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.
‘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