well, but where will we sleep? Ask him that, Byron.’
After a brief conversation Byron translated yet again. ‘The accommodation is very small so we’ll have to sleep on deck.’
Nettie could see that her father was about to protest. ‘That will be exciting,’ Nettie said hurriedly. ‘Please tell Monsieur Durand that we’re very grateful to him.’
‘I need a comfortable bed, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers,’ Robert said gloomily. ‘I just hope that the fellow doesn’t expect me to swab the decks.’ He wandered off to sit in the bows with his pad and charcoal and began sketching the view.
Nettie shrugged and sighed. It seemed that nothing would ever change her father; he would go through life oblivious to the chaos he caused along the way. Perhaps all creative people were like that. She could only be glad that she had not inherited her father’s artistic temperament, and she thought longingly of the blank pages in her notebook that begged to be filled with her next attempt at the novel. Maybe she would set it in Paris, or it might be a story about life on the river – that was a chapter just waiting to be told. She dragged her thoughts back to the present, wondering what Aristide was saying to Byron. They were having a long conversation, and it was obvious that Byron struggled at times in his attempt to understand Aristide’s rapid French. Then they shook hands and Aristide strolled off to speak to Robert.
‘What did he say?’ Nettie asked eagerly. ‘How are we going to pay our way? We can’t expect him to provide transport and feed us for nothing.’
‘Aristide had a youth who crewed for him, but the boy became ill and he had to send him home to his parents. I told the old man that I know nothing about sailing a barge, but he says he needs someone to stoke the boiler and work the locks. He said we can all help in one way or another.’
‘I’ll be happy to cook or clean, but doing hard physical work is a bit different from sitting in a law office copying dull documents,’ Nettie said, frowning. ‘Do you think you’re up to it?’
‘It’s true that I’ve never done manual labour, but we need to get away from Paris and I want to find my mother’s family, so this seems to be the best solution all round.’
‘I’ll do what I can to help,’ Nettie said, smiling. ‘Pa will do what he always does, which is as little as possible, but I suppose I shouldn’t grumble. It was his gift with people that made Monsieur Durand offer to help us.’
‘And it was your father who got you into this mess in the first place.’
‘Yes, I know, and it’s a shame that you’ve been dragged into our affairs.’
Byron took her hand and held it in a firm grasp. ‘I knew what I was getting into, and I wanted to come to France. It was my choice.’
‘I hope we find your mother’s family, but meeting them for the first time might not be easy. After all, they turned their backs on her.’
‘I’ve thought it through and I want to find out where I came from, whether it’s good or bad. I just need to know.’
‘I understand, or at least I think I do.’
He smiled and squeezed her fingers. ‘We’re in this together, Nettie.’
‘Byron, mon ami.’ Aristide was suddenly active, marching towards them, waving his arms and shouting instructions.
Byron leaped to attention. ‘We’re off, Nettie.’ He caught the mooring line that was thrown to him from one of Aristide’s friends on the river bank. He was attempting to coil the rope when Aristide hurried up to them, and showed him how it was done. He spoke rapidly and Nettie had no idea what he was saying, but it was obvious that she was the subject of the conversation.
‘He wants to show you where he does the cooking,’ Byron said at last. ‘I think you’re to take over.’
‘That’s one thing I can do.’ Nettie nodded to Aristide, who grinned in response and headed off in the direction of the accommodation in the stern of the vessel.
Every effort had been made to use the available space, from the bench seat that pulled down into a bed, to the rows of pots and pans that hung above the tiny stove. Talking volubly and miming with dramatic gestures, Aristide managed to demonstrate what he wanted her to prepare. A large soot-blackened pan was already on the stove and when he lifted the lid the aroma of onions and garlic wafted round the cabin, but when he produced a bucket filled with live eels Nettie had to clamp her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.
Aristide seemed to find this hilarious and his round belly shook with laughter. He pulled down a flap, which suddenly became a table, and he took a cleaver from the drawer and snatched a wriggling eel from the water.
Nettie backed away, shaking her head. ‘No, Monsieur. No, I can’t do that.’ She reached the door and stepped up onto the deck, gasping for air.
‘What’s the matter?’ Robert hurried towards her. ‘You’ve gone green, girl. Are you ill?’
‘No, Pa. He wants me to kill an eel and cook it.’
‘Is that all? I used to do it all the time when I was a boy. We used to set eel traps in the Thames at night and have fried eel for breakfast next morning.’ Robert pushed past her and stepped down into the accommodation. ‘Hold on, Aristide, my friend. You must forgive my daughter, she’s been brought up to be a lady, but this is something I can do.’
Nettie remained on deck until her father reappeared, wiping his hands on a bloodied cloth. ‘How satisfying. I feel like a man of the river now.’
‘I couldn’t do it, Pa. What’s happened to the eels?’
‘They’re skinned and cut up and stewing nicely in the liquor. If only he had some parsley to add to it and some mashed potato. We’ll have to do with bread. Luckily Aristide bought some fresh this morning. I’ll leave the rest to you, dear.’ He patted her on the cheek and sauntered off, edging past the smoke stack, which was now puffing clouds of black smoke into the atmosphere as the engine creaked and groaned into action. Aristide erupted from the cabin, giving Nettie a cheery wink as he returned to take over the tiller from Byron, who was looking distinctly nervous.
Nettie was equally apprehensive and she returned to the stove, but the debris had been cleared away and the eels were simmering gently in the pan. She had to brace herself in order to taste the liquor for seasoning, but it was surprisingly pleasant and the slimy eels had been transformed into meaty white chunks. She set the table, sliced the bread and waited for the eel stew to finish cooking.
That night Nettie, her father and Byron slept on deck beneath the stars. Aristide supplied them with blankets, pillows and a tarpaulin in case it rained, but Nettie was so tired that it would have taken a violent thunderstorm to rouse her. She awakened next morning to a chorus of birdsong and the gentle plashing of the water against the hull. It had been dark when they tied up for the night, but now in the gentle light of dawn she could see that they had left the city and were in a rural setting. Trees were just bursting into leaf and cattle grazed on lush green grass, while fluffy white lambs frolicked, jumping and leaping as if for joy. Born and bred in the city, Nettie was enchanted to find herself in the countryside with air that smelled fresh and sweet, in complete contrast to the noxious, smoky fumes in the city. She scrambled to her feet, taking care not to disturb her father and Byron, who were still sleeping peacefully. Her gown lay neatly folded on top of a hatch
