Читать книгу Nettie’s Secret - Dilly Court - Страница 9

Nettie’s fears grew as the days passed and her father earned very little money despite his efforts to promote himself. He was not the only artist attempting to make a living by touting for business in the square or on the steps of the great cathedral, and those who were there before him were not particularly welcoming. The fact that he could not speak a word of French also went against him, and the only people who paid to have their likenesses executed in charcoal were English visitors to the city, who were delighted to find someone with whom they could carry on a conversation. Nettie accompanied her father for the first few days, posing as an enthusiastic subject while he sketched her portrait, but even that failed to draw in an adequate number of clients eager to part with their money.

Byron went out daily, seeking work and returning each evening with very little to show for his efforts. They dined at the café each evening, but now they chose the cheapest food and wine, and during the day they ate almost nothing. Robert continued to be optimistic, but Nettie knew in her heart that they could not afford to live in Paris. At the end of the first week, with the rent due, she was tempted to go to the address that Duke had given her and ask for his help. After all, he was responsible for their being in this dire state, and he might be able to offer some good advice. He owed them that at least.

After a particularly bad day, when a sudden downpour soaked them to the skin and ruined a pad of expensive paper, Robert retreated to the café and ordered a glass of brandy and a pot of coffee. He had been quick to learn the French for what he considered to be the necessities in life. Nettie stood beside him with rainwater dripping off her straw bonnet, which was almost certainly beyond saving, and her wet clothing was causing her to shiver even though the day was relatively warm.

‘Did you have to do that, Pa?’ she demanded crossly.

‘I need something stronger than coffee. Where would you be if I sickened and died?’

For a brief moment Nettie was tempted to tell him that she would be far better off without him, but she knew that was not true. Despite his faults she loved her father and she would do her best to protect him from a world that was proving indifferent to his undoubted talent. ‘We have to be careful with money, Pa,’ she said, making an effort to be reasonable.

‘I should remind you that it is my money, Nettie. I have to look after myself. I have a great talent that must be nurtured. They’ll acknowledge it here, eventually.’

Nettie could see that she was getting nowhere. ‘I’m going back to the room to change into something dry. Perhaps you should do the same.’

‘That’s it, run along, my love.’ Robert greeted the waiter with a smile. ‘Merci.’ He grabbed the glass of brandy and sipped it with obvious pleasure. ‘I’ll be quite all right, Nettie. I’ll see you later – and bring a fresh supply of paper, please. We’ll try again this afternoon.’

Nettie hurried back to their rooms, narrowly avoiding Madame, who was standing outside a door on the fourth floor, hammering on it with both fists. She was shouting volubly and she neither heard nor saw Nettie, making it possible for her to slip past and race up the narrow staircase to the attics. Safely inside, she stripped off her wet garments and hung them over a rope that Byron had stretched from one side of the room to the other, which served as a clothes line. When the sun shone the rooms beneath the sloping roof were like an oven, but at night the temperature dropped noticeably, and Nettie could barely imagine how cold it must be in midwinter.

She dressed quickly, choosing her best gown and mantle and her only other bonnet. Assuming that Byron had not found any work that would earn him a few centimes, there was only one path open to them now. She opened the door and tiptoed downstairs. They had one more day in which to find next week’s rent, and she was ready to sup with the devil, if necessary.

The address that Duke had given her proved to be an elegant town house, set back from the street with a small paved front garden. It looked surprisingly respectable for a man who earned his living by fraud. She tugged at the doorbell and heard its peal echoing around what she imagined to be a large entrance hall, probably marble-tiled with a sweeping staircase and elegant furniture. She was expecting a uniformed maidservant, or even a smartly dressed butler to answer her knock, but to her surprise it was a young woman who opened the door. Her fair hair was taken back from her oval face and piled high on the top of her head, cascading around her shoulders in silky curls, and her striped dimity gown was the height of fashion.

Nettie had not been prepared to meet the lady of the house, or perhaps this was the daughter, judging by this person’s youthful appearance. Had it been a servant, Nettie would have shown them the visiting card and indicated that she wished to see Monsieur Gaillard, but now she was at a loss. She took the visiting card from her reticule, holding it up for the young woman to see. ‘Monsieur Gaillard?’

‘You are English?’ The young woman spoke with a charming French accent.

Nettie could have cried with relief. ‘Yes, I am. A gentleman I know gave me this visiting card and told me to contact him if I needed his assistance.’

‘You’d better come in.’

Nettie stepped over the threshold and found herself in an entrance hall not unlike the one she had imagined. ‘My name is Nettie Carroll,’ she began shyly.

‘I’m Constance Gaillard. Perhaps I can help.’

Nettie stared at her in disbelief. ‘You have the same surname as the person who gave me this card.’

‘Marc Gaillard was my father, but sadly he is deceased. You must be speaking of Monsieur Dexter,’ Constance said with an infectious giggle. ‘Duke and my father were business partners. Come into the parlour, where we can talk in comfort.’

Nettie followed her into an elegant room where a fire burned in the grate beneath a white Carrara marble fireplace. Bowls filled with hyacinths filled the air with their scent, the delicate colour of the flowers fitting in well with the pastel theme of the soft furnishings and the matching curtains. The walls were hung with exquisite watercolours of rural scenes, and the highly polished antique side tables were set beneath elegant gilt-framed mirrors that reflected the sunlight as it streamed through tall windows.

‘How lovely,’ Nettie breathed, soaking up the luxury with a heartfelt sigh. She had almost forgotten what it was like to live in a house like this. Once, when she was much younger and her father had been painting the portraits of fashionable ladies, they had lived in a comparable style. That was before Pa’s style of painting went out of fashion, and the gradual decline in their fortune.

‘Won’t you sit down, please?’ Constance perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘You said that you needed help, but Duke was in London when I last heard from him. How do you know him?’

‘My father is an artist. He had some dealings with Mr Dexter.’ Nettie sank down onto a chaise longue, leaning back amongst satin-covered cushions. ‘Duke was on the cross-channel paddle steamer heading for Calais when he gave me his card.’

‘And you are in need of his help?’

‘It’s a long story, but yes.’

‘You look a little pale, would you like some coffee, or perhaps you’d prefer tea?’

‘Thank you. I would love some coffee. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.’

Constance rose gracefully and rang for a servant, who appeared as quickly as if she had been standing outside the door.

‘We don’t get many visitors.’ Constance resumed her seat, having given the maid her instructions. ‘I think you are the first person to call this week.’

‘Do you live here alone?’

‘I have a companion, but she is old enough to be my mother and we do not have much in common. I like theatre and ballet, and I would love to go to parties, but Mademoiselle Menjou likes to play cards and gossip with her friends, who are all old and very dull. There are the servants, of course, but they keep to themselves.’

Nettie was so interested in Constance’s plight that she had almost forgotten the reason for her visit. ‘I can sympathise wholeheartedly.’

‘You have a similar problem?’

‘Not exactly. I live with my father and he’s having difficulty in finding work. I was hoping that Duke might help him to get established in Paris.’

Constance was about to answer when a timid tap on the door and the rattle of cups on saucers announced the arrival of the maid, who edged her way into the room carrying a heavy silver tray, which she placed on a low table.

‘Merci, Berthe,’ Constance said, smiling. ‘C’est tout, merci.’

Berthe hesitated in the doorway, taking one last look at Nettie. No doubt she would rush back to the kitchen and relay everything to the servants below stairs. Nettie smiled at her and Berthe scurried from the room and closed the door.

Constance sighed. ‘That girl is so nosy. One day I will have to speak sharply to her.’ She picked up the coffeepot and filled two cups, passing one to Nettie. ‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of her because it will go straight back to the other servants, but I haven’t seen Duke for months. He comes and goes as he pleases. However, he sent me a telegram from Dover, saying he’s on his way to Paris, so I expect he will call on me quite soon.’

Nettie sipped the coffee. ‘He seems quite young to be your guardian.’

‘I suppose it is unusual, but I’ve known him since I was a child. My papa owned an art gallery in Paris, and he wanted to open one in London. Duke was a young man, half my father’s age, when they first met, and eventually they went into business together.’

‘You must have been just a child at the time.’

‘I was only seven when we left Paris and went to London, and I remember the house we lived in overlooked a large park. The gallery prospered and Mama wore beautiful gowns and we had our own carriage, and servants to look after us.’ Constance’s violet-blue eyes darkened and she turned her head away. ‘We were all so happy – and then my parents were killed in a train crash. Duke took care of me and became my guardian. He brought me back to Paris and set me up in this house, and he saw to it that I had a good education. He’s always made sure that I have everything I need.’

‘Even so, you must have been very lonely at times. Haven’t you any relatives who would have taken care of you?’

‘My grandparents died some time ago and my mother was an only child. I know nothing of my father’s family, but I am very fortunate to have a nice home and a kind guardian.’ Constance replaced her cup on its saucer, eyeing Nettie curiously. ‘But you are obviously troubled. Is there anything I can do to help?’

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.’