‘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.’
They stood on the bank of the River Seine with their worldly goods piled at their feet. A hurried departure from the lodging house had left them homeless and slightly breathless. Madame had demanded extra money for the inconvenience of having to chase them for the next week’s rent, which Robert refused angrily, but their raised voices had caused a stir amongst the other tenants. They had left the building with abuse being hurled at them, and someone threatening to call a gendarme. It seemed that wherever they went they were to fall foul of the law.
Nettie gazed into the gunmetal waters of the river as it reflected the grey of the clouds that threatened yet another April shower.
‘If only we had a boat,’ she said, sighing. ‘If Duke saw fit to leave town I think that’s what we should do, before we get into any more trouble, and if we could get to Beauaire we might be able to find Constance. It doesn’t sound as if she wanted to leave with Duke.’
‘You ought to abandon me.’ Robert moved to the water’s edge. ‘Perhaps I should fling myself into the river and set you free, Nettie dear.’
‘Don’t be silly, Pa.’ Nettie knew that he was bluffing, but even so she moved closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. ‘Perhaps we could find somewhere quiet in the country where no one has heard of you.’ She turned to Byron. ‘But you don’t have to stay with us. You could return to London and no one would be any the wiser.’
Byron grasped her free hand. ‘We’re in this together, and I’m not quitting now just because things are difficult. It’s not totally unselfish, anyway. I want to use this opportunity find my mother’s family.’
Robert eyed him gloomily. ‘You said yourself that it’s more than twenty years since your mother left Paris. I doubt if you’ll find anyone who knew her.’
‘I’ve been asking around and one of the older men remembers a barge called La Belle Lisette and the family were called Joubert. Even if there’s a connection, they could be anywhere after all these years.’
‘We can’t just give up,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘And I, for one, do not intend to sleep in a shop doorway or under a bridge. I’m going to start asking the boat people if they will take us anywhere away from Paris. You two can stay here and guard our things.’ She marched off in the direction of the quay where barges were being unloaded. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her father slumped down on his case, but Byron had gone off in the opposite direction and she could hear him calling out to a boatman downriver.
She walked for miles, stopping to speak to everyone she met who worked on the river, whether it was bargees, fishermen or the men who unloaded the boats, but all her enquiries, in halting French, were met with negative responses. It seemed that none of the owners of small vessels were able or willing to take passengers. Nettie suspected that some might have been more amenable had there been a generous offer of payment, but that was out of the question.
It was late afternoon when she made her way back to the place where she had left her father, and her clothes were still damp after being caught in several showers with nowhere to shelter. She was cold, hungry and exhausted, but a small flame of hope still burned within her heart. Giving up was not an option, but if they could not find cheap transport to get them away from the city, they would have to set off on foot. Tonight, however, they would need to rest, and already she could feel blisters the size of grapes forming on her heels. When she reached the spot where she had parted from Byron and her father, they were nowhere to be seen, and it had started to rain again.
‘Nettie.’
She turned at the sound of Byron’s voice, saw him emerge from a shack further along the river bank, and she hurried to join him.
‘I was wondering where you’d gone,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Did you have any luck?’
He shook his head. ‘No, unfortunately, but I found your dad in the boatmen’s café, drinking wine with some of the locals. He was sketching their portraits to pay for his food and drink.’
‘How like Pa. Here we are, doing our best to save him from being arrested, and all the time he’s enjoying himself.’
Byron tucked her hand in the crook of his