Nettie’s Secret. Dilly Court

to take Paris by storm. I intend to have an exhibition of my latest works somewhere in Montmartre. I haven’t decided the exact location as yet, but I hope you will all come.’

      Nettie sat down beside him. ‘Pa, we need to have a serious talk.’

      ‘I fear that I’m in trouble, ladies and gentlemen,’ Robert said, smiling. ‘As you see I am under petticoat government. I submit, Nettie. What have you to say?’

      Nettie felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but the onlookers rose to their feet and shuffled off to their respective tables. ‘Pa, how could you?’ she whispered. ‘That was very embarrassing.’

      ‘You simply don’t know how to enjoy yourself, my love.’ Robert raised his glass and sipped the wine. ‘What did you wish to discuss?’

      Byron took a seat beside Nettie. ‘We’ll be in Calais soon, sir. Have you any plans from there?’

      ‘We will go where the wind takes us,’ Robert said airily. ‘We’re free now, my boy. Free from the restraints of living in London, and we can live as we please.’

      Nettie stared pointedly at her father’s empty wine glass. ‘How many of those have you had, Pa?’

      ‘Not enough, my darling.’ Robert leaned towards Byron, grinning tipsily. ‘Get me another, dear boy. My throat is dry.’

      ‘No, Pa,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘This isn’t a holiday. We’re on the run,’ she added, lowering her voice. ‘We need a plan.’

      ‘I can’t be bothered with details like that. I’ll set up a studio somewhere and make a good living. The French appreciate art.’ Robert leaned back against the padded seat. ‘Wake me up when we get there.’ He closed his eyes and his head lolled to one side.

      ‘He’s drunk,’ Nettie said crossly. ‘Would you believe it, Byron?’

      ‘Did you expect anything else? You ought to be used to your father’s ways by now, Nettie.’

      ‘I suppose so, but I keep hoping that one day he’ll stop acting like a ten-year-old and take some responsibility for his actions. Who knows what sort of bother he’d get into if I deserted him?’

      Byron gave her a long look. ‘Your father wants to stay the night in Calais, although if it were left to me I’d suggest we went on to Paris. It would be easier to lose ourselves in the crowded city street, but we need to make a plan and we can’t do that until your father sobers up.’

      ‘Will you stay with him while I get some fresh air?’ Nettie rose to her feet. ‘It’s so stuffy in here.’

      ‘You mustn’t worry, Nettie. We’ll sort something out.’

      She flashed him a grateful smile as she left the saloon and went out on deck. The wind whipped around her, dragging strands of hair from beneath her bonnet and tugging at her skirt. The sea was choppy and the paddle steamer ploughed through the waves, churning up the water and sending plumes of spray into the air, drenching the unwary. People hurried for the shelter of the saloon or down the companionway to the lower deck where cabins were available for those who could afford to pay extra. Nettie staggered as the vessel pitched and she collided with someone who had come up behind her.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said breathlessly as she attempted to stand unaided, but the ship yawed and she would have fallen if he had not grasped her firmly.

      ‘Well, then. I didn’t expect to find you here, Miss Carroll. Least of all being thrown into my arms.’

      Nettie reached out and grabbed the ship’s rail. ‘Duke!’

      ‘Hush! Not so loud, Nettie, my dear. I’m incognito for reasons that you will appreciate.’

      ‘You’re on the run from the police and so is my pa, thanks to you.’

      ‘Now, now, that’s not fair. I didn’t force Robert to work for me. He was eager to earn money and I put him in the way of several decent commissions. I was informed on by a man who has a personal grudge against me and will stop at nothing until he sees me ruined.’

      ‘What you did was illegal,’ Nettie countered. ‘You used my father’s talents to make money for yourself.’

      ‘That, my dear, is business.’ He eyed her curiously. ‘What I don’t understand is why you chose to accompany him. Haven’t you any relations who would take you in and look after you?’

      ‘I’m not a child, Duke.’

      ‘Quite.’ He shrugged and turned away. ‘Well, good luck. That’s all I can say.’ He turned back to give her a quizzical smile. ‘But what will you do when the money runs out? Will you beg on the streets or sell yourself in order to keep your feckless father in comfort?’

      ‘Neither,’ Nettie said angrily. ‘We’ll find a way.’

      He hesitated, frowning. ‘I suppose I do bear some responsibility for what has happened to you, although it pains me to say so. I must be getting soft in my old age.’

      Suddenly curious, Nettie gave him a searching look. ‘You can’t be more than thirty-five.’

      ‘As a matter of fact, I’m thirty-four. Riotous living must be starting to mar my good looks.’ He put his hand in his breast pocket and took out a silver card case. He flicked it open and produced a gilt-edged visiting card. ‘This is the one I use when in Paris. You will see that I go by the name Gaillard when in France. I have many identities, Nettie, but if you are in trouble you can find me at this address. I might even have work for your father, if he’s so minded.’ Duke walked away, adapting to the movement of the ship as if he had spent his life at sea.

      Nettie tossed the card overboard, but the wind caught it and deposited it at her feet. Despite her misgivings, she bent down, picked it up and tucked it in her reticule. Duke Dexter was on the run just the same as they were, but Marc Gaillard, the Parisian art dealer, might be useful, if they were desperate.

      She felt a sudden change in the tone of the ship’s engine and she caught sight of land. She hurried back to the saloon to tell her father and Byron that they were nearing Calais, but she would keep Duke’s presence on board a secret.

      Robert had changed his mind about staying the night in Calais, or perhaps Byron had changed it for him, but in the end they took the train to Paris. It was an uneventful and reasonably comfortable journey, and when they reached their destination Robert insisted on hiring a fiacre to take them to Montmartre, where he was convinced he would meet like-minded people and his talent would be recognised. He seemed to be happy to sit back and allow Byron to do all the talking, and Nettie was quietly impressed by her friend’s fluent French as he told the cab driver where they wanted to go. They were dropped off in a quiet backstreet close to a small square filled with flower stalls, fruit sellers and cafés where people sat at small tables in the shade of trees, which were bursting into leaf.

      Byron paid the driver. ‘He says we can get cheap lodgings here,’ he said as the fiacre pulled away from the kerb.

      Robert held out his arms, smiling as he took deep breaths of the air scented with French tobacco, wine and garlic, which barely masked the smell of drains and overflowing privies.

      ‘I am in my spiritual home,’ he said gleefully. ‘It is here, in Paris, that I will do my best work. I was duped by Duke Dexter, but now I am free from his demands, and I will start afresh.’

      Nettie said nothing, but the cab had driven along the street named on Duke’s visiting card and she was uneasy. The last thing she wanted was for her father to get involved with the man who had led him into crime in the first place. It would be all too easy for him to go that way again when their money ran out, but she decided to talk it over with Byron at the first opportunity. Their most pressing need was for somewhere to stay, and Byron was making enquiries at the door of a house with a sign in the window advertising vacancies.

      ‘Byron is a handy chap to have around,’ Robert said grudgingly. ‘I wouldn’t have chosen him as