Nettie’s Secret. Dilly Court

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.

      Nettie jumped to her feet as the door opened. ‘How did it go, Pa? Did he pay you?’

      ‘You’d best start packing, my dear. I’m afraid we have to make a move and do it quickly.’ Robert rushed into his studio. ‘We’ll have to travel light, so take only what you need.’

      Nettie stood in the doorway, watching helplessly as he began tossing his paints and brushes into a leather bag. ‘What happened? What’s wrong, Pa?’

      ‘You were right all along, Nettie. Duke has been selling the reproductions as originals and Wegg has reported his dealings to the police. Duke has cut and run and, according to Pendleton, I’d do well to follow suit unless I want to go to prison. I swear I thought what I was doing was legitimate – at least I did until you put doubts in my head.’

      ‘I know you were taken in by him, Pa. You were always convinced that Duke Dexter was an honest art dealer.’

      ‘I still find it hard to believe that Duke misled me deliberately. I keep thinking it’s all some horrible mistake, but Pendleton was in the middle of telling me all this when the police arrived. I was questioned by a big burly sergeant, who didn’t seem to believe a word I said. He took my name and address and told me not to leave town.’

      ‘I did try to warn you, Pa.’

      ‘I know you did, my love. I didn’t want to think ill of Duke, and I made those copies in good faith, but it seems that Wegg has done his worst. He was determined to ruin Duke and it seems that he’s succeeded.’

      ‘Think hard, Pa,’ Nettie said urgently. ‘Is there any way the police could prove you were the artist concerned?’

      ‘I had to leave my painting behind. An expert would soon realise that there are other works in the gallery made by the same copyist, and it won’t take long before the police put two and two together. I’m afraid if I don’t make a run for it, I’ll end up in prison. But you’re innocent and you don’t deserve to be dragged down by me.’

      ‘That’s nonsense, Pa. We’re in this together.’

      ‘You’ve stood by me even though you suspected that what I was doing was illegal,’ Robert said with a wry smile. ‘But it’s time you made a life for yourself. I want you to go to your aunt Prudence in Wales. You’d be safe there.’

      ‘I’d rather be on the run with you, Pa. Aunt Prudence lives on a mountain surrounded by sheep. Anyway, you need me to look after you.’ Nettie went to the dresser and began searching the drawers. ‘Where did I put the passports you obtained for us last year? You remember, Pa. It was for the trip to Paris we never made because we couldn’t afford it.’

      Robert pulled a face. ‘Don’t remind me of my past misdeeds, Nettie. That horse was a certainty, or so I thought. We would have visited the Louvre and Montmartre, the artists’ quarter, if that animal had won.’

      ‘Never mind that now, Pa. I’ve found them.’ Nettie closed the drawer and tucked the documents into her reticule.

      ‘You’re a good girl, Nettie. I don’t deserve you.’

      ‘There’s one problem, though. We haven’t any money.’

      ‘Duke must have a conscience of sorts: he left payment for my last canvas. As luck would have it, Pendleton handed it over before the police arrived.’

      ‘But you didn’t sign the copies,’ Nettie said slowly. ‘Even experts could be mistaken. If you had a good solicitor you might be able to prove that you knew nothing of Duke’s business deals.’

      ‘Everyone in the art world knows that I’ve been involved with Dexter for years, and I don’t trust Pendleton to keep his mouth shut. He’ll tell the police anything they want to know in order to save his own skin. I’m afraid there’s no alternative but to leave the country until all this blows over.’

      ‘Where will we go, Pa?’

      ‘We’ll head for Dover and catch the ferry to Calais. I don’t know where we’ll go from there. We’ll take it day by day.’

      ‘I must tell my friends. I can’t leave without saying anything to Byron and the others.’

      ‘You mustn’t do that, Nettie. It’s not fair to involve them. The less they know, the better. You can see that, can’t you?’

      ‘I suppose so.’

      ‘Good. Now pack your things. We’ll leave the rent money on the table. I’m not so dishonest that I’d rob an old woman, even a harridan like Ma Burton.’

      Nettie experienced a moment of panic as she packed a valise with all her worldly possessions, starting with the manuscript of her rejected novel. Moving in a hurry was nothing new, and leaving rented accommodation had often involved a moonlight flit, but it was the friends she had made in Ma Burton’s house that Nettie would miss the most. She wondered who would help young Biddy when she was at a loss to know how to cope with her invalid mistress. Who would have the patience to mend Madame Fabron’s torn garments? Who would spend hours listening to Ted agonising over his broken romance? Who would play cards with Pip when he was feeling bored, and who would laugh at Byron’s terrible jokes? Leaving Byron was the hardest thing of all.

      ‘Come on, Nettie. We must leave now.’

      Nettie fastened the leather straps on the valise and took one last look around the room that had been home for almost three years. The hunger and cold were forgotten and she could only remember the good times, and the bonds of friendship that she had made and shared. She would miss these two attic rooms in Covent Garden more than she could ever have thought possible. She had made a home wherever they happened to be in the past, whether it was a smart town house or a leaky attic in Hoxton, but leaving here hurt her heart, and going without saying goodbye to those whom she had grown to love was the most painful part of the whole sorry business.

      She followed her father downstairs, tiptoeing past the closed doors, but when Robert let them out into the street they came face to face with Byron and Ted.

      ‘What’s going on?’ Byron demanded.

      ‘Keep your voice down,’ Robert said in a stage whisper.

      ‘I’m so sorry.’ Nettie reached out to grasp Byron’s hand. ‘We have to leave.’

      ‘Why?’ Ted asked. ‘If it’s the rent, we could help out.’

      ‘Yes,