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“By the by, when will Lady Calliope be returning from Venice?” Carroway spluttered with barely restrained rage, but miraculously he managed to maintain control.
The baronet’s much younger wife was a frequent guest at Cora’s more licentious nocturnal gatherings. She was presently in the throes of a particularly passionate affaire de coeur with a voluptuous Argentinian soprano. The Carroways loved to present themselves as stalwarts of morality, and this would be the kind of news that would certainly be a blow to their name. Not the fact that their son was a violent oaf.
“If he signs, her family will say she’s gone to a convent,” she whispered giving him more grace than he deserved.
After a long moment he nodded. “I’ll make sure Robert sends the papers this week,” he told her before storming off to take his seat. She looked after him, swallowing down the bile in her throat. She knew every time she did something like this, she weakened her position in this room. That when she reminded them that her loyalties lay elsewhere she made herself vulnerable, but dammit, what had she garnered all this power for if every once in a while she couldn’t wield it to set a woman free from a terrible situation?
“I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” she finally said after a long pause, her hands braced on the edge of the table. “I know everyone is preoccupied with the exposition, but since we are all here in Paris, I thought I’d deliver the news in person.” She relished the startled looks being volleyed around the room, the rustling of fabric indicating unease. “It is not the kind of development one wants going on a wire any clerk in the city can get a hold of.” She made sure she injected an air of mystery into that last bit, her fingers gently tapping on the polished wood as the men around her murmured impatiently.
“We are all ears, Your Grace,” Blanchet offered in a nasty tone. Cora tipped her head at the man, making sure to infuse her own distaste of his person into her expression.
“I will get on with it, then. We know Monsieur Blanchet is a busy man.”Busy doing absolutely nothing, that was. She reached for her leather folio and pulled the flap open for effect as she scanned the faces around the room. “It has come to my attention through one of my trusted sources that late last evening, an order was issued for the arrest of Ferdinand de Lesseps and his son for embezzlement.” She sighed internally at the mix of vacant and confused stares trained in her direction and carried on. “This means that the Panama Canal Company will be forced to declare bankruptcy by the end of the week.” Cora paused after delivering the news.
The constant scheming required to stay at the top of this heap had begun to wear on her as of late, but these moments still provided some enjoyment. She had to bite the side of her mouth to keep from grinning when her associates finally understood the significance of the news and began to all speak at once. It was, after all, information that made their joint endeavor a potential gold mine.
“And how did you hear about this?” Carroway asked, not even attempting to hide his doubts about the veracity of the information.
“One of my men was able to access the warrant,” she said, pulling out the piece of paper St. Michel had delivered in combination with his oral report. She pushed the paper to Carroway. “See for yourself.”
Carroway’s thin mustache wiggled on his lip as he read. His eyes widened further the lower he got on the paper. When he was done, he slid it to the man waiting impatiently beside him and turned to Cora.
“The Colombian government has expelled the French,” he exhaled, as the others looked at the paper intently. Cora merely struggled with the desire to puff up her chest and crow.
De Lesseps, who had successfully executed the construction of the Suez Canal, had spent the last eight years in Central America attempting to build a connector between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. But after thousands of workers’ deaths from yellow fever and malaria, not to mention hundreds of millions of francs lost, it seemed he had finally run out of luck. Effectively making the railway Cora and the men in this room were on the cusp of finishing the only viable cargo route connecting the Atlantic to the Pacific that didn’t involve a trip around the continent.
It had taken three years of work. Countless hours and an army of engineers and agents to devise a plan to lay down a railway that crossed five countries. Beginning in Chile and ending in the Caribbean coast of South America. The South American Railway could get two cargo ships’ worth of steel from the mines in Cochabamba to Edinburgh in under two weeks. With the Panama Canal out of the picture, the next best option required a month at best.
“Once we finishourrailroad, we will have the only transcontinental transport system in the Americas’ southern hemisphere.” She made sure to include the men in the room with thatour. One had to be magnanimous in this kind of scenario. Besides, there was no need to remind them she’d been the one who brought the project to them. That she’d offered them shares for pennies. Not to mention taking on most of the responsibility of getting it off the ground. They knew that as well as she did.
“This will make us a fortune.” An Italian aristocrat—and one of the very few people in the room she didn’t openly despise—boasted with glee. Cora smiled internally, knowing what else she had up her sleeve.
“I hate to ruin the moment,” Blanchet called from the other end of the table. His eyes narrowed in Cora’s direction. “But we still don’t have the land to finish the railroad. We have been stalled for a year now.”
Cora mentally popped the recriminations and insults she could wield at the man like soap bubbles and soothed herself with the knowledge that she was about to assert her position in this pack.
“Thank you, Monsieur Blanchet, for reminding us that all the attempts have been unfruitful in delivering us the remaining tract of coastal land needed to finalize our railway.” It took every ounce of will she had to keep from pointing out that it was her efforts and connections that had secured the ninety percent of the railway that was already completed. But Blanchet’s family had a lot of pull with the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and he had delivered when it came to requesting permits for construction at some of the more troublesome locations. And he was right: they were yet to secure the land they needed to finish the route they’d planned for.
They’d made offers on more than two dozen different pieces of land, to no avail. A year later and they were still stuck three-quarters of the way to the Venezuelan coast, but there was one slice of land that could solve all their problems.
“I may have a solution,” she finally offered.
None of the men in the room seemed very reassured. “You’ve told us that very thing a few times already,” Brenton declared in that voice that set her teeth on edge. “We’ve talked among ourselves—” They’d talked among themselves...without her.
“I thought we had agreed there would be no meetings without all members of the consortium present.” She must’ve betrayed her impassiveness, because after one look at her face Brenton dissolved into a coughing fit. If she flew into a rage like she wanted to, they would use it against her. They’d tried it before. Blanchet and his cronies had practically staged a coup demanding that she relinquish her majority of shares because she’d been what they’d called an ineffective lead. But they had not gotten the best of her yet, and they wouldn’t today.
Blanchet turned away from his loose-tongued comrade, focusing on Cora. He looked so pleased with himself she didn’t bother asking who’d organized their little secret meeting. He’d pay for that, she’d make sure of it. “We gave you ample time to find a solution,” he announced magnanimously. “And we’ve decided it would be best for a few of us to travel to South America this time. Given that yourconnectionshave not yielded results.”
Cora gritted her teeth at his mocking tone. “My connections have yielded the very information that puts us at a great advantage to act,” she reminded him, which he promptly waved off.
“I do believe it is still easier formento do business in the less refined parts of the world.” She had to bite her tongue not to remind the insolent little worm that the only person in the consortium who spoke Spanish was her.
“Oh, there will be no need to cross the Atlantic,” she said with a breezy gesture. “Not that we have time for that. Announcing the railway as soon as possible is imperative. And like I said, I have a solution. It seems that the piece of land we looked at in Puerto Cabello has changed proprietors.” Ten pairs of eyebrows rose almost in unison. “The current owner, a Señorita Caceres Galvan, is currently in Paris. And she’s agreed to meet with me.”
She made sure to use her mother’s tongue as effectively as she could. These days she only ever spoke Spanish with her aunt, and in the almost-twenty years since she’d left her native Chile, she’d lost quite a lot of her fluency, but none of these men would know that. The effect of her words was exactly what she’d hoped. Throats were cleared nervously and more than one worried glance was shot in Blanchet and Brenton’s direction.
“I told you I would deliver you the land, and I will do it.” She leaned on the table, her posture bellicose. Her gaze daring one of these men to cross her again.
“Why can’t we bring her here to talk to the consortium?” Blanchet countered, his tone less hostile, though his face remained flushed.
