Nettie's Secret

by Dilly Court

  ‘I have no head for heights,’ Constance said coyly. ‘I will have to hold on tight to you.’

  ‘How long have you been married, Duke?’ Lisette asked drily. ‘Your wife is very young, is she not?’

  Nettie did not hear his reply, but as she looked up at Byron she could see that he was thinking along the same lines. ‘This should be interesting,’ she said softly as they followed Percy and Constance from the room. ‘Constance has led such a sheltered life, until now.’

  ‘Duke will get his comeuppance one day,’ Byron said, chuckling. ‘He’s spent his life swindling people out of their money, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Constance got the better of him.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I think that young lady has a will of her own.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ Percy called over his shoulder. ‘Keep up, or you’ll find yourself lost in the maze of passageways.’

  Nettie and Byron quickened their pace, taking care not to fall behind. As Percy had indicated, there were parts of the building that had yet to be renovated, but these seemed to be uninhabited by anyone or anything other than bats, which hung from the rafters in gloomy silence. Nettie shuddered at the thought of what it must be like on the top floors after dark, and she could only hope that their rooms would be in the comfortably furnished and well-decorated living accommodation. As they climbed towards the ramparts she could imagine what it must have been like centuries ago when the occupants were at odds with their neighbours. But when they reached the top and looked over the parapet, the view was even more stunning than it had been from the inn. Constance forgot that she was afraid of heights and leaned over, exclaiming loudly with Percy holding on to her hand. They were both laughing so much that it was infectious and Nettie found herself joining in, even though she had no idea what provoked such mirth.

  Byron cleared his throat. ‘We don’t want to be late for luncheon. I think the condesa would be very offended if we were.’

  ‘You’re right, brother. Ma is the most easy-going woman alive, until it comes to punctuality for meals. Come along, Mrs Dexter, I’ll take you back to your loving husband.’

  Constance pulled a face. ‘Don’t call me that. My name is Constance, and my husband’s interests lie purely in the art world, and making money, of course.’

  For once, Percy did not seem to have anything to say, and he led them back the way they had come.

  As she walked into the refurbished part of the castle Nettie felt as if she were stepping into another century, only this time they were in a wide corridor, its walls lined with oil paintings. She came to a halt in front of one she recognised as a Botticelli, and she moved closer, examining it in more detail. The truth hit her like a physical blow, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp of dismay. It was a copy, a very clever one, but she remembered her father working on it for weeks. Duke had commissioned it, and her father had executed it in good faith, telling her that it was to go to a collector who adored Botticelli but could not afford an original. The tiny, heart-shaped mole on the cherub’s left shoulder was an exact match to a similar birthmark she possessed. Pa had included it as a private joke, and it seemed now it might spell his downfall.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ Byron asked as he walked over to join her.

  She turned with a start. ‘I was just admiring the brushwork.’ She could not bring herself to tell him the truth.

  ‘Come along, you two,’ Percy said cheerfully as he strolled past with Constance on his arm. ‘You know what my illustrious mother said about being late for meals.’

  ‘We’re coming.’ Nettie dragged herself away from the painting, but as she walked with Byron she could feel the fake Botticelli calling out to her, and it could only mean one thing – trouble.

  The dining room was more like a banqueting hall than a cosy place where a family might sit round the table at mealtimes. Ornate metal chandeliers hung from a vaulted ceiling and the refectory table seemed to stretch into infinity as Nettie stared down its length. Lisette was holding court at the far end with Robert and Duke seated on her left, but they were not alone.

  ‘Who is that man sitting next to your mother?’ Nettie asked in a low voice.

  ‘That is Don Julio Alvarez, my mother’s lover,’ Percy said casually. ‘Ma collects admirers and keeps them until they bore her, then they are discarded without a thought. Don Julio has lasted longer than most.’

  ‘Really?’ Constance peered into the distance, her lips forming a perfect circle of surprise.

  ‘Don Julio has been around off and on ever since I can remember,’ Percy added, shrugging. ‘Ma gets tired of him and sends him away, and then he returns and is welcomed into her bed.’

  Byron shook his head. ‘I don’t think you ought to say things like that about our mother.’

  ‘The English are such prudes,’ Percy said, chuckling. ‘I’m sorry if it offends your sense of decency, brother, but Ma doesn’t abide by the rules. That’s why she shuts herself away in the castle and lives in the manner of her choosing. Can you blame her?’

  Lisette rose to her feet, beckoning to them. ‘Stop gossiping and come and sit down. I’ll make the necessary introductions later.’

  ‘After you, ladies,’ Percy said softly. ‘But I think you ought to sit next to your husband, querida. He is looking at you askance.’

  Constance angled her head. ‘Querida? What does that mean?’

  ‘It means for goodness’ sake go and sit down,’ Nettie whispered. ‘And stop flirting with Percy. Duke looks like a thundercloud and you are married to him.’

  ‘Poppycock,’ Constance said airily. ‘But I will oblige, this time. You can sit next to the condesa’s lover, but try not to look as though you’re enjoying yourself or she might take one of those swords off the wall and run you through.’ Constance marched off to sit next to her husband.

  Nettie had little choice other than to take a seat next to Don Julio, who greeted her with a charming smile. ‘The condesa tells me that you are from London,’ he said in thickly accented English. ‘I was there a few years ago. A fine city, but dirty.’

  Nettie said the first thing that came into her head. ‘The castle is very beautiful.’

  ‘Just like its mistress,’ Don Julio said gallantly. ‘I think you ought to paint her, Mr Carroll,’ he added, pointing his knife at Robert. ‘I will commission you to do her portrait. She has the most beautiful body imaginable.’

  Robert’s face flooded with colour and he shot a sideways glance at Lisette. ‘I would be honoured to paint such a lovely lady.’

  She raised her glass to him. ‘I fancy myself as Venus in the painting Primavera, which you will have seen in the gallery. I purchased the Botticelli some years ago and it’s my most prized possession.’

  Nettie glanced anxiously at her father, but he was smiling, oblivious to the fact that one of his copies had been purchased by the condesa.

  ‘It’s a wonderful painting,’ Robert said enthusiastically. ‘I’d love to see it, Condesa.’

  ‘And so you shall, Robert. In fact we enacted it as a tableau last Christmas.’ Lisette leaned towards her lover, pouting playfully. ‘I was Chloris, and you were pursuing me.’

  ‘How could I forget? I was the Zephyr, but Percy refused to play Cupid.’

  ‘I was never any good at all that Greek mythology stuff. Can we change the subject, Ma?’ Percy said, yawning. ‘Leave me out of your theatricals. I’d rather hunt wild boar than take part.’

  Robert rose abruptly from the table. ‘Might I see the painting, Condesa?’

  ‘Sit down,’ Duke hissed. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself, Robert.’

  ‘It is a masterpiece,’ Lisette said proudly, ‘but it will still be there when you finish your meal, Robert.’

  She turned to Don Julio with a wry smile. ‘I adore artists, don’t you?’

  Chapter Eleven

  Nettie had lost her appetite despite the delicious food served by a small army of servants, a
nd she could hardly wait for the meal to end before she had words with her father. She ran after him as he left the dining room, following in Lisette’s wake as she announced that they would have coffee on the terrace.

  ‘Pa, I need to speak to you.’ Nettie grabbed him by the arm. ‘Have you seen the painting?’

  ‘Why are you so bothered, Nettie? I look forward to seeing the original.’

  ‘You haven’t seen it then?’

  ‘What is all this about?’

  ‘The Botticelli is a copy, and what’s more, it’s the one you did years ago.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear. It can’t be, and even if it were – how would you know?’

  ‘The birthmark on the cherub’s shoulder,’ Nettie whispered. ‘I remember that.’

  Robert’s cheeks paled. ‘It can’t be. I sold it to Duke for a good price, but he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to pass it off as the original.’

  Nettie tightened her grasp. ‘This is serious, Pa. If the condesa discovers that she’s been cheated she’ll inform the local police, and we’ll be on the run again. I think we should leave right away.’

  Duke swaggered past, his unsteady gait confirming that he had drunk too much of the condesa’s wine. ‘Come along, Robert. We don’t want to keep the lovely lady waiting. I could get used to living in luxury like this.’

  ‘Wait here, Pa.’ Nettie released her father and ran after Duke. She caught him up as he was about to go out onto the terrace. ‘You must come with me,’ she said urgently.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Nettie?’ he demanded crossly. ‘Did you drink too much wine at luncheon?’

  ‘I didn’t touch a drop. Please keep your voice down and act naturally, but you must come with me now.’

  Duke shrugged, giving her a tipsy smile. ‘Anything to keep you happy, my dear.’

  Nettie led him to the corridor where she had seen the painting. She came to a halt in front of it. ‘Now, Duke. Do you recognise this?’

  ‘Of course I do, child. It’s Primavera by Sandro Botticelli. The condesa told us that she owns it, and I must say I was impressed to think she could afford such a masterpiece.’

  ‘Examine it closely, Duke.’

  ‘Is this some kind of game, Nettie?’

  ‘I’m in deadly earnest.’ She pointed to the cherub. ‘Do you see anything unusual?’

  He peered at the chubby little figure and his smile faded. ‘This isn’t the original.’

  ‘I know that because of that birthmark. It was my father’s little joke – he used to call me his little cherub when I was a child.’

  Duke’s cheeks paled and he took a step backwards. ‘I sold the painting to a private buyer. This can’t be the one.’

  ‘You took advantage of my father’s talent and turned him into a criminal, just like you.’

  ‘He’s been happy to take the money without asking any questions. You, too, have benefited, so that makes you an accessory.’

  ‘Not any more,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘We’re going to move on. You can stay here and enjoy the condesa’s hospitality, if you wish.’

  Nettie was about to walk away, but Duke caught her by the sleeve.

  ‘Wait a moment. Think this through carefully, Nettie. If you stay while your father paints the condesa’s portrait Don Julio will pay handsomely, and you’ll have the money to go where you will. Leave now and you’ll be alone and penniless in a foreign country.’

  Nettie regarded him with a frown. She knew that he was speaking the truth. Hitherto she had never known the identity of the people who believed that they were purchasing original works of art, but this was different; the condesa was a real person. She was kind and generous, and she had been cheated out of what had doubtless been a small fortune. Suddenly the murky world of the fraudster was threatening to swamp Nettie in guilt and shame.

  She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if the police had caught you both. This has got to end, Duke. I refuse to be a party to your swindles.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Duke said between clenched teeth. ‘If you tell the condesa that her painting is a copy we will all suffer, including your friend Byron. Do you want to drag him down with you, and all for the sake of your newly awakened conscience? You are as guilty as the rest of us, Nettie Carroll. Make no mistake about that.’

  Nettie met his fierce gaze with a toss of her head, but she knew in her heart that he was right. The deed had been done, and there was no going back. She nodded reluctantly. ‘All right, Duke. I won’t say anything to the condesa, but I will speak to Pa, and we’ll be off as soon as he finishes the portrait. You’ll never see us again.’

  Nettie marched off to join the others on the terrace, leaving Duke to follow at his own pace. She was angry and distressed, but she had seen her father growing in stature after Don Julio had commissioned him to paint the condesa’s portrait, and they were in desperate need of the money.

  That evening Nettie was in her room overlooking the bay. It was large and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a small balcony. The pastel shades of the décor emitted an aura of calm and tranquillity, and the muted watercolour paintings of flowers and rural scenes that hung on the walls added to the mood. The contrast between this elegant bedchamber and the attic room in Covent Garden could not have been greater and, not for the first time, she was amazed how quickly life could change. Even allowing for the ups and downs of living with her father, this was something completely different, and although she knew it could not last, she decided to make the most of the unashamed luxury of her surroundings. She was wondering what she was going to wear to dinner when the door burst open and Constance rushed in with an armful of garments.

  ‘Look what I’ve got, Nettie,’ she cried enthusiastically. ‘I told the condesa that some of our luggage had been lost along the way. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie; I was forced to leave all my lovely gowns behind when we left in such a hurry. Lisette wants us all to wear fancy dress. Isn’t that exciting?’

  Nettie eyed the gauzy gowns with suspicion. ‘Are those for the Primavera tableau?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Lisette is going to be Venus, which I think very appropriate. I, of course, will be Chloris and you can be one of the Three Graces. There are other guests, apparently, and we’ll meet them at dinner. I think it will be very jolly.’

  Nettie took the gown that Constance handed to her. ‘This is so flimsy you can see through it. Pa will have a fit if I wear this.’

  ‘So will Duke, but I don’t care. It’s Greek mythology so it’s perfectly respectable. I can’t wait to see Percy’s face when I walk into the dining room wearing this frock.’

  ‘It’s Duke you should worry about,’ Nettie said grimly. ‘He’s not a man to be trifled with, Constance. I think you ought to be careful.’

  ‘Nonsense. He says he’s signed everything over to me, so I have the upper hand. I could run away and leave him with nothing.’

  ‘You wouldn’t! Would you?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s wonderful to have a feeling of power over a man. I’ve never had that before, and Percy is plainly smitten by my charms. I can’t help it if men fall in love with me.’

  ‘Are you sure we have to dress up?’ Nettie said, changing the subject.

  ‘The condesa was adamant, and I think it will be fun. Will you help me change, Nettie? I can’t get used to coping without a maid?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I never had that luxury, so I learned to do things for myself.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ Constance said sympathetically. ‘Never mind, we’re here now and when I get to know her better I’ll ask Lisette if we could have the service of one of her maids.’

  Nettie had no answer for this. It was obvious that Constance was in complete ignorance when it came to Duke’s business activities.

  Half an hour later they were dressed and ready to go down to dinner, but the gowns were semi-transparent and Nettie wondered what her father would say when he saw her. Constance a
dmitted to being a little apprehensive, but was determined to show off her lovely figure and eager to pose in the tableau. They went downstairs together and were greeted by strains of music and laughter emanating from the dining room. The scent of warm pine needles met them as they entered, and it seemed that half the forest had been brought indoors to form a sylvan background for the performance.

  Lisette was there already, holding court amongst a group of people who were wearing wildly differing costumes. Don Julio was at her side, dressed as a Greek peasant, and Percy was wearing a black cloak with a horned headdress, which made him look more like the Devil than the mythological god of the west wind. Byron, Robert and Duke were looking mildly embarrassed in their knee breeches worn with frilled white shirts, open to the waist. Nettie noted that Duke had a hairy chest, but Byron’s body was smooth and surprisingly well muscled. She averted her gaze, blushing.

  Duke flung a cape around his shoulders and went to sit at the table where he poured himself a glass of wine. He glanced behind him and leaped to his feet when he spotted Constance. He hurried to her side, shrugging off his cape and wrapping it around her.

  ‘That garb is indecent,’ he said angrily. ‘Go to your room and change into something more suitable.’

  Constance threw off the offending garment. ‘No!’ she said, stamping her foot. ‘This is what Lisette wants me to wear. I am Chloris – a nymph of flowers, or something like that. It’s perfectly respectable to be a Greek goddess.’

  ‘And a beautiful one, too.’ Percy strolled up to them, holding his hand out to Constance. ‘I am a Greek god, or so Ma tells me. Let’s do what she says and get this over – I’m starving.’

  ‘Constance,’ Duke said sternly.

  ‘You look rather silly in that outfit, Duke,’ she said pertly. ‘Maybe it’s you who ought to go and change into something more suitable.’

  Nettie moved away quickly, not wanting to be caught up in a domestic dispute. She could see that Duke was fuming, and likely to explode in a volcanic eruption of temper. She had only witnessed such an exhibition once, and she did not care to repeat the experience. Byron was standing to one side and she went to join him.