Nettie’s Secret

Nettie stared into the dark liquid in her cup, seeing her own worried reflection. ‘It’s rather complicated, but you could let me know if Duke contacts you. We’re in lodgings at the moment.’

‘I will, of course.’

‘Thank you.’ Nettie managed a smile but she was disappointed and desperate.

‘Maybe we could meet again?’ Constance said eagerly. ‘I would like to get to know you better. I have so few friends.’

Nettie would have liked to hug Constance and tell her that of course she would be her friend. Her heart went out to the lonely young woman, but she was wary of getting involved with someone who was close to Duke Dexter. ‘That would be lovely, but I’m not sure what I’ll be doing.’ She could see that this was not the answer that Constance had hoped for. ‘What I meant to say was that I have to help my father. We had to leave London in a hurry and we’re rather short of money.’

‘You’re obviously in some kind of trouble or you wouldn’t be here now. I’d like to help, if I can.’ Constance’s hand flew to her throat and she rose to her feet. ‘You’ll hardly believe this, Nettie, but I’ve just seen Duke walk past the window.’

She ran from the room and Nettie realised that she would have to be careful what she said in front of Constance, who quite obviously had no idea that her guardian was a criminal. She sat very straight, sipping her coffee and straining her ears in an attempt to hear what they were saying.

Constance burst into the room, her face alight with smiles. ‘Isn’t this the most incredible good luck? You wanted to see Duke and here he is.’

Nettie put her cup down and rose slowly to her feet, turning to face Duke Dexter with a carefully controlled expression. ‘How do you do, sir?’

He greeted her with an urbane smile. ‘How do you do, Miss Carroll? To what do I owe this pleasure?’

She met his mocking gaze with a steady look, and for a moment she was tempted to shame him in front of his ward, but that would be cruel and serve no useful purpose. Nettie knew that she would have to play along with his game, whatever it was. ‘My father is in Paris and we need your help, Mr Dexter.’

‘Robert Carroll is one of my favourite artists. How may I be of service?’

Nettie clenched her hands behind her back, digging her fingernails into her palms. She wondered how Duke could stand there, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, when he had brought them to a state of near destitution. ‘He’s having some difficulty in finding a studio and suitable accommodation. I wondered if you might be able to help.’

Dexter smiled. ‘I’d be only too happy to assist in any way I can, Miss Carroll. I’ll be at the gallery for an hour or so tomorrow morning, between nine o’clock and ten o’clock, if you and my friend Robert would like to call on me. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘How splendid,’ Constance said eagerly. ‘And how fortunate that you came to see me today, Duke. You will stay awhile, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, Connie. I couldn’t come to Paris without spending some time with my favourite ward.’

Constance’s eyes widened. ‘You have another?’

‘It’s a manner of speaking – an English eccentricity. Miss Carroll will understand.’

‘I understand a great deal,’ Nettie said, rising to her feet. ‘But I must go now. My father will be wondering where I am.’

‘I’ll see you out.’ Constance followed her to the front door. ‘You will come again, won’t you?’

‘I’ll try, but it depends on what we’re doing. We might have to leave Paris if we can’t find more suitable accommodation.’

Constance clasped her hand. ‘I’ll speak to Duke. If anyone can help you, he can. He pretends to be world-weary and cynical, but he’s a kind man at heart.’

Nettie left the house, trying hard to equate her vision of Duke Dexter with that of his adoring ward, and failing miserably. Duke was a skilled confidence trickster, a purveyor of forgeries, and behind that urbane smile she suspected lay a heart of solid stone.

‘Where have you been?’ Byron demanded. ‘Robert didn’t know where you’d gone and we were both worried that something might have happened to you.’

Nettie laid her shawl on the bed and took off her bonnet. ‘I need to find Pa. Do you know where he is?’

‘He was sitting at a table outside the café when I last saw him, but you haven’t answered my question. I was worried about you, Nettie.’

She met his angry gaze with a smile. ‘I’m not a child, Byron. I can look after myself, and I’ve been taking care of my father ever since I can remember.’ She took the visiting card from her reticule and handed it to him. ‘I didn’t tell you or Pa, but Duke Dexter was on board the ferry. I met him by chance and he gave me this card. I went to investigate.’

Byron studied it. ‘This says Marc Gaillard. Who is this person?’

‘It’s Duke using an alias.’ Nettie glanced at the bare table beneath the skylight. ‘Have we anything to eat? I’m starving.’

‘Nothing, I’m afraid. I haven’t eaten all day.’

‘Have you any money?’

‘I’ve got enough to buy us a meal tonight, but after that I’m broke. I tried to find work again today, but there was nothing.’

‘We need to catch my father before he spends what little he has left, and I have something to tell Pa. He won’t like it and neither will you, but I don’t think we’ve any alternative other than to ask Duke for help. I’ve arranged for us to meet him at the gallery tomorrow morning.’

‘Is that wise, Nettie? Dexter is nothing but trouble.’

‘And we’re fugitives from the law with little or no money, and no prospect of earning anything legally – unless you can come up with a brilliant solution, Byron, because I can’t think of anything.’

He slumped down on the rickety chair. ‘This is the time when I wish I knew how to find my mother’s family. The life of a water gypsy is becoming more and more attractive.’

Nettie eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Have you made enquiries?’

‘What’s the point? It’s over twenty years since my mother ran away from her bullying father. I expect the old man’s dead or in prison, from what my father told me about him. She had a brother, but I doubt if he’d want anything to do with me.’

‘I don’t know,’ Nettie said, giggling. ‘If you find them and tell them you’re wanted by the Metropolitan Police for aiding and abetting a criminal, they’ll probably welcome you with open arms.’

‘I’m glad you think it’s funny.’ Byron spoke severely, barely disguising a chuckle. He rose to his feet. ‘If we can persuade your father to forgo wine this evening, I’ve just enough money for two bowls of soup and two cups of coffee. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes.’

As Nettie wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and picked up her one decent bonnet, she could not help thinking of Constance living in her grand house. If only she had eaten more of the delicious cake that had been served with the coffee, she might not feel so weak and lightheaded now, but she had not wanted to appear greedy.

‘I’m coming,’ she said stoutly. ‘And I suggest that we go for a walk along the river bank after we’ve eaten. If we make enquiries we might find someone who remembers a family of bargees who had a daughter called Lisette.’

They found Robert at the café, and, as usual, he was the centre of attention, chatting volubly in English, regardless of whether his audience could understand him or not. He illustrated his life story with charcoal sketches, and Nettie was horrified to see that he had used up almost a whole pad. Paper was expensive and charcoal was not cheap, but he was using it as if the supply was inexhaustible and free.

Nettie waited for the audience to disperse before she sat down next to her father and told him how she had met Duke on board ship. Robert studied the visiting card and tossed it back at her.

‘Marc was a fool,’ he said casually. ‘I knew him well, but he was no businessman. He loved art but he would have been bankrupt if Duke had not taken him in hand. I know now that Dexter is a crook, but he’s a clever fellow.’

‘Not so clever that he didn’t get found out.’ Byron emptied his pockets of money and laid it on the table. ‘This is all I have left, Mr Carroll. What about you?’

Robert leaned forward, putting his finger to his lips. ‘Not so loud, boy. I’m travelling incognito. My name is not unknown, even in Paris.’

‘I doubt if the people here are very interested in art,’ Nettie said hastily. ‘Anyway, Pa, I’ve arranged for us to meet Duke at the gallery in the morning.’

Robert sat back in his chair, a stubborn look masking his handsome features. ‘I’m not going.’

‘But, Pa, we need help. Can you think of any other way to raise money, or to find alternative accommodation? Madame will throw us out the moment she discovers we can’t pay next week’s rent.’

‘Do you want me to spend the rest of my life working for that criminal? I believed in him, Nettie, and he betrayed my trust.’

‘I’m just trying to keep us from ending up in the gutter,’ Nettie said angrily.

Robert eyed Byron with a calculating smile. ‘You’re a strong young chap, surely you can find work, even if it isn’t scribbling away in a lawyer’s office.’

‘I’ve been trying,’ Byron snapped, ‘which is more than I can say for you, Mr Carroll.’ He snatched up a pile of discarded sketches. ‘Is this what you’ve been doing all day? Have you spent all your money on drinking with your friends?’

‘Well, I was hoping to sell some of my work,’ Robert said sulkily. He put his hand in his pocket and produced a handful of coins, which he threw onto the table. ‘Here, this is all my worldly wealth. Spend it on food and tomorrow we’ll go hungry.’

‘Tomorrow we’ll go cap in hand to Duke Dexter and ask for his help. It’s that or we end up on the streets, Pa.’ Nettie snatched up the money and handed it to Byron. ‘Is there enough for a decent meal?’

‘Soup and bread all round,’ he said, signalling to a waiter.

‘And a bottle of cheap red wine,’ Robert pleaded. ‘I must have something to calm my shattered nerves.’

‘No, Pa. We’ll ask for water. I don’t think there’s even enough for coffee.’

Robert buried his head in his hands. ‘What have I come to?’

Madame was standing outside the door to her quarters when they returned to their lodgings, and she started shouting at them before they reached the top step. Even though Nettie could not speak her language, the woman’s meaning was obvious. Byron waited until she slammed the door to her apartment, but his translation was quite unnecessary.

‘Amongst other things she said we’re to be out of here first thing in the morning, unless we can find the rent, in which case she wants two weeks’ money in advance. I don’t think the good lady trusts us.’

‘I wonder why,’ Nettie said grimly. ‘It looks as if she has our measure.’

Robert shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, my love. Duke will give me the money. He owes me some recompense for the trouble he’s caused us.’ He sauntered off in the direction of the stairs.

‘I don’t know how you’ve stood him all these years,’ Byron said, shrugging. ‘Your dad is impossible.’

‘I agree, but at least he’s come round to the idea of asking Duke Dexter for help. I can’t see any other way out of this predicament. Let’s hope tomorrow brings us better luck than today.’

The gallery was in the fashionable rue de Rivoli, but when they arrived at just after nine o’clock next morning they found it closed and shuttered. They waited for an hour, pacing up and down outside, but no one appeared.

‘I’ll have more than a few words to say to Duke when I next see him,’ Robert said angrily. ‘It was a bad day for me when I fell in with that fellow.’

‘Something must have happened, Pa.’ Nettie glanced up and down the street, but there was no sign of him. ‘I think we ought to visit Constance. She may know where he is and he might have left a message with her.’

‘We’ve got nothing to lose,’ Byron said grimly. ‘I don’t fancy sleeping on the river bank tonight. Lead on, Nettie.’

‘It’s really not good enough,’ Robert grumbled. ‘I deserve more respect. I’m a celebrated artist. People used to pay good money for my work.’

‘Come on, Pa.’ Nettie slipped her hand through the crook of her father’s arm. ‘You’ll like Constance. She’s a really nice person, but just remember that she knows nothing of Duke’s criminal activities. She thinks he’s wonderful and it would be a shame to ruin her trust in him.’

‘She’ll get to know about him soon enough when the police turn up at her door,’ Robert muttered. ‘I hope he’s there, and the least he can do is to buy us a decent breakfast.’

They walked on, stopping every now and then to ask the way, and eventually they reached the street where Constance lived. Nettie knocked on the door, but after what seemed a long wait it was opened by a middle-aged woman dressed in black. Her grey hair was scraped back into a tight chignon and her eyes were reddened, as if she had been crying.

‘I’ve come to see Miss Gaillard.’ Nettie spoke slowly, hoping that the woman would understand, but she waved her hands and raised a sodden handkerchief to her eyes.

Byron stepped forward to translate, although it made little difference and her tears flowed freely.

‘Ask her if she’s Mademoiselle Menjou,’ Nettie whispered.

Byron repeated the question in French and Mademoiselle nodded, but whatever she said was punctuated by sobs and unintelligible. Nettie was at a loss, but her father stepped forward, and to her surprise he put his arm around Mademoiselle Menjou’s shoulders, making sympathetic noises until she grew calmer.

‘Take over, Nettie. The damned woman is ruining my best jacket,’ Robert said in a stage whisper.

Nettie took his place and guided the distraught woman into the parlour. Mademoiselle Menjou sank down on the sofa, raising a tear-stained face to Byron. She spoke volubly, gesticulating to emphasise her words.

‘What’s she saying?’ Nettie demanded. ‘What’s happened, Byron?’

‘She says that Dexter turned up late last night and the next thing she knew Constance was throwing things into a valise, and Dexter paid off most of the servants. She is to remain here and keep house with the minimum of help.’

‘Tell her we’ll take care of things,’ Robert said eagerly. ‘We could stay here until something better turns up.’

Byron shook his head. ‘She mentioned the gendarmerie, Robert. The police are involved. It seems as if they’ve been here, making enquiries about Duke’s whereabouts.’

Nettie gave Mademoiselle Menjou an encouraging smile. ‘Tell her I’m sorry, Byron, and ask her if Constance left a message for me.’

In answer to his question Mademoiselle shook her head, and her eyes brimmed with tears. She buried her head in her hands and her plump shoulders shook.

‘The police might be watching the house even now,’ Nettie said urgently. ‘I think we should get away from here as quickly as possible.’

Just as they were about to leave, Mademoiselle Menjou caught hold of Nettie’s arm. ‘Château Gaillard,’ she whispered. ‘Beauaire-en-Seine.’ She scuttled off before Nettie had a chance to ask Byron to question her further.

Nettie turned to him. ‘Did you hear what she said?’

Byron nodded. ‘I think she was trying to tell you where Duke had taken Constance. If I remember my geography lessons at school, Beauaire is a small river-side town, north of Paris.’

Chapter Five

They stood on the bank of the River Seine with their worldly goods piled at their feet. A hurried departure from the lodging house had left them homeless and slightly breathless. Madame had demanded extra money for the inconvenience of having to chase them for the next week’s rent, which Robert refused angrily, but their raised voices had caused a stir amongst the other tenants. They had left the building with abuse being hurled at them, and someone threatening to call a gendarme. It seemed that wherever they went they were to fall foul of the law.

Nettie gazed into the gunmetal waters of the river as it reflected the grey of the clouds that threatened yet another April shower.

‘If only we had a boat,’ she said, sighing. ‘If Duke saw fit to leave town I think that’s what we should do, before we get into any more trouble, and if we could get to Beauaire we might be able to find Constance. It doesn’t sound as if she wanted to leave with Duke.’

‘You ought to abandon me.’ Robert moved to the water’s edge. ‘Perhaps I should fling myself into the river and set you free, Nettie dear.’

‘Don’t be silly, Pa.’ Nettie knew that he was bluffing, but even so she moved closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. ‘Perhaps we could find somewhere quiet in the country where no one has heard of you.’ She turned to Byron. ‘But you don’t have to stay with us. You could return to London and no one would be any the wiser.’

Byron grasped her free hand. ‘We’re in this together, and I’m not quitting now just because things are difficult. It’s not totally unselfish, anyway. I want to use this opportunity find my mother’s family.’

Robert eyed him gloomily. ‘You said yourself that it’s more than twenty years since your mother left Paris. I doubt if you’ll find anyone who knew her.’

‘I’ve been asking around and one of the older men remembers a barge called La Belle Lisette and the family were called Joubert. Even if there’s a connection, they could be anywhere after all these years.’

‘We can’t just give up,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘And I, for one, do not intend to sleep in a shop doorway or under a bridge. I’m going to start asking the boat people if they will take us anywhere away from Paris. You two can stay here and guard our things.’ She marched off in the direction of the quay where barges were being unloaded. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her father slumped down on his case, but Byron had gone off in the opposite direction and she could hear him calling out to a boatman downriver.

She walked for miles, stopping to speak to everyone she met who worked on the river, whether it was bargees, fishermen or the men who unloaded the boats, but all her enquiries, in halting French, were met with negative responses. It seemed that none of the owners of small vessels were able or willing to take passengers. Nettie suspected that some might have been more amenable had there been a generous offer of payment, but that was out of the question.

It was late afternoon when she made her way back to the place where she had left her father, and her clothes were still damp after being caught in several showers with nowhere to shelter. She was cold, hungry and exhausted, but a small flame of hope still burned within her heart. Giving up was not an option, but if they could not find cheap transport to get them away from the city, they would have to set off on foot. Tonight, however, they would need to rest, and already she could feel blisters the size of grapes forming on her heels. When she reached the spot where she had parted from Byron and her father, they were nowhere to be seen, and it had started to rain again.

‘Nettie.’

She turned at the sound of Byron’s voice, saw him emerge from a shack further along the river bank, and she hurried to join him.

‘I was wondering where you’d gone,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Did you have any luck?’

He shook his head. ‘No, unfortunately, but I found your dad in the boatmen’s café, drinking wine with some of the locals. He was sketching their portraits to pay for his food and drink.’

‘How like Pa. Here we are, doing our best to save him from being arrested, and all the time he’s enjoying himself.’

Byron tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘Come on, Nettie. It’s not so bad. As a matter of fact he’s done what we set out to do. He’s been chatting to a bargee who remembers my grandfather and he thinks my family moved north to Beauaire, the town Mademoiselle Menjou mentioned.’

‘That’s marvellous, Byron. But how will we get there?’

‘Monsieur Durand, the bargee, has agreed to let us travel with him, providing we work our passage, and your father will be kept busy making sketches of the old fellow and his precious steam boat. Apparently Robert has met an art lover at last.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Nettie said wholeheartedly. ‘I don’t feel as though I can walk another step.’

‘Take my arm. The café is just over there. I’m sure your father can wheedle a cup of coffee for you. He seems well in with all of them, even though he can’t speak much French.’

Arm in arm they made their way to what was little more than a wooden shack, but when Byron opened the door Nettie was enveloped in a warm fug laced with the heady aroma of coffee, wine and the inevitable hint of garlic. Her father was seated at a long table with several others, and she could tell by his expression that he was enjoying himself. His pad of paper, slightly crumpled after its soaking, was propped up before him and he was using charcoal to sketch the proprietor. An empty cup and wineglass suggested that his artistic talents were being appreciated in the most practical way. Nettie moved to his side, greeting him with a tired smile.

‘You look comfortable here, Pa.’

Robert looked up at her, beaming. ‘I’ve made some wonderful friends, and I’ve been treated with the greatest hospitality.’ He signalled to the barman, pointing to Nettie and making a drinking motion with his hand. ‘Café, please, Monsieur. For my daughter.’ He glanced up at Byron. ‘What’s the French for “daughter”?’

Byron went to the counter and translated. He returned to the table moments later bringing a steaming cup of coffee for Nettie.

‘They think you’re very pretty,’ he said, smiling. ‘They show good taste.’

Robert tugged at Nettie’s sleeve. ‘I want you to meet Monsieur Durand, the gentleman who appreciates art and who is going to take us to safety.’ He turned to the man seated on his left. ‘Aristide, my friend, this is Nettie, my daughter.’

Aristide took Nettie’s hand and raised it to his lips. Such a gallant gesture seemed oddly out of place from a man more used to working the river than mixing with polite society. Aristide was dressed, like his fellow bargees, in baggy trousers and a coarse linen shirt, open at the neck. A bright red and white spotted neckerchief added a splash of colour, and a battered peaked cap lay on the bench beside him. He smiled and his shrewd blue eyes twinkled irresistibly beneath shaggy grey eyebrows. Nettie knew at that moment that she was going to like Aristide Durand and she had a feeling that he was a man to be trusted.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur,’ she said, smiling.

Later, when Aristide took them to where his vessel was moored, Nettie experienced a frisson of excitement. She had grown up within yards of the River Thames and she was accustomed to seeing vessels of all types, but there was something solid and appealing about the craft that bobbed gently on its moorings, rocking like a baby’s cradle. Aristide boarded first, followed by Robert and then Byron, who held his hand out to steady Nettie as she bundled up her long skirts and stepped onto the deck. The planking was scrubbed to bone whiteness and Aristide showed them round like a proud housewife showing off a much-loved home. The cargo was stowed in the hold beneath vaulted hatch covers on either side of a single funnel, which smoked gently like an old man seated on a park bench with a pipe clenched between his teeth.

Aristide said something to Byron, who nodded and patted him on the back. ‘Monsieur Durand says this was one of the first steam barges on the Seine.’

Robert nodded vaguely. ‘Yes, that’s all very well, but where will we sleep? Ask him that, Byron.’

After a brief conversation Byron translated yet again. ‘The accommodation is very small so we’ll have to sleep on deck.’

Nettie could see that her father was about to protest. ‘That will be exciting,’ Nettie said hurriedly. ‘Please tell Monsieur Durand that we’re very grateful to him.’

‘I need a comfortable bed, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers,’ Robert said gloomily. ‘I just hope that the fellow doesn’t expect me to swab the decks.’ He wandered off to sit in the bows with his pad and charcoal and began sketching the view.