Kitabı oxu: «Nettie’s Secret»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Dilly Court

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Covent Garden, 1875

Robert Carroll appeared in the doorway of his attic studio, wiping his hands on his already paint-stained smock. A streak of Rose Madder appeared like a livid gash on his forehead. ‘Nettie, I want you to go to Winsor and Newton in Rathbone Place and get me some more Cobalt Blue, Indian Yellow and Zinc White. I can’t finish this painting without them.’

Nettie looked up from the garment she had been mending. ‘Do you need them urgently, Pa? I promised to finish this for Madame Fabron. It’s the opening night of her play at the Adelphi, and she must have her gown.’

‘And I have to finish this commission, or I won’t get paid and we’ll find ourselves homeless. We’re already behind with the rent, and Ma Burton isn’t the most reasonable of souls.’

‘All right, Pa. I’ll go, but I thought we didn’t have any money, which was why we had nothing but onions for supper last night.’ Reluctantly, Nettie laid her sewing aside.

‘Food is not important when art is concerned, Nettie,’ Robert said severely. ‘I can’t finish my work without paint, and if I don’t get this canvas to Dexter by tomorrow there’ll be trouble.’ He took some coins from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. ‘Go now, and hurry.’

‘I know you think the world of Duke Dexter, but how do you know that the copies you make of old masters’ works aren’t passed off as the real thing?’ Nettie pocketed the money. ‘You only have Duke’s word for the fact that he sells your canvases as reproductions.’

‘Nonsense, Nettie. Duke is a respectable art dealer with a gallery in Paris as well as in London.’ Robert ran his hand through his hair, leaving it more untidy than ever. ‘And even if he weren’t an honest dealer, what would you have me do? Commissions don’t come my way often enough to support us, even in this rat-infested attic.’

‘I still think you ought to check up on him, Pa.’

‘Stop preaching at me, Nettie. Be a good girl and get the paint or we’ll both starve to death.’

‘You have such talent, Pa,’ Nettie said sadly. ‘It’s a pity to squander it by making copies of other people’s work.’ She snatched up her bonnet and shawl and left her father to get on as best he could until she returned with the urgently needed paints. Everything was always done in a panic, and their way of living had been one of extremes ever since she could remember. When Robert Carroll sold one of his canvases they lived well and, despite Nettie’s attempts to save something for the lean times to come, her father had a habit of spending freely without any thought to the future.

Nettie made her way down the narrow, twisting staircase to the second floor, where the two rooms were shared by the friends who had kept her spirits up during the worst of hard times. Byron Horton, whom she thought of as a much-loved big brother, was employed as a clerk by a firm in Lincoln’s Inn. Nettie had been tempted to tell him that she suspected Marmaduke Dexter of being a fraud, but that might incriminate her father and so she had kept her worries to herself. The other two young men were Philip Ransome, known fondly as Pip, who worked in the same law office as Byron, and Ted Jones, whose tender heart had been broken so many times by his choice of lady friend that it had become a standing joke. Ted worked for the Midland Railway Company, and was currently suffering from yet another potentially disastrous romantic entanglement.

Nettie hurried down the stairs, past the rooms where the family of actors resided when they were in town, as was now the case. Madame Fabron had a small part in the play Notre-Dame, or The Gypsy Girl of Paris, at the Adelphi Theatre, with Monsieur Fabron in a walk-on role, and their daughter, Amelie, was understudy to the leading lady, Teresa Furtado, who was playing Esmeralda. The Fabrons were of French origin, but they had been born and bred in Poplar. They adopted strong French accents whenever they left the building in the same way that others put on their overcoats, but this affectation obviously went well in the theatrical world as they were rarely out of work. Fortunately for Nettie, neither Madame nor her daughter could sew, and Nettie was kept busy mending the garments they wore on and off stage.

She continued down the stairs to the ground floor, where sickly Josephine Lorimer lived with her husband, a journalist, who was more often away from home than he was resident, and a young maidservant, Biddy, a child plucked from an orphanage. Nettie quickened her pace, not wanting to get caught by Biddy, who invariably asked for help with one thing or another, and was obviously at her wits’ end when trying to cope with her ailing mistress. Not that she had many wits in the first place, according to Robert Carroll, who said she was a simpleton. Nettie knew this to be untrue, but today she was in a hurry and she was desperate to avoid their landlady, Ma Burton, who inhabited the basement like a huge spider clad in black bombazine, waiting for her prey to wander into her web. Ma Burton was a skinflint, who knew how to squeeze the last penny out of any situation, and her cronies were shadowy figures who came and went in the hours of darkness. Added to that, Ma Burton’s sons were rumoured to be vicious bare-knuckle fighters, who brought terror to the streets of Seven Dials and beyond. It was well known that they were up for hire by any gang willing to pay for their services. It was best not to upset Ma and incur the wrath of her infamous offspring and their equally brutal friends.

Nettie escaped from the house overlooking the piazza of Covent Garden and St Paul’s, the actors’ church, and was momentarily dazzled by the sunshine reflecting off the wet cobblestones. She had missed a heavy April shower, and she had to sidestep a large puddle as she made her way down Southampton Street. It would have been quicker to cut through Seven Dials, but that was a rough area, even in daytime; after dark no one in their right mind would venture into the narrow alleys and courts that radiated off the seventeenth-century sundial, not even the police. Nettie stopped to count the coins her father had given her and decided there was enough for her bus fare to the Tottenham Court Road end of Oxford Street, and from there it was a short walk to the art shop in Rathbone Place. She must make haste – Violet Fabron would expect her gown to be finished well before curtain-up.

Nettie spotted a horse-drawn omnibus drawing to a halt in the Strand and she picked up her skirts and ran. The street was crowded with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, and with pedestrians milling about in a reckless manner, but this enabled Nettie to jump on board. As luck would have it, she found a vacant seat. One day, when she was rich, she would have her own carriage and she would sit back against velvet squabs, watching the rest of the population going about their business, but for now it was the rackety omnibus that bumped over the cobblestones and swayed from side to side like a ship on a stormy ocean, stopping to let passengers alight and taking on fresh human cargo. Steam rose from damp clothing, and the smell of wet wool and muddy boots combined with the sweat of humans and horseflesh. Nettie closed her mind to the rank odours and sat back, enjoying the freedom of being away from her cramped living quarters, if only for an hour or so.

Two hours later, Nettie returned home with the paints and two baked potatoes that she had purchased from a street vendor in Covent Garden.

Robert studied the small amount of change she had just given him. ‘The price of paint hasn’t gone up, has it?’

Nettie took off her bonnet and laid it on a chair in the living room. ‘No, Pa. I bought the potatoes because we need to eat. I’m so hungry that my stomach hurts.’

‘There should be more change than this.’

‘I had a cup of coffee, Pa. Surely you don’t begrudge me that?’

Robert shook his head. ‘No, of course not. I’m hungry, too. Thank you, dear.’ He took the potato and disappeared into his room.

Nettie sighed with relief as the door closed behind her father. She reached under her shawl and produced the new notebook that she had purchased in Oxford Street. It had cost every penny that she had earned from mending a tear in Monsieur Fabron’s best shirt, and she had supplemented it with a threepenny bit from the coins that her father had given her for his art supplies. Perhaps she should have spent the threepence on food, but she considered it money well spent, and paper, pen and ink were her only extravagance. Writing a romantic novel was more than a guilty pleasure; Nettie had been working on her story for over a year, and she hoped one day to see it published. But she dare not reveal the truth to Pa – he would tell her that she was wasting valuable time. No one in their right mind would want to pay good money for a work written by a twenty-year-old girl with very little experience of life and love. She knew exactly what Pa thought about ‘penny dreadfuls’ and he would be mortified if he thought that his daughter aspired to write popular fiction. It was her secret and she had told nobody, not even Byron or Pip, and Ted could not keep a secret to save his life. Poor Ted was still nursing a broken heart after being jilted by the young woman who worked in the nearby bakery; he wore black and had grown his hair long in the hope that he looked like a poet with a tragic past. Nettie had met the love of his life, Pearl Biggs, just the once, and that was enough to convince her that Ted was better off remaining a bachelor than tied to a woman who was no better than she should be.

Nettie hid the new notebook, along with two others already filled, beneath the cushions on the sofa, where she slept each night. She was in the middle of her story, and the characters played out their lives in her imagination while she went about her daily chores. Sometimes they intruded in her thoughts when she was least expecting it, but occasionally they refused to co-operate and she found herself with her pen poised and nothing to say.

She put the potato on a clean plate and went to sit on a chair in the window to enjoy the hot buttery flesh and the crisp outer skin, licking her fingers after each tasty bite. When she had eaten the last tiny morsel, she wiped her hands on a napkin and picked up her sewing. She concentrated on Madame Fabron’s gown, using tiny stitches to ensure that the darn was barely visible. Having finished, she put on her outdoor things and wrapped the gown in a length of butter muslin. She opened the door to her father’s studio.

‘I’m off to the theatre, Pa.’

‘The theatre?’

‘Yes, Pa. You remember, Madame Fabron needs her gown for the performance this evening.’

‘Oh, that. Yes, I do. Wretched woman thinks she can act. I’ve seen more talented performing horses. Don’t be long, Nettie. I want you to take a message to Duke. You’ll need to make full use of your feminine wiles because this painting won’t be finished today. He can come and view it, if he so wishes.’

‘Yes, Pa. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Once again, Nettie left their rooms and made her way downstairs. She was tiptoeing past the Lorimers’ door when it opened and Biddy leaped out at her.

‘I heard you coming. I need help, Nettie. Mrs Lorimer’s having one of her funny turns.’

‘I’m sorry, Biddy. But I’m in a hurry.’

Biddy clutched Nettie’s arm. ‘Oh, please. I dunno what to do. She’s weeping and throwing things. I’m scared to death.’

‘All right, but I can only spare a couple of minutes.’ Nettie stepped inside the dark hallway and Biddy rushed past her to open the sitting-room door. The curtains were drawn and a fire burned in the grate, creating a fug. The smell of sickness lingered in the air. It took Nettie a moment to accustom her eyes to the gloom, but she could see Josephine Lorimer’s prostate figure on a chaise longue in front of the fire. She had one arm flung over her face and the other hanging limp over the side of the couch. Unearthly keening issued from her pale lips.

‘What’s the matter, Mrs Lorimer?’

Josephine moved her arm away from her face. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Nettie Carroll from upstairs. Biddy says you are unwell.’

‘I’m very ill. I think I’m dying and nobody cares.’

Nettie laid her hand on Josephine’s forehead, which was clammy but cool. ‘You don’t appear to have a fever. Perhaps if you sit up and try to keep calm you might feel better.’

‘How can I be calm when I am all alone in this dark room?’

Biddy shrank back into the shadows. ‘Is she dying?’

Nettie walked over to the window and drew the curtains, allowing a shaft of pale sunlight to filter in through the grimy windowpanes. ‘Mrs Lorimer would be better for a cup of tea and something to eat, Biddy. Have you anything prepared for her luncheon?’

‘There’s soup downstairs on the old witch’s range, but I’m scared to go down there. She’ll put me in a pot and boil me for her dinner.’

Josephine groaned and turned her head away. ‘Have you ever heard such nonsense? I’m supposed to be looked after by that stupid girl.’

‘I’m not stupid, missis,’ Biddy muttered.

‘Come with me,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘We’ll go down together. Ma Burton may be an old witch, but she doesn’t eat people.’

Biddy backed away, but a fierce look from Josephine sent her scurrying for the door. ‘All right, I’ll go, but you must come with me, miss.’

‘We’ll be back in two ticks.’ Nettie lowered her voice. ‘She’s just a child and she’s scared.’

Josephine’s lips trembled. ‘I need someone like you – someone capable and caring, not a silly little girl.’

Nettie gave up her attempt to reason with the irritable patient and followed Biddy from the room.

Ma Burton was tucking into a bowl of soup with evident enjoyment. Nettie suspected that Ma had helped herself from the Lorimers’ saucepan, but it would cause trouble if anything was said. Biddy kept so close to Nettie that she might have been mistaken for her shadow, but Ma Burton was too busy eating to make a fuss. To Nettie’s astonishment, she allowed them to take the pan and leave without adding anything extra to the usual charge of one penny for use of the range.

‘There, you see, she’s not so bad after all,’ Nettie said as they climbed the stairs to the ground floor.

With the hot pan wrapped in her apron, Biddy was careful not to spill a drop. ‘The missis will probably throw the soup at me – that’s what she did last time. I had bits of carrot stuck in me hair for days afterwards.’

‘I’ll make sure she behaves better today.’ Nettie struggled to keep a straight face. She could understand the frustration on both sides: Biddy was a child, taken from the orphanage because she was cheap labour; Josephine was the unhappy wife of a neglectful husband, with no recourse other than to play on her delicate constitution in order to gain attention. Nettie resigned herself to taking charge of the situation until Josephine was fed and comfortable, and, Nettie hoped, in a better mood. Biddy would no doubt improve out of all recognition if someone took her in hand, but that was unlikely to happen in the Lorimer household.

If Josephine was grateful for the food and Nettie’s undivided attention, she hid it well. She complained that the soup was too hot, and that it was too salty. She nibbled a slice of bread and butter Nettie prepared for her and then threw herself back on the cushions, complaining of a headache.

‘Fetch my medicine, girl,’ Josephine said feebly. ‘I need laudanum. Hurry up, you silly child.’

Biddy stood on tiptoe to reach the brown glass bottle set up high on the mantelshelf. ‘I’m doing it as fast as I can.’

‘There, you see what I have to put up with, Nettie.’ Josephine held her hand out. ‘Give me the bottle, girl, and pour me some water. Not too much.’

Nettie took the laudanum from Biddy. ‘Has the doctor prescribed this, Mrs Lorimer?’

‘Mind your own business and give it to me.’

‘I have a better idea,’ Nettie said, glancing out of the window. ‘The sun is shining so why don’t you come for a walk with me? I’m delivering this gown to Madame Fabron at the theatre. Wouldn’t you like to see them in rehearsal?’

Josephine clutched her hands to her bosom. ‘I haven’t been outside these rooms for over a year.’

‘But you can walk,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘You aren’t in pain.’

‘I have pain everywhere, and I am so tired, but I can’t sleep at night.’

‘She is always saying that,’ Biddy added, nodding vigorously. ‘She is always complaining.’

‘Be quiet,’ Josephine snapped. ‘Who asked you, girl?’

‘It isn’t far to walk to the stage door of the Adelphi. Why not make an effort, Mrs Lorimer? The fresh air will do you good, and maybe you’ll feel a little better. You might even see Miss Furtado rehearsing, if you’re lucky.’

Josephine raised herself to a sitting position. ‘I saw Teresa Furtado perform at Drury Lane. We used to go to the theatre often before I became ill.’

‘If Biddy will fetch your outdoor things, we’ll see if you can manage to get that far. You won’t know unless you try. We’ll help you.’

It took twice as long to get to the stage door than it would have done had Nettie been on her own, but between them, she and Biddy managed to cajole, bully and half-carry a reluctant Josephine Lorimer to the theatre. Once inside there seemed to be a minor miracle and Josephine was suddenly alert and smiling. She walked unaided to the dressing room that Madame Fabron shared with all the minor female characters, and when Amelie Fabron appeared and offered to take them into the auditorium to watch the dress rehearsal, Josephine accepted eagerly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes alight with excitement. It was a complete transformation, and she sat in the front row of the stalls, gazing in delight at the stage.

‘I have to do an errand for my father,’ Nettie said in a low voice.

‘Shhh!’ Josephine held her finger to her lips.

Nettie sighed and turned to Biddy, who seemed equally thrilled with the rehearsal. ‘Will you be all right if I leave you here?’

‘Isn’t Miss Furtado beautiful?’ Biddy breathed, dreamy-eyed.

Nettie could see that she was getting nowhere and she left them enraptured and in a world of their own. She would happily have remained with them, but she needed to find Duke Dexter as a matter of urgency. It was fortunate that Ma Burton had, for once, been more interested in her food than in demanding the rent arrears, but that situation would not last, and Ma’s boys used methods of persuasion that were brutal and very effective. As Pa said, ‘What use is an artist with a broken hand or missing fingers?’ They were not in that position as yet, but that could change.

Dexter’s gallery was in fashionable Dover Street, patronised by the rich and famous. Nettie hesitated before entering, smoothing her creased gown and straightening her bonnet. The fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen looked at her askance as they strolled past, and she felt dowdy and out of place. Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a man lurking in a doorway further up the street. His battered top hat and oversized black jacket both had the green tinge of age, and his lank hair hung loose around his shoulders. Nettie observed all these details in the brief moment before he ducked out of sight, but his appearance had disturbed her and her active imagination had him marked as someone up to no good. She took a deep breath and let herself into the gallery.

The elegant interior was furnished with antique chairs and Persian carpets, and the walls were adorned with gilt-framed paintings. Bowls of spring flowers scented the air and clients were greeted by Pendleton, a thin, balding man dressed in a black frock coat, neatly pressed pinstripe trousers and a dazzlingly white shirt. The lack of hair on his pate was compensated for by a wildly curling ginger moustache, the waxed tips of which quivered every time he spoke. Nettie found herself mesmerised by his facial hair, which seemed to have a life of its own.

‘How may I be of service, Miss Carroll?’ Pendleton raised his hand to twirl his moustache with delicate twists of his long fingers.

It was a routine they enacted each time Nettie entered the gallery. ‘I’d like to see Mr Dexter on a matter of business.’

Pendleton’s tea-coloured eyes met hers with a condescending smile. ‘Are you a purchaser or a vendor today, Miss Carroll?’

She was tempted to tell him to mind his own business, but that would only make matters worse. Pendleton was in his own little kingdom and, if he so wished, he could prevent her from seeing Dexter even if his employer was on the premises.

‘I have something that Mr Dexter wants, Mr Pendleton.’

‘I’ll see if he’s in his office. Excuse me, miss.’ Pendleton bowed and walked away at a leisurely pace.

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.

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, of course,’ Byron added hastily. ‘We’ll chip in, Mr Carroll.’

Robert shook his head. ‘Thanks, but the rent is the least of our problems. Say goodbye, Nettie.’ He strode off, leaving Nettie little alternative but to follow him.

‘Where are you going?’ Byron fell into step beside her. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Victoria Station,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You don’t want to be involved in this, Byron. Please keep out of it, for your sake if not for mine.’ She hurried on, but Byron kept pace with them.

‘I’m not giving up until you tell me what’s happened.’

‘I can’t tell you.’ Nettie broke into a run in an attempt to keep up with her father’s long strides, but she was hampered by the weight of her case.

‘Let me have that.’ Byron took it from her hand, but Robert had come to a halt as he reached the Strand, and he stood on the edge of the kerb.

‘Leave us alone, Horton.’ Robert waved frantically at a passing cab, but it passed by. ‘We have to leave London and that’s all you need to know.’

‘Now I know there’s something seriously wrong.’ Byron laid his hand on Nettie’s shoulder. ‘I’m your friend. If you’re in trouble maybe I can help.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, but thank you anyway. Please go away and forget about us. We’re leaving the country.’

‘Nettie!’ Robert turned to her, scowling. ‘What did I tell you?’

‘I’m sorry, Pa, but Byron deserves an explanation.’

‘He works for lawyers. He would feel bound to tell the police everything he knows about us.’ Robert raised his hand again and this time a hackney carriage drew to a halt at the kerb. ‘Get in, Nettie.’ He tossed the cases in after her. ‘Victoria Station, cabby.’ He leaped into the cab and slammed the door.

Nettie peered out of the window, raising her hand in a final farewell to Byron.

‘Did you have to treat him like that, Pa?’

‘Yes, I did. And I hope he doesn’t tell anyone where we’re headed, because if the police find out they’ll know we’re trying to leave the country. I wasn’t supposed to leave London.’

‘But you’re not implicated yet,’ Nettie said slowly. ‘It will take some time for the law officers to work out that you made the copies, and it’s Dexter they’re after, not you. Couldn’t we simply move to another town, as we’ve always done, and wait until all this blows over?’

‘This time it’s different, my love. Our previous moves have been to escape my creditors, and the sums owed were relatively small. The police were never involved, but once this gets out I’ll be ruined. No one will ever buy my work again.’ He leaned forward to take her hand in his. ‘But you can still go to North Wales. I’ll give you half the money that Dexter paid me, and you can start afresh with Prudence. She’s not a bad old thing when you get to know her, and she’ll look after you. I know she will.’

‘No, Pa. That’s out of the question. I’ll go wherever you go. Maybe you’ll find your work more appreciated in France. I believe they love artists there.’

‘Let’s hope so, Nettie.’

The last train had left the station some hours ago, and there was nothing they could do other than take a seat in the waiting room. According to the timetable the first train for Dover left early in the morning, and they made themselves as comfortable as was possible on hard wooden benches. One of the cleaners took pity on them and brought them cups of tea, for which Robert tipped her handsomely.

Nettie stretched out and managed to get some sleep, but it was not the most comfortable bed she had ever slept on, and when she awakened to the sound of movement outside it was a relief to stand up and ease her cramped limbs. A train had just pulled into the station, emitting great gusts of steam, and slowly the station came to life. Porters pushed their trolleys along the platform, loading and unloading the guard’s van, and bleary-eyed passengers stumbled towards the barrier, fumbling in their pockets for their tickets.

Nettie shook her father by the shoulder and he awakened with a start. ‘What time is it?’

‘I’m not sure. I can’t see the clock from here, but a train has just pulled into the station. Would it be ours?’

Robert sat up slowly, taking the silver watch from his waistcoat pocket and peering at it in the half-light. ‘It’s half-past five. Our train leaves at six. I’ll go to the ticket office and hope that it’s open.’ He stood up, adjusting his clothing and brushing his tumbled hair back from his brow. ‘Wait here, Nettie. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He shrugged on his overcoat and made a move towards the door but it opened suddenly and Byron rushed into the waiting room, followed by Pip and Ted.

‘What the hell is this?’ Robert demanded angrily.

‘We’ve come to beg you not to involve Nettie in this, sir.’ Byron faced him with a stubborn set to his jaw. ‘We won’t stand by and see her life ruined because of something you’ve done.’

‘That’s right.’ Ted stood behind Byron, and Pip leaned against the door, preventing anyone from entering or leaving.

‘Get out of my way,’ Robert said through clenched teeth. ‘This has nothing to do with you. Nettie is my daughter and she’s a minor. She does as I say.’

‘So you’ll drag her into a life of poverty in a foreign country, will you? Is that what a good father would do?’

Nettie stepped in between them. ‘Stop this, both of you. I choose to go with my father, Byron. What sort of daughter would I be if I abandoned him now?’