said flatly. “And I suppose if anyone is going to exploit it, it might as well be Great Britain. We are good at it. God knows, we’ve had enough experience. But I didn’t step back from it for that reason. It is difficult living in harsh climates far from home. I want adventure of the mind now rather than of the body. Cahoon Dunkeld is as good a man for this as you can get. I’m perfectly happy for him to do it.”
“And Sorokine, Quase, and Marquand?”
“Probably the best choices available to him.”
“Why? Best for the job, or because Sorokine is his son-in-law, Marquand is Sorokine’s half-brother, and Quase your son-in-law?”
Forbes flashed him a sudden smile. “I don’t doubt that will have some part in it. One trusts the judgment of those whom one knows, or at least has a perception of their vulnerabilities. Do you fear that the railway is under threat of some kind of sabotage, even this early?”
“If it were, whom would you suspect?” Narraway asked him.
“Ah. Is that what you really want?” Forbes eased back in his chair a little.
“And if I do?”
“If there is another group of men as appropriately gifted, I am not aware of it. If you have any real basis for fear, then you should look to some of the other countries with major interests in Africa. You might begin with Belgium. Congo Free State is vast, and rich in minerals.
King Leopold has boundless ambition there.” He made a steeple of his fingers. “The other major participant is Germany. Any railway would have to cross the territory of one of them, or acquire a line of passage between the two. But I assume you can read a map as well as I can?”
“I’ve looked at it, certainly.”
“That may be where Sorokine’s skills come in. He is a diplomat with many connections and far more intelligence than his somewhat casual attitude suggests.”
“Thank you. You have been most courteous.” Narraway rose to his feet.
“A suitably equivocal remark.” Forbes rose also. “If there is anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to call again.”
N a r r awa y r e t u r n e d t o the Palace and found Pitt in the room they had given him, the windows wide open and the warm evening air blowing in. He was eating a supper of cold roast beef sandwiches. Narraway was instantly struck by how tired he looked. He seemed to have none of his usual energy.
“Anything?” Pitt asked with his mouth full, before Narraway had even closed the door.
“Interesting,” Narraway replied, walking over and sitting in the other chair. The sandwiches looked good: fresh bread and plenty of meat. He realized he had not eaten all day. Still, these were Pitt’s, not his, and superior rank did not excuse ill manners. “Not certain if it means much. How about you?”
“Gracie’s about the only one who has achieved anything,” Pitt said ruefully. “And it doesn’t seem to mean much either. You’ve got men inquiring about Sadie?”
“Yes. Too soon to expect anything yet.”
“I know. I’m not sure if it matters anymore. Probably not.”
Narraway looked around for the bell. “Do you think they’d fetch me some?” He eyed the sandwiches.
“Have some of these,” Pitt offered. “But there’s no more cider.
Maybe you’d prefer ale anyway?”
“Cider’s fine, but I’ll send for some myself, thank you,” Narraway answered, and rose to pull the bell rope. “What did Gracie learn?” He was disappointed. He had had an intense and perhaps unreasonable hope that Pitt would either have learned or deduced something profound. His skill at solving complicated murders was one Narraway had come to value, and he had no intention of allowing the Metropolitan Police to have Pitt back again. He would use his influence, plead the safety of the realm from anarchy or foreign subversion, whatever it required to keep him.
He was placing pressure on Pitt to succeed now, and he was aware of it. It was harsh, but they could not afford to fail. Was he asking too much?
Pitt finished his sandwich before answering. No one hurried to the summons of the bell, but then they knew whose room it was, and no doubt guests took precedence.
“Two badly bloodstained sheets in one of the baskets in the laundry,” Pitt answered, watching him.
Narraway was baffled. Pitt was stating the obvious. Was he overwhelmed by where he was? “Where else would you expect to find them?” he asked. “I imagine most of the sheets from the linen cupboard are there. At least all they think they can save.”
“They had the Queen’s monogram on them.” Pitt looked at him with a frown, his eyes puzzled. “Not the Palace, the Queen personally.
And they had been slept on. They were crumpled and the blood was smeared.”
“God Almighty, Pitt!” Narraway exclaimed. “What are you saying? The Queen’s at Osborne.”
“I know that,” Pitt replied steadily. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since Gracie showed them to me, and I don’t know what it is I’m saying. Somebody used the Queen’s sheets on a bed that was slept in, or at any rate used, if you prefer a more exact term, and somebody bled on them, very heavily.”
Narraway’s mind raced. “Then she can’t have been stabbed in the linen cupboard! She was killed somewhere
