by Dilly Court
‘To France?’ Constance stared at her in surprise. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve been an utter fool. I sent Byron away and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I didn’t realise how much he meant to me until he was gone.’
‘He went back to France?’
‘Yes, he said he was going to join Lisette and Aristide.’
‘And now you’re going there, too?’
‘I don’t know. I’m only certain of one thing and that is I want to ask Byron to forgive me for the way I treated him. That’s why I’m going to France.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Constance said firmly. ‘I just need to let Percy know and he’ll be only too happy to get away from here. He hates working in the brewery and he’s only stayed because we had nowhere else to go.’
‘I must leave soon.’
‘It won’t take me long to pack, and I’ll send Mason with a note for Percy.’ Constance went to the table and retrieved the pen. She scribbled a quick note and rang the bell to summon a servant. ‘I’m so excited. I’m going home.’
Within the hour Nettie, Constance and Percy were on their way to Dover, courtesy of Maurice, who put his carriage at their disposal. He had calmed his wife down and given Percy his blessing, saying that a career in brewing was not necessarily for everyone. Nettie had come away with the feeling that Maurice was not sorry to let Percy go. In fact, he seemed quite relieved and had paid him until the end of the month, with an extra bonus for good luck. No one could call Maurice Norwood a mean man. Even Jane had begun to thaw a little when she realised that Nettie was intent on going to France. All that remained was to say goodbye to Biddy, and they stopped briefly at the village school. There had been tears, but Nettie had promised faithfully to write and to come and see Biddy when she returned to England.
The journey to France passed in a haze as far as Nettie was concerned. She was desperate to see Byron again, but afraid that her treatment of him might have soured their relationship for ever. She had planned to head straight to the place where they had parted with Aristide, but Constance pointed out that he would have moved on, and she insisted that Nettie must stay with them.
They arrived at the Paris house to find Mademoiselle Menjou still in residence, but the cook and the only remaining maid had not been paid for some time, and were on the point of leaving. Constance managed to persuade them to stay, promising to reimburse them as soon as she had cashed the banker’s draft that Duke had been coerced into signing, and the maid was sent out to market to purchase food and necessities. Constance was delighted to be at home, but Mademoiselle Menjou shook her head when Constance asked for a room to be prepared for Percy.
‘The young man cannot stay here, Constance,’ Mademoiselle said in strongly accented English. ‘It would not be proper.’
‘But we’re engaged to be married, Mademoiselle,’ Constance protested, clutching Percy’s hand as if she were afraid he might run away.
‘You are still married to that other person.’ Mademoiselle Menjou turned to Percy with a stern look. ‘You understand, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Percy gave Constance a reassuring smile. ‘I must find somewhere else to stay while we go through the formalities, my love.’
Nettie could see that Constance was close to tears. ‘Is there living accommodation above the gallery?’
Constance brightened visibly. ‘Yes, I believe so. That might do, for the time being.’
‘Then I suggest you go and take a look,’ Mademoiselle said stiffly. ‘You will re-open the gallery, I suppose?’
Constance gazed wide-eyed at Percy. ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far.’
‘I must find paid employment,’ Percy said slowly. ‘But I don’t know anything about works of art.’
‘But my father does.’ Nettie thought quickly. ‘I know he’s accepted a job with Rufus, but it’s a waste of his talent. Maybe you could work together, Percy?’
He nodded. ‘It’s a thought, but first things first. Mademoiselle is right, I can’t stay here, so let’s go and take a look at this place.’
Mademoiselle Menjou took her hanky from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘I thought you were gone for ever, Constance. This is too good to be true. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my bedchamber and rest for a while. I’m quite overcome.’ She sailed out of the room, wafting a hanky soaked in cologne in front of her.
‘We’ll go now, while there’s still plenty of light,’ Constance said happily. ‘Will you come with us, Nettie?’
‘I think I’ll walk to the quay and see if anyone there has seen Aristide recently. I’m not sure how I’m going to find him and Lisette, but find them I will.’
‘Not forgetting Byron,’ Constance said with a mischievous smile. ‘Tell the truth, Nettie.’
‘He might not want to see me after the way I treated him, and I wouldn’t blame him.’
‘My brother is no fool. We’ll help you to find him, Nettie.’ Percy held his hand out to Constance. ‘I’d much rather stay here, but Mademoiselle Menjou was right, it wouldn’t do your reputation any good, and it won’t be for long. We’ll see a lawyer first thing in the morning and you’ll soon be free from Dexter.’
Nettie walked with them part of the way and she went on to the quay where they had first met Aristide. It was a bitterly cold November afternoon and the watery sun had disappeared behind dark clouds. Frost sparkled on the grass in the gardens and the River Seine was the colour of gunmetal. The familiar scent of tobacco smoke and engine oil wafted from vessels moored alongside the quay, but there was no sign of Aristide’s barge. Nettie tried out her French on one or two of the men who worked on the river, but either they could not understand her, or they had never met Aristide Durand. She returned to the house, despondent but even more determined to find Byron.
Percy settled into the apartment above the gallery and the word went round that it was opening, which encouraged artists to bring their works for sale. Nettie helped Constance to arrange the paintings and show them off to their best advantage.
Every day at noon, Nettie went to the quay to ask if anyone had news of Aristide, but the answer was always in the negative. She devoted all her free time to revising and rewriting the novel that had been rejected, and shortly before Christmas she borrowed the money from Constance and took the finished manuscript to London. She left it with the publisher and she was given the page proofs of her first novel to check for herself. It gave her an excuse to stay on for a couple of days and she had intended all along to visit her father. She had a proposition to put to him.
She found him in the cold attic room, wrapped in several layers of clothing and staring disconsolately into the embers of a fire. The coal scuttle was empty and the cupboards were bare.
‘What have you been doing, Pa? Why aren’t you at work?’
‘I walked out, Nettie. That man is impossible. Nothing I did was right. I’m an artist and I was well known before I fell in with Duke.’
‘It’s freezing in here, Pa. You’ll catch your death of cold.’
‘The money ran out, Nettie. You will stay, won’t you? I can’t manage without you.’
‘I’ll stay tonight, because it’s too late to travel and I have to work on the page proofs of my book, but tomorrow I’ll take them back to the publishers, and then you and I are going to Paris.’
‘But my home is here, in London.’
‘And Constance needs your help to get the gallery up and running, Pa. Percy has tried but he knows nothing of art, and they’re desperate. They need your help.’
‘Well, if you put it like that, I suppose I could give it a try.’
‘Get your coat on, Pa. We’ll go out to supper tonight. I’m paying.’
Over their meal at the Gaiety Restaurant, Robert told Nettie that Wegg had finally got his revenge and Duke had been arrested and was awaiting trial. In a surprising act of good will, Duke had absolved Robert of involvement in his criminal activities, and this had been confirmed by a visit from a pol
ice officer. Nettie was relieved to hear that her father was now above suspicion, but he was without a sponsor, and under the influence of a bottle of good claret he grew more and more enthusiastic about working in the Paris gallery.
When they returned to their attic rooms Nettie sat by the window for a while, remembering times gone by, and she knew she must find Byron. The longer they were apart the more she missed him, and the thought of life without him was unbearable. The gaslight from the streetlamps played on the wet cobblestones, and a hansom cab drew up outside depositing Violet Fabron and her husband at the front door. Nettie had seen the posters outside the Adelphi, featuring Amelie as the leading lady. She sighed as she made herself ready for bed. Life recently seemed to have been governed by timetables: Channel crossings and waiting on cold draughty station platforms for trains, followed by long and often cramped and uncomfortable journeys. Perhaps this would be the last time she would have to travel, for a while at least. Life would go on exactly the same in Ma Burton’s lodging house, but tomorrow Nettie would cross the Channel yet again, but this time it would be to follow her heart.
Safely back in Paris, Robert stayed with Percy in the apartment above the gallery and Nettie went to live with Constance and Mademoiselle Menjou. The annulment was going through, and Constance announced that she and Percy would be married in the spring. Robert had already started on a painting, using the studio behind the gallery, but Percy had decided that art was not for him. He was taking lessons in French and, following in his father’s footsteps, had enrolled as a medical student. This left Robert as manager of the gallery, a position he seemed delighted to fill. It meant that he could spend his days chatting to fellow artists and he still had plenty of time for his art.
Nettie continued to visit the quays daily, never giving up her search for news of Aristide’s barge, and she had begun work on a new story. Her first novel was published in April and her revised manuscript had been accepted. The publisher wrote to inform her that the advance sales were better than they had expected and she was now financially independent. She would have been overjoyed, but her lack of success in finding Byron overshadowed everything.
The annulment of Constance’s marriage to Dexter was duly granted and their wedding took place in a small church not far from the house. It was a quiet affair, but that was how the happy couple wanted it, and after a wedding breakfast at home, they set off for a honeymoon in the warm south.
Nettie left her father and Mademoiselle Menjou sipping brandy on the terrace of the sunlit garden. It was a beautiful day and Nettie strolled through the tree-lined Paris streets with the sound of birdsong in her ears and an azure sky overhead. Every step she took reminded her of the time she had spent in Paris with Byron, and the longing to see him again and hear his voice grew stronger every day. She had not realised how much she relied on his warmth and sense of humour, his kindness and his companionship. But simple friendship was not what she wanted or needed now, and the only man she could imagine spending the rest of her life with might be anywhere in this large country.
She found herself heading automatically towards the river, and although she had not entirely given up hope, she had begun to think that Aristide must have changed his route. Perhaps Lisette had objected to his involvement with so many women, although Nettie could hardly believe that a glamorous woman like Lisette would form a deep attachment to someone like Aristide. However, it was all conjecture and although she still clung to the hope of finding them, she had nagging doubts.
The river sparkled in the sunlight and the water reflected the blue of the cloudless sky. The trees in the parks were bursting into leaf, and flowerbeds were overflowing with spring blooms. The Parisians had cast off their winter overcoats and capes and were sporting smart new jackets and gowns trimmed with lace. Parasols twirled and young lovers walked arm in arm. Nettie had come straight from the small reception, and was still wearing her wedding outfit with a smart new hat, trimmed with flowers and feathers, and she was vaguely aware of the admiring looks from gentlemen passers-by. She came to a halt at the quay where she knew most of the bargees, and they greeted her like an old friend with grins and salutes. She strolled towards the café where they had first met Aristide, pausing to acknowledge one of her acquaintances.
He took the clay pipe from his mouth and exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘Are you still looking for old Durand?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Nettie said wearily. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.’
‘You will if you go into the café. He’s there, all right. Large as life and twice as ugly.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Nettie forgot everything as she picked up her skirts and ran. She burst into the shack, peering into the gloom. ‘Aristide?’
He rose to his feet. ‘Nettie.’ He hurried towards her. ‘You look so fine, I wouldn’t have recognised you.’
‘I’ve been searching for you for months. Is Lisette still with you?’
‘She is, the little minx. What times we’ve had, Nettie. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s changed my life.’
‘Oh, I think I would,’ Nettie said, remembering the parties at the castle in Catalonia. ‘And Byron?’
A sly grin twisted Aristide’s lips. ‘The poor boy is suffering from a broken heart. There’s only one person who could make him smile again.’
‘Where is he?’
Aristide pushed his cap to the back of his head. ‘Let me think. Lisette’s gone shopping and that leaves Byron alone on the barge.’
Nettie did not wait to hear any more. She hurried from the café and raced along the quay until she came to the familiar barge. Nothing about it had changed, apart from a line of dainty women’s undergarments hanging out to dry. Her heart did a massive leap against her ribcage when she saw Byron on the deck.
‘Byron.’ She hesitated, suddenly shy and unsure of her welcome. ‘Byron.’
He looked up and his expression of astonishment was wiped away by a smile that melted her heart. He strode along the deck and leaped ashore.
‘Nettie. Am I dreaming?’
She walked into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ‘I’ve been in Paris since before Christmas. I’ve been trying to find you, but I didn’t know where you were.’
He silenced her with a kiss that made her heart sing. He released her slowly. ‘Does this mean that you’ve changed your mind?’
‘I was a fool, Byron. You and I belong together, if you still feel the same, that is.’
He kissed her again and this time she was left in no doubt of his feelings.
‘I’ve always loved you, Nettie. I still do, but I really thought I’d lost you.’
She brushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. ‘I love you, too, Byron. You were always like part of me, and I suppose I took you for granted. It wasn’t until I thought I would never see you again that I realised how I truly felt.’
‘I’ve waited so long to hear those words.’ His smile faded and he held her at arm’s length. ‘Could you live like a water gypsy? You look so grand and beautiful that I hardly dare ask it of you.’
‘I could live anywhere if you were with me. I love the river, too. It will give me inspiration to write even better books.’
He went down on one knee. ‘I’m not letting you go again. Will you marry me, Nettie?’
‘Yes, gladly, happily and for ever, Byron. You and I will be water gypsies together.’
Beginning this winter, Dilly starts a new sweeping series set in the town of Little Creek.
Read on for an exclusive extract of Dilly’s next novel,
Chapter One
The Carrington House, Queen Square, London, December 1867
Daisy Marshall put aside the garment she had been mending for Master Timothy.
‘What is it, Franklin?’ she asked, gazing warily at the butler, who had entered the morning parlour without bothering to knock. Such small infringements of etiquette from the upper servants were not unusual, and obviously designed to
put her in her place.
‘For you, miss.’ With disapproval written all over his face, Franklin proffered a silver salver on which lay a sealed envelope.
Daisy’s breath caught in her throat as she recognised the writing, and she snatched it up, hoping that Franklin was not familiar with the bold cursive script belonging to Julian Carrington, the elder son and heir to the family fortune.
‘Thank you, Franklin.’ She made an effort to sound casual and unconcerned, but Franklin had a way of reducing her to the lowly status of a scullery maid.
He looked down his long nose. ‘Mrs Carrington wishes to see you in the drawing room, miss.’
‘I’ll be there directly.’ Daisy waited until he had left the room. The Carringtons’ butler had never approved of her – he had made that plain from the outset – and neither had Mrs Thompson, the housekeeper. The lot of a governess was not a happy one, as Daisy had discovered to her cost. She had found herself occupying a nebulous position where she belonged neither upstairs nor below stairs, but all that would change very soon. Daisy raised her hand to touch the gold ring set with a sparkling diamond that Julian had placed on her finger, although it now hung round her neck on a silk ribbon, hidden from view. The Carringtons’ money had come originally from coal mining in Yorkshire, and it was no secret that they hoped their son would marry into the landed gentry, but Julian would be twenty-one on Christmas Eve, and he planned to announce their betrothal at his birthday party.
Daisy opened the envelope carefully, not wanting to tear the expensive hand-made writing paper, and she inhaled the scent of Julian’s favourite cologne. It was almost as if he were sitting beside her, and she closed her eyes, revelling in the exotic blend of aromatic essences and spice. She sighed happily: in two days’ time it would be official. When he returned home Julian would place the ring on her finger in front of his whole family. Daisy Marshall from Whitechapel, the orphaned daughter of a leather merchant, would be raised from her humble status of governess to that of fiancée to the elder son of a well-to-do family. Quite how it had happened was still something of a surprise. The dashing twenty-year-old Oxford undergraduate, who had hopes of a career in the diplomatic service, was much in demand during the London season. Daisy was well aware that his domineering mother and ambitious father had their sights set on someone from a good family for their future daughter-in-law, but Julian had other ideas. He had convinced Daisy that for him it was love at first sight, and she had been similarly smitten. Now all that remained was to break the news of their engagement to the family.
