Nettie’s Secret

Nettie glanced round anxiously. She was even more conscious of her shabby clothes and down-at-heel boots, and she was aware of the curious glances of the well-dressed clientele who were wandering about, studying the works of art that were presented on easels or hanging from the walls.

Pendleton reappeared after what felt like an eternity. ‘Mr Dexter can spare you a moment or two, Miss Carroll.’

‘Thank you, I know the way.’ Nettie hesitated. ‘It may be nothing, Mr Pendleton, but I saw someone acting suspiciously just a few doors down from here. He seemed to be watching the gallery.’

Pendleton was suddenly alert. ‘Describe him, if you please.’ He listened intently. ‘Wegg, he said tersely. ‘Samson Wegg – he’s a private detective – a police informer with a long-held and very bitter grudge against Mr Dexter. Don’t have anything to do with him, miss. Wegg is a nasty piece of work.’

‘I’m not likely to speak to someone like that, Mr Pendleton.’

‘Quite right. Wegg is trouble, so I suggest you leave now, miss.’

‘But I must see Mr Dexter. I won’t take up much of his time.’ Nettie pushed past Pendleton and headed for a door that led downstairs to the basement. It was here that Duke Dexter stored the most valuable works in his collection, and the copies that he sold to art lovers who could not afford to purchase the originals. Nettie negotiated the narrow stairs, ending in a room below street level where some daylight filtered in from a barred window set high in the wall, but the main light source in the room came from a gasolier in the centre of the ceiling. Duke was using a magnifying glass to examine an oil painting in minute detail.

‘Come in, Nettie, my dear.’ He turned to her with the smile that she had seen him use on his wealthy patrons when he wished to charm them out of large sums of money. His dark eyes set beneath winged eyebrows gave him a saturnine look, which vanished when a slow smile curved his lips. He was a handsome man, who knew how to use his looks and fine figure to best advantage when it came to charming prospective customers, but Nettie could not rid herself of the nagging suspicion that he was secretly laughing at her and her father. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you, my dear, but you seem to have arrived empty handed.’

‘You know very well that I couldn’t carry a wet oil painting through the streets, let alone climb on board an omnibus with it in my hands.’

He placed the magnifying glass on a table nearby and turned to her with eyebrows raised. ‘The canvas ought to have been delivered to me three weeks ago. I suppose that’s why Robert sent you to brave the lion in his den. More excuses, I suppose?’

Nettie put her head on one side. ‘I don’t think of you as a lion, Duke. You’re more of a panther, sleek and dangerous and best avoided. I wish my father had never met you.’

‘I’m only dangerous to those who attempt to deceive me or do me harm.’ He pulled up a chair. ‘Won’t you take a seat?’

‘Thank you, but I’d rather stand.’ Nettie faced him with a defiant stare. ‘Pa is still working on the painting. He sent me to tell you that it won’t be finished for another day or two.’

‘Your father has let me down several times and it won’t do.’

‘He’s an artist, and he’s a brilliant one. He’s too good for this sort of thing, and you could help him more if you set your mind to it.’

Duke’s eyes narrowed and his winged brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion, and I don’t take kindly to criticism when, in fact, I’ve saved your father from bankruptcy several times over.’

‘Then why don’t you hang his original works in your gallery? Why are you encouraging him to make copies?’

‘The truth, if you want to hear it, is that your father is a second-rate painter, but a first-rate copyist. My wealthy clients are prepared to pay handsomely for works that they believe are original. It makes them happy and we all benefit.’

‘I thought as much. You take their money under false pretences,’ Nettie countered angrily. ‘You give Pa a small fraction of what you take and, he doesn’t realise it, but he’s risking imprisonment and ruin if he’s found out.’

‘I have the contacts and I am a businessman first and foremost.’

‘You are a criminal and a trickster.’

‘I dare say you’re right, but Robert is in this too deep to stop now. Or perhaps you’d rather see your father lose everything, including his reputation?’

‘No, of course not,’ Nettie said angrily. ‘I’m going to tell him what you’re up to.’

Duke moved closer so that she could feel the heat of his body, and the scent of spice, citrus and maleness filled her head with dizzying effect. He leaned towards her so that their faces were inches apart. ‘You can’t prove it and I will deny everything. Robert will believe me because he needs me. Either you accept the situation and do your best to keep him out of trouble, or you face the consequences brought about by your father’s frailty. It’s your choice, Nettie. What’s it to be?’

She looked into his dark eyes and knew that he had won this time, but she was not beaten. ‘What do you want me to do?’

He backed away, smiling. ‘That’s better. That wasn’t too difficult, was it?’ He picked up the magnifying glass and turned away to study the painting. ‘Tell Robert to bring it to me when he’s satisfied that it will pass the closest scrutiny, but I want it soon or there’s no deal, and I’ll find someone who will work faster.’

‘Why don’t you tell him yourself?’ Nettie faced him angrily. ‘You could come to our rooms and see the painting as it is now. You know very well that it will take weeks, if not months to dry.’

‘Which is why I want to have it and keep it safe.’ Duke leaned towards her, narrowing his eyes. ‘Your father is paid to do as I say. He’d do well to remember that, and so would you.’

‘One day you’ll meet your match, Duke.’ Nettie walked away without waiting for a response.

Chapter Two

‘Don’t take it to heart, Nettie,’ Robert said calmly when she finished recounting her experience in the art gallery. ‘Duke is like that with everyone. I wouldn’t normally associate with someone like him, but he pays well.’

‘He’s a criminal, Pa. He’s exploiting your talent for his own ends. He gives you a pittance for your work and makes a fortune for himself. I don’t agree with what you’re doing.’

Robert put his palette down and sighed. ‘You’re wrong, my dear. Duke has kept us out of the workhouse and he pays well. One day I will get one of my original paintings accepted by the Royal Academy and I’ll never have to make another copy.’

Nettie sighed and shook her head. ‘Do you know a man called Samson Wegg? He was hanging around outside the gallery. Pendleton said he’s a police informer.’

‘I don’t know the fellow personally, Nettie. Duke has upset a great many people in the past, and I suspect that Wegg is one of them. It’s nothing to do with us.’

She knew that it was useless to argue. ‘I’ll leave you to get on, Pa. Just remember that Dexter wants the painting urgently.’

‘It’s nearly finished, and I’m going to the Lamb and Flag for some refreshment.’

‘Must you, Pa? We owe Ma Burton three weeks’ rent.’

‘I’ve been working hard, Nettie. A pint of ale won’t bankrupt us.’

Nettie bit back a sharp retort. There was no reasoning with Pa when he was in this mood. ‘What shall I do about supper?’

Robert stripped off his smock and reached for his jacket and hat. ‘Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll get something at the pub. You should have enough change from the paint to buy yourself a pie.’ He kissed her on the cheek and sauntered from the room.

Nettie stared after him, shaking her head. Duke Dexter was undoubtedly a ruthless criminal who had led her father into a life of crime, and Pa was both feckless and easily duped, but she herself must take some of the blame for the fact that she had no money for food. She should not have spent so much on the notebook, and she could have walked from Piccadilly in order to save the bus fare. Yet again she would go to bed hungry – unless there was good news from the publishing house. It was some weeks since she had submitted the manuscript of her first novella, Arabella’s Dilemma, a gothic tale of passion and revenge, which was as good, she hoped, as anything that Ann Radcliffe had penned in The Mysteries of Udolpho, or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Nettie had changed her style since writing about Arabella’s adventures, but if the story was accepted it would give her a measure of independence, and relieve the pressure on her father to become ever more involved with Duke. There was nothing for it but to put on her bonnet and shawl and venture out again, although this time it was on an errand of her own. She set off for Soho and the small publishing house that had been her last resort. All the major publishers had rejected her manuscript, but Dorning and Lacey were yet to reply.

Nettie left the office in Frith Street with the manuscript tucked under her shawl. The clerk behind the desk had been sympathetic, but was obviously practised in dealing with disappointed authors. The rejection letter was similar to the others she had received for previous attempts at writing fiction, giving her little hope of furthering her ambition to see her work in print. It had begun to rain, and although it was probably just an April shower, it was heavy enough to soak her to the skin in a few minutes, adding to her frustration, and she was hungry. Perhaps this was her punishment for squandering money instead of putting it towards the rent arrears.

She arrived home at the same time as Byron. He took one look at her and his smile of welcome faded. ‘Good Lord, Nettie. Where’ve you been? You look like a drowned rat – I mean,’ he added quickly, ‘you don’t actually look like a rat – it’s just an expression, but you are very bedraggled.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ Nettie said ruefully. ‘I got caught in a shower.’

He opened the door and held it for her. ‘You’d better get out of those wet things before you catch cold.’

She put her finger to her lips. ‘Tiptoe or Biddy will leap out and ask for help. I’ve been caught once like that today.’

Byron followed her, treading as softly as was possible for a tall young man who looked as though he would be more at home on the cricket pitch or playing a game of tennis than working in the city. However, despite his boyish appearance, he was the person Nettie trusted the most.

They managed to get past the Lorimers’ door without being waylaid, and Nettie could only hope that the outing to the theatre might have done sickly Josephine some good. They continued up the next flight in silence, but when they reached the second floor and Nettie was about to say goodbye to Byron, he caught her by the hand.

‘Before you go upstairs, I wanted to ask you to join us for dinner tonight, Nettie. It’s my birthday and I’m treating the chaps to dinner at the Gaiety Restaurant – I’d be honoured if you’d come, too.’

The mere thought of a decent meal made Nettie’s mouth water, but the Gaiety was expensive and she knew that Byron earned little enough without making extravagant gestures. ‘That sounds wonderful, but can you afford it? I mean, dining there isn’t cheap.’

He winked and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies,’ he said, laughing. ‘Don’t look so worried, Nettie. I had the winning ticket in a sweepstake at work. I can’t think of a better way to spend the money than to treat my best friends.’

Nettie put on her best gown of pale blue silk with a modest décolleté. Four years ago her father had had a run of good fortune. He had promised to take her to Paris to see the works of art in the Louvre and had even gone to the trouble of obtaining passports. Added to that, in a sudden fit of generosity, he had taken her to a fashionable salon and had chosen the outfit himself, but styles had changed subtly since then. Nettie had had to use all her sewing skills to bring the garment up to date, but when they entered the smart Gaiety Restaurant she felt like a sparrow amongst brightly coloured birds of paradise. She was dowdy in comparison to the elegant ladies present, but if Byron, Pip and Ted were not as smartly dressed as the other gentlemen they did not seem to know or to care. Their appearances passed largely unnoticed, whereas Nettie could feel the patronising and sometimes pitying glances from other women. They would know almost to the day when her gown had been bought, and probably the very salon from which it had been purchased.

Despite her discomfort, Nettie held her head high as Byron led the way past a table where several young men in evening suits were enjoying themselves noisily.

‘Students. More money than sense.’ Ted moved on swiftly, but one of the party had apparently overhead his remark and the young man staggered to his feet.

‘What did you say, sir?’

‘Sit down, Rufus.’ One of his friends caught him by the arm. ‘We’ll get thrown out if you don’t behave.’

‘The fellow just insulted us, Percy.’ Rufus steadied himself, and his belligerent expression was wiped away by a slightly lopsided smile as he spotted Nettie. ‘A thousand pardons, most beautiful lady.’

‘Shut up, Norwood. You’re drunk.’ Percy tried to stand but fell back on his chair.

‘Drunk or sober, I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, ma’am.’ Rufus Norwood seized Nettie’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Will you and your party join us, fair lady?’

She met his gaze and realised with a shock that he was not nearly as drunk as he made out. His lips were smiling but his hazel eyes danced with amusement. She snatched her hand away and hurried on before Byron had a chance to intervene.

‘Do you know that fellow?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘If he upset you I’ll go and sort him out.’

‘I’ve never met him before in my life,’ Nettie said hastily. ‘Ignore them; they’re all tipsy.’

‘I may be a trifle inebriated,’ Rufus said with a courtly bow, ‘but I would never insult a lady.’

‘Sit down and stop being such a bore.’ Percy tugged at his friend’s coat-tails.

Nettie walked away and took her seat at the table with her head held high; she had no intention of letting anything or anyone spoil the evening, and it was Byron’s birthday – he was the most important person present.

But her enjoyment was short lived. Just as they were about to finish their main course, who should walk through the door but Duke Dexter, and the young woman who clung to his arm, laughing and flirting outrageously, was none other than Amelie Fabron. They were accompanied by two other couples, who were equally loud and very drunk. It was obvious that Duke was a regular customer as the waiters fawned upon him, rushing around to clear a table in the centre of the restaurant, pulling up chairs and wafting clean napkins in the air before laying them on their patrons’ laps.

‘Who the hell is that?’ Pip demanded, chuckling. ‘You’d think that fellow was a royal.’

‘He’s an art dealer,’ Byron said in a low voice. ‘One of our clients tried to sue him and failed. Everyone knows he’s a criminal, but so far the police haven’t been able to pin anything on him. He’s as slippery as an eel.’

‘And twice as ugly,’ Pip added. ‘I’d call him vulgar. Look at the gold rings he wears on both hands.’

Ted sighed heavily. ‘It doesn’t seem to worry that young lady – she’s beautiful. What does she see in him?’

‘What’s the matter with all of you?’ Nettie leaned forward, lowering her voice. ‘You must have seen her often enough. That’s Amelie, the Fabrons’ daughter. She’s in the play at the Adelphi, or rather she’s an understudy, so I don’t know what she’s doing here.’

Byron turned his head to take another look. ‘By Jove, so it is. I’ve only seen her in passing and she always puts her head down and scuttles by as if she thinks I’ll bite. Look at her now.’

‘I’ve a good mind to tell her father,’ Ted said angrily. ‘That fellow is up to no good. Look at the way he’s running his fingers up and down her arm. I ought to go over there and give him a piece of my mind.’

Nettie reached out and laid her hand on his clenched fist. ‘It has nothing to do with us, Ted. She’s not like your lady friend from the bakery – Amelie is her parents’ problem, not yours.’ She glanced at Duke and felt the blood rush to her cheeks as their eyes met. Even worse, he rose to his feet and was coming towards them. Nettie looked around for a way of escape, but there was none.

Duke came to a halt beside her. ‘Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here this evening, Miss Carroll.’

Byron rose to his feet. ‘Do you know this man, Nettie?’

‘Of course she does,’ Duke said smoothly. ‘How would I be aware of her name if we weren’t acquainted?’

‘This is Mr Dexter who has an art gallery in Dover Street,’ Nettie said stiffly. ‘I’ve visited it with Pa.’

‘Of course you have.’ Duke took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘I’m delighted to see you again after all this time, Miss Carroll. Please remember me to your father and tell him that I look forward to seeing his latest work – sooner rather than later.’ He bowed and strolled back to his table.

Amelie turned to stare at them and looked away quickly, but not before Nettie had seen panic in the girl’s eyes, giving her the appearance of a startled fawn.

‘Someone ought to tell her father,’ Ted insisted sulkily. ‘She’s too young for him, and he’s obviously a libertine.’

‘She is young,’ Nettie said slowly, ‘but she was brought up in the theatre. I’m sure she’s got his measure, but I’ll speak to her if it will make you feel better, Ted.’

He shrugged and pushed his plate away. ‘I suppose it’s none of my business, but I don’t like the look of that man.’

‘Neither do I,’ Pip added with feeling. ‘I’ve met his ilk often enough when they need someone to represent them in court. They think their ill-earned money can buy anything and anyone.’

Byron picked up the wine bottle and refilled Ted’s glass. ‘Drink up, everyone. It’s my birthday, so let’s enjoy ourselves. Who’s for pudding?’

Pip smiled and raised his glass. ‘Here’s to you, Byron. Happy birthday, and I’d love something sweet.’ He nudged Ted, grinning widely. ‘I’m sure you would, too, if only you’d stop drooling over young Amelie. Anyone would think you’d never seen a pretty girl before.’

‘I’ve never seen her looking like that,’ Ted muttered.

‘Don’t tease him,’ Nettie said, smiling. ‘He’s just being protective.’

‘That’s right, I am,’ Ted murmured. ‘Women need to be protected.’

‘That’s very gallant, Ted.’ Nettie raised her glass. ‘Let’s remember that we’re here to celebrate Byron’s good fortune and his special day. Happy birthday, Byron.’ She sipped her wine but she was aware that Duke was staring at her, and she looked away quickly.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, Nettie?’

She turned to see Byron leaning close and smiling. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s a lovely restaurant and delicious food.’

‘You looked so far away just now.’

‘I was just wondering how I was going to convince Amelie that Duke Dexter is not the sort of man she should associate with.’

‘What do you know about him, Nettie?’

She lowered her voice. ‘I think he passes off the copies Pa makes as originals, although I can’t prove it. I’ve mentioned it to Pa, but he refuses to believe ill of Duke, and he says he has to sell his work wherever he can. It’s hard enough to find commissions, never mind worrying about the dealer’s reputation.’

‘If that’s the case, Mr Carroll would be well advised to steer clear of Dexter. You ought to be firm with him, Nettie.’

She twisted her lips into a smile. ‘You know my pa, Byron. He won’t listen.’

‘Here comes the waiter,’ he said cheerfully. ‘What are you all having?’

The rest of the meal passed off uneventfully, and they were all in good spirits as they prepared to leave the restaurant, but when Nettie passed the table where the young men were behaving even more badly than before, she could not resist a quick glance in Rufus Norwood’s direction. Once again their eyes met, but it was a fleeting encounter and she left the restaurant accompanied by her friends.

For the first time ever Nettie came home to find her father had returned from the pub early. He was seated by the fire, reading in the light of a single candle. He looked up, scowling. ‘Where have you been? I didn’t give you permission to go out.’

Nettie took off her cape and hung it on a peg behind the door. ‘I’m twenty, Pa. Surely I don’t have to ask you if I can go out for dinner with my friends.’

‘What friends? Of course I should know where you’re going and with whom.’

She crossed the floor and took a seat opposite him, resting her booted feet on the fender. ‘It was Byron’s birthday. He treated us to a meal at the Gaiety, and very nice it was, too.’

‘Well, you should have told me. I was imagining all sorts of things.’

She studied his face and realised with a jolt of surprise that he meant what he said. ‘What’s brought this on, Pa?’

‘I should have gone to see Duke myself, Nettie. He has a certain reputation when it comes to women, especially young and pretty ones like yourself.’

‘How could you think that I would have anything to do with someone like him?’

‘I know he’s waiting for the painting, and he can be ruthless when it comes to getting his own way.’

‘Put your mind at ease, Pa. Duke isn’t interested in me. We saw him in the restaurant this evening, and he had Amelie Fabron on his arm. I intend to warn her about him.’

‘That would be courting trouble, my love. She would be sure to tell Dexter and then we would be in an even worse position. Don’t underestimate him, Nettie. He’s charming when it suits him, and he’s always been good to me, but I know that Duke can be vicious if he’s crossed.’

‘Why do you continue to work for him then, Pa?’

‘We have to pay our way, Nettie. All I’m saying is, take care.’

Nettie rose to her feet and kissed him on the forehead. ‘I’ll be very careful, Pa. I’m really tired, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll make myself ready for bed.’

‘I’ll have an early night and be up first thing, ready to complete the painting, and I’ll take it to Dover Street myself. Good night, my dear.’

‘Sweet dreams, Pa, and don’t worry about me. I have Duke’s measure.’

Several days passed, and despite her best efforts, Nettie was finding it almost impossible to have a quiet word with Amelie, but she felt compelled to warn her against getting too close to Duke Dexter. Madame Fabron had nothing for her in the way of mending or alterations, which made it difficult to approach the family without raising their suspicions, and Amelie was always accompanied by one or other of her parents. Besides which, Nettie had problems of her own. Her father had finally taken the completed work to Dover Street and she waited anxiously for his return. He had been gone for three hours, and she could only hope that was a good sign. Despite her misgivings, the money from Dexter should be enough to see them through the next few weeks, and it would give Pa the chance to produce a work of his own. Such talent as his must surely be recognised eventually. Nettie had faith in him, if only he would apply himself instead of waiting for inspiration or a lucrative commission to fall into his lap.

She opened the new notebook and sat with her pencil poised above the blank page, but her thoughts strayed and she found it impossible to concentrate. Her young heroine, the daughter of a country parson, had fallen in love with a wastrel and was on the brink of leaving home to run away with the man her parents had forbidden her ever to see again, but Nettie was having difficulty picturing the scene between father and daughter. She closed her eyes, attempting to bring her characters to life, and failing miserably.

All she could think of was her empty belly and the fact that Ma Burton had threatened them with eviction if the arrears in rent were not forthcoming. Just that morning she had given them until six o’clock to come up with all or part of the money owing. She had not needed to elaborate on what would happen if they could not pay.