The Guinea Thief- Chapter 6 - Delphine

As Delphine stepped over the threshold she could feel the butterflies in her stomach. The last few days had been a whirl of activity; packing her few belongings, sailing to England, saying goodbye to her father. They had sailed the Channel together, and it should have been a great feeling to at last be joining her Papa on a proper voyage. But instead Delphine felt numb. She could not really believe she was not coming back with him. She had tried to persuade him to let her stay, but he refused to even discuss it. And this time, Delphine knew, she had to do as he said.
“If you poison this family, I shan’t be coming to save you, you’ll be on your own.”
He had smiled, but she knew he was deadly serious.
The crossing was relatively calm, the spring tides were high and the northwesterlies helped them speed along. Quiberon looked totally different from the boat and not long out of port they had reached Belle Isle. Giant waves crashed against the seeming impenetrable rocks of the island. Her father assured her on the south side there were beautiful white sandy beaches as far as the eye could see. Delphine would have liked to have stopped, but she knew that they had to make the most of the fair winds and get as far out into the channel as they could before dark. They were landing on the early morning tide, out of sight on the south side of the Isle of Wight, whose rocky coves were barely guarded. They anchored just off the shore and a few hours later Robert’s sloop slipped alongside. Jacques, Delphine and George stepped across the gangplank and onto the Lady Elizabeth.
Robert greeted Jacques warmly. Delphine scanned the deck for Jack but he was no-where to be seen.
“Ma petite, viens ici. You remember my good friend Robert?”
“Monsieur Robert, tank yoo zo much for aving usz. It ees zo nise of vous, tiens, yoo.” Delphine had practiced this speech over and over again, and looked intently at Robert as she spoke, hoping to transfer the meaning as much by the force of her delivery as by the words themselves.
“You and your brother are most welcome. These are troubled times and we must all stick together. We all pray that one day the war will be over and it will be safe for you to return. Until then, we must make the best of what comes our way.”
Delphine had not understood a word of what Robert had just said, but she could see her father nodding his head in agreement, and so she smiled and curtsied, unable to respond and unsure what else to do. Delphine realised that this was how it was going to be from now on. Her heart sank even further. Leaving home was bad enough, leaving home to be in a land of strangers she could not understand or communicate with was terrifying.
Jacques put his arm around Delphine’s shoulders, and she smiled back, aware that she must not worry him more than he already was.
“Ne t’inquiete pas, tout ira bien, tu sais?”
“Oui Papa. Je le sais.”
“Jamais nous oublie; moi, ton pays, la France. Un jours, nous nous serons toute ensemble. Je te le promis, ma puce.”
Then, all too quickly it was time to part. Jacques walked back alone across the gangplank. He turned and pushing the plank back towards Robert, gave Delphine a cheerful smile. Delphine felt the tears stinging in her eye, I must be brave, I must not cry. A silent tear fell down her check, she stifled back the sob that was welling up inside. She brushed away the tear and waved in a single sweep of her arm.
Her father turned, the anchor was weighed, and soon La Cigane was making way her way south. Delphine waved until the ship disappeared from sight, long after she ceased to be able to make out the tiny figure of her father at the helm. She realized it was her turn to leave; Robert had quietly waited until Delphine’s hand dropped to her side.
“Heave to, let’s get this boat home lads. I’m famished and so too are you, I’ll wager.” said Robert.

That night at dinner in her new home, Delphine tried hard to understand what everyone was saying. Occasionally Robert would translate for her, but she had never felt so alone. Georges had refused to come down to eat, saying he was too tired by the journey. Robert and Eliza were being very friendly, but they spoke so fast, all the words mangled together into nonsense. She went upstairs to see Georges, but he was only interested in complaining about being sent to England.
Delphine missed her home, missed her papa, missed her own bed, and most of all missed being able to talk. Crying herself to sleep, Delphine drifted into a series of broken dreams. Once more she dreamed of being alone at sea, but this time no-one heard her cries in the dark.
In the morning tired and confused by her new surroundings Delphine came downstairs to find Eliza lighting the fire, a shawl around her shoulders to keep out the early morning draught.

“Morning Dearie.” she said. Sleep alright did yer?”
Eliza did not need an answer, she could tell from the big circles under Delphine’s eyes that this was not the case. Putting down the taper, Eliza walked over and gave Delphine a reassuring hug.
“I know, I know. It’ll be right, you’ll see.” Steering Delphine towards the table Eliza sat her down in her rocking chair by the fire.
“Set yourself down, I’ll get this place warmed up and then we’ll have a nice cup of tea, just you and me.”
Delphine sank gratefully into the chair. It was small comfort, but it was a start.
The days passed slowly. Delphine had never had so much time on her hands. Eliza was up early every morning to light the fires and bake the bread. By the time Delphine came down all was done. The breakfast was laid out and the parlour was warm and snug. It was lovely, but it wasn’t home. Most of Robert’s work needed to be done at night when the rest of the world was fast asleep. So he would return early in the morning, eat some breakfast and then retire to bed. Delphine could sense that being tired meant that he was not looking for conversation in the morning, her father was the same, so breakfast was a short affair. Around ten Eliza would go to the market and fetch the fish or meat for supper, afternoons were spent cooking and cleaning.
Eliza’s routine had been built over many years and Delphine realised quickly that she had to adapt to this routine, her presence changed nothing. Delphine’s attempts at conversation were awkward at best. She struggled to understand anything Eliza said and felt that her stilted conversation was getting in the way of the jobs Eliza needed to do.
Her brother proved to be no better company. Georges sulked in his room for a week, complaining constantly about the English and how much he hated them. He would never forgive them for deserting him at Quimper. Then a week after they had arrived, he received a message from one of his fellow émigrés. Georges got dressed immediately.
“Delphine, I’m going out. I can’t just sit here like you and wait for something to happen to me. I have to do something. ”
Delphine nodded and let the insult pass. At home she would have risen to the bait immediately, but here she felt unable to respond. She hated how passive she had become. In England she could not be herself at all.

Realising she too had to get out of the house or she would go mad, Delphine offered to come with Eliza to the market. Eliza agreed, and soon the two women were heading down the cobbled street towards the quay. The street was narrow with buildings cramped so close together there was barely space for a carriage to pass through. On every corner was a tavern or gin house , sometimes two. At home there were only three bars in the whole of Auray. The streets of Portsmouth were bustling with people; sailors, soldiers, housewives, maids. Occasionally a carriage would make the attempt to pass along the street, forcing the crowds to part, coming back together again as soon as the last wheel had gone by.
The biggest town Delphine had ever been to was Quimberec. It just didn’t compare. She felt completely overwhelmed by the noise and the number of people around her. Eliza despite her size kept up a swift pace. Delphine would have liked to stop and look around her, but uncertain where she was going,she realised she could not afford to lose sight of Eliza. They turned a corner and to her relief Delphine saw the quayside. At last some open sky, some space.
Gay coloured fishing boats bobbed in the harbour, both large, and small. In all Delphine reckoned there must have been fifty boats. It was astonishing. It had been raining hard that morning and the grey cobbles of the streets were dark and sombre. The sky was lifeless and overcast, filled with clouds which the sun had failed to break through. The sea, what little of it there was to see, was the colour of dirty iron. Standing vivid aginst this dingy backdrop were the rainbow colours of the boats like they had been dropped into the water from some foreign land.
All along the quay were stalls selling the days catch. The stalls were laden with all manner of fish, lobsters and crabs. Some had barrels of oysters and mussels; others baskets brimming with cockles and whelks. The smell of seafood was simply overwhelming. Delphine stood and looked about her. She had never seen so much activity in her life. It felt as if half the city had come to buy their supper.
Delphine looked up and realised she had lost sight of Eliza. Fighting back her panic, she knew that Eliza could not be far. Delphine began scanning each and every stall for a familiar face. Delphine was musing that Eliza really reminded her of an overfed sparrow, when thankfully she spotted the small round figure of Eliza chatting to an older man at the quayside. Beside them were two large barrels and basket. As Delphine got closer she could see the baskets were full of blue-black shiny mussels.
“Ah there you are. I was starting to worry. George this is Delphine, our visitor from France.
“Good Morning my lovely. I’m sure Liza is looking after you well. Is this your first time in England?”
Luckily for Delphine she recognised the first and last words that the man had spoken.
“Good morning.”
Delphine curtsied, unsure what the polite thing would be to do in England when meeting a strange man for the first time.
“England. I like very much.”
George smiled.
“Nicely said.”
Delphine waited, hoping for him to say some more. There were no clues this time.
Luckily Eliza intervened.
“Georges has got some lovely mussels and crabs today. I seem to remember Robert telling me about this wonderful fish soup you had made. I thought perhaps you could make it for us tonight? But I’m not sure what ingredients you need?”
Unfortunately Delphine understood even less, but realising that the question was definitely directed at her, she know she was going to have to reach an understanding.
“Excuse?”
Eliza thought for a moment.
“Delphine,” Eliza pointed at her and then at George’s baskets and barrels. “make fish soup. Yes?”
“Soupe? Moi?”
“Yes.”
“Ah bon. Oui bien sur. I soupe. Soupe de poissons?”
“Pwoissons is French for fish.” Added George helpfully.
“Yes.” Eliza nodded enthusiastically. “What fish? What pwoissans?”
Ah ha.” said Delphine to show she was understanding.
Delphine pointed to the mussels,
“Ceux.” and seeing George had no fish, she looked across at the next stall which was a rowing boat filled with glistening fish. There Delphine could see fat red mullet which would be perfect for her soup. She walked across to the boat, and pointed to the fish.
“Et celui-ci.”
Having successfully negotiated the right amount of mussels and fish the two women headed back for home. Delphine was so happy to have left the house and now at least for a few hours she had a purpose, making soup. It was a huge relief.
Once home Delphine borrowed an apron from Eliza and set about making the soup. Eliza showed her the larder and Delphine gathered together the ingredients she needed. She searched every shelf for some garlic, but there was none to be seen.
Eliza could see that she was missing something.
“What is it, what do you need?”
“Ail.”
“I’ll?”
“Ail. C’est comme ca.” Delphine tried to draw a garlic bulb in the air. Eliza had no idea what she meant. After a few more unsuccessful attempts, Eliza decided they would need Robert’s help.
Robert came down the stairs, still a little sleepy.
“Dites-moi. Qu’est-ce que tu veux?”
“De l’ail. Il me faut de l’ail. Sans l’ail, la soupe n’est pas bien, elle manque de gout.”
“Ah, oui, je comprends. Mais, il n’y a pas d’ail dans cette maison. Nous sommes en Angleterre, ma petite!”
Turning to Eliza he said, “It’s garlic, that’s what she needs!”
“Garlic? Really? Oh my.”
“Don’t worry the soup is delicious trust me. Do you know who might have some?”
“ Tailor’s down near the dock gate. They often keep a few things the frenchies like.”
Within a short time Robert returned with a bulb of garlic in his pocket. Delphine was so delighted she gave him a big hug and a kiss. Robert smiled. It was the first time he had seen her happy since she had arrived.

A few hours later hot and sweaty from the kitchen, Delphine proudly carried the steaming pot of soup into the parlour. She noticed an extra place had been set at the table.
“George’s friend the Comte de Bercy is joining us.” explained Robert.
“Oh!”
“There’s plenty of soup isn’t there? It looked like you were making enough to feed an army. And Eliza has baked plenty of bread.”
“Bread and soup for a Comte?”
“It’s a very good soup. I know I’ve tasted it before.”
“Ah Georges, there you are. I was just explaining to Delphine that the Comte is joining us.”
“Yes, we have business to discuss.” said Georges.
The Comte arrived a few minutes later. Removing his purple velvet coat he revealed a silver waistcoat embroidered with hundreds of tiny seed pearls. The work was exquisite.
The contrast with Georges’s plain beige waistcoat and leather breeches was made more even obvious by the difference in height. Georges was taller by a head at least, Robert by even more.
The soup was as delicious as Robert had promised everyone and Delphine basked in the praise. Georges slurped appreciatively
“If I had known your cooking was this good, I may have come home sooner.” Everyone laughed.
“Mademoiselle. I would very much like to have this recipe for my chef.”
“But a chef’s secret recipe should remain a secret.” said Eliza.
“You must let me have it. I have a most beautiful pearl necklace that I would swear was made to fit around your pretty little neck. Let me offer you this, in exchange for your secret.” The Comte winked conspiratorially at Delphine.
“Oh no, that is too much!”
“Oh it is but a trifle. I insist, you must ave this. I will accept nothing less.”
“Perhaps you are being a little over-generous, my lord.”
“My dear Georges. Surely nothing is too great for your own dear sister. If she were mine, I would do anything.”
George conceded. The deal was struck. The recipe for a string of pearls
“Vous-etes, tres tres gentil. Monsieur le Comte. Merci.”

The Comte de Bercy leaned conspiratorially towards Delphine.
“I ‘ear that tomorrow is the Midsummer Fair. I think it important to indulge oneself in such times as these. All this talk of war can be very tedious n’est–ce pas? Would you like to join me?”
“Um. I’m not sure if I will be able to.” Delphine smiled unsurely.
“Come, why not? Of course if you are worried about being alone with a Comte, I can make sure you brother is firmly by my side at all times. That way you’ll be quite safe, I can assure you.”
“Is Georges going? I don’t think I heard him speak of it?”
“Of course Georges is going. If I say we go, he goes.” The Comte laughed.
“I will not take no for an answer. This fair is supposed to be the highlight of the summer. Though I hardly think it will be the same as the grand shows our dear King Louis would lay on in Versailles. Ah my. How things have changed.”
“I wouldn’t know.” said Georges shortly. “I was never invited, and I wouldn’t have gone if I was.”
The Comte launched into a description of the extravagance of the Sun king’s revels. To Delphine the Comte’s tale, was as extraordinary, as if he was describing life on the moon.
Georges yawned. “But my Lord, while Louis and his queen were playing at being shepherds, the real shepherds were rioting in the streets.”
“Ah yes. It is unfortunately true.” The Comte stood up.
“But tomorrows fair will be full of true shepherds I am sure. England is so full of sheep!” He winked conspiratorially at Delphine. “Surely you won’t be able to object to the simple pleasures of a fair. And bring your delightful sister, I’m sure she at least will enjoy the good things the fair has to offer.”
The Comte stood up and kissed Delphine’s hand. “Adieu, Mademoiselle, a demain.”
The Comte and Gorges headed for the door.
“Georges don’t disappoint me, I am looking forward to spending time with you and your sister tomorrow.”
The next day Delphine and Georges met the Comte on the corner of the High Street. The Comte was dressed in a beautiful emerald green velvet coat and gold waistcoat. The buckle of his shoes glimmered in the sun, as did his fine blonde hair. The early cloud had burned through and the sun was high in the July sky.
“Milady, I am delighted you have come, it is good to have something pleasant to gaze on at last. You look simply delightful. And here is your necklace. Let me put it on you.”
He pulled a black velvet bag from his pocket, inside was a string of pearls, each one the size of a hazelnut. Delphine gasped. Even Georges looked shocked.
“I can’t accept this.”
“Yes you can. I insist. What use is it to me anyway.”
He bent Delphines neck forward and placed the pearls around her neck. Delphine felt his fingers gently caressing her neck as he closed the clasp.
“Are you sure it’s safe in this crowd.”
“Of course. Georges will kill anyone who tries to harm you. Won’t you?”
“Yes indeed I will.” Georges looked at the Comte. “Anyone.”

The Comte pulled a lace handkerchief from the cuff of his immaculate white shirt and took a deep breath. He leaned towards Delphine.
“Can you smell that extraordinary smell? I believe these people have not washed in months. I am going to need someone to distract me or I fear I shall faint.”
The smell of stale tobacco and ale mingled with the unwashed was hard to stomach, but Delphine felt even more uncomfortable with the way the Comte was drawing attention to it.
The Comte seemed oblivious of the stares of those around them. Eliza had persuaded Delphine to wear her best muslin dress, overlain with a full length pale blue pelisse, which Eliza had borrowed from a friend. Delphine was better dressed than she had been her whole life, yet still she felt under-dressed next to him. It didn’t help that he held his gaze just a fraction of a second too long; as if he could just focus a little bit longer he might be able to see what lay underneath her dress. Georges was wearing his usual mud brown coat, and a battered tri-corner hat; he too was oblivious of the stares of the crowd around them. Delphine moved so that Georges stood between her and the Comte.
All along the street there were hawkers selling a multitude of good things for the good people of Portsmouth; gingerbread, baskets, cutlery and cloth. As for the others, Delphine was shocked to see the gin shops were already full, although it was still only midday.
“Viens. I am told we must go and wait outside the gaol.” Said the Comte.
A man on stilts weaved his way precariously along the cobblestones and Delphine, Georges and the Comte followed. It was a short walk along the high street to the prison and when they arrived they found a large crowd had already gathered in front of the gates. A basket maker competed with the cutlery seller to see how loud they could cry their wares.
“Why here?” asked Delphine.
“This is where the fair starts.”
“Ici? At the prison? So strange.”
“This is what my butler told me. The fair is very old, and every year it starts the same way. Yesterday he tell me “Look up at the window above the main gate and wait. You’ll see.”
The crowd jostled and pushed to try to improve their position. A man stepped on Delphine’s foot. Looking down to see if it had left a mark on Eliza’s pale blue shoes, Delphine heard a cheer run through the crowd.
“What is it?” she asked Georges.
“There, the window. Look!”
Delphine looked up above the solid oak gate studded with black iron bolts. A white glove on a pole was being waved out of the window. A single trumpet blast and the glove was withdrawn. The gates of the gaol slowly swung open to reveal a barrel of a man, almost as wide as he was tall, around his neck he wore an elaborate gold chain.
“My lords, ladies and gentlemen, in accordance with the grant given by his Royal Majesty King Richard 1, I, Thomas Wallbrook, the Lord Mayor of Portsea do declare St Peter’s fair to be open. My the good lord bless you all on this happy day.”
Behind the mayor stood a sailor proudly bearing the glove on the pole. Behind him were two drummer boys, three trumpeters and a troop of marines, colours flying. Delphine could see the fingers of the glove were stiff and round as if there was still a hand inside. Delphine shivered.
Georges laughed. “It’s not real. It will be stuffed with wool.”
“Oh yes of course.” Delphine felt a little stupid.
The procession headed down the High Street and they fell in behind. On either side stalls were laden with items to attract the eye and the purse of the passers-by. Oysters nestled against toy soldiers, whitebait whispered to ships in bottles, ballads called to those in love and all of these led invitingly down to the tents under the guildhall selling Madeira and gin.
“Oh dear, oh dear my nose. My poor nose, my beautiful nose!” cried a loud voice nearby.
Delphine stopped to look. She saw a puppet show. The puppet had a very large red nose attached to which was a small white dog.
“Judy, Judy! You nasty little brute. I will tell your master of you. Mr Scaramouche!”
The dog puppet ran off stage.
Delphine felt someone press the small of her back. She turned, alarmed.
“My dear, I was worried I had lost you. Come. We have found an excellent tent over by the market. It has a lovely collection of bourdeaux and burgogne. I am quite at a loss which to choose. You must help me.”
“Monsieur Le Comte, I’m afraid I will be of little help to you. I drink very rarely, at home we were more used to drinking cider than wine.”
“No matter, it is time you learnt, I will teach you all you need to know.”
“If you don’t mind I would like to stay a while, and watch this puppet show. Where shall I find you?”
“At the market. The tent of Monsieur Colombord.”
“A bientot. I will see you there.”
“Be careful. There are some here today who do not wish you as well as I. Your pretty little pocket might be picked without you even knowing it.”
“Thank you, I’ll keep a look out for trouble, and stay as far away from it as I can.”
The Comte nodded his head in defeat and sauntered back to find Georges and the bottle of bourdeaux.
Delphine watched in fascination as Mr Punch killed first his friend, his baby, then his wife and the doctor who came to his aid. By the time Mr Punch had finished off the hangman and the devil himself, Delphine was quite at a loss. What a strange tale. She walked away in a daze. She had no idea how long she had been watching the puppet show; she was thirsty, the sun was hot. She walked towards the tents clustered around the Guildhall, the sharp spice of gingerbread filled the air.
A movement caught her eye. A man was juggling fire and drawing a crowd to watch him. Delphine went to join them. As she drew near she saw a young girl with red hair laughing as she hit a young man on the shoulder. He turned from the juggler and grinned at the girl. Delphine felt a stab of pain deep inside her. She recognized that smile, that face, that laugh. It was Jack. Delphine froze, her mind whirling. Of course he would be with a pretty girl. People were pushing her forwards towards the juggler and Jack.
She needed to get away before he saw her. There was a tent on the other side of the street. She pushed her way through the throng. They had only seen each other for a few hours. How stupid of her. He wasn’t waiting for her. Jack knew she was staying with Eliza and he had not bothered to come to see her. This is why. He’s in love with this other girl. She stepped inside the tent. It was cool and dark inside. Numerous bright silk scarves were draped around the tent sides and roof, purples, reds, oranges, blues and gold glistened in the darkness. One had come loose and brushed across her face.
“Well my lovely. Come to find your fortune, ave ee?”
Delphine looked at the woman. She was wearing a bright red scarf, gold hoop earrings and tapped the pile of cards on the table in front of her.
“Set yerself down. Let’s see if I can’t find a tall dark handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet.” She grinned, one of her teeth was pure gold.
"Madame, pardonnez-moi. I no english."

The gypsy gestured for Delphine to sit down on the empty chair.

"French?"

"Oui."

She turned round and called out loudly, "Marie! Come here I need you!"

The purple scarves at the back of the tent parted to reveal a young girl of twelve, gold bangles jangled on her ankles and wrists as she stepped forward. Delphine could not help thinking that if her face was clean she could be very pretty, with big dark brown eyes, long black eyelashes and dark curly hair.

"Marie-Claire. Explain what I'm saying to this lady, she's french, like you. And don't add anything or change anything. None of your tricks today."

“Do you have a question you want to ask me?” asked the Gypsy.

"Avez vous un question pour Madame?"

Delphine was sure she could detect a glimmer of a smile, although the girl's voice was very serious.

“A question? No. Not really.”

“Pas de problem. Take the cards and shuffle them. Divide the pack into two halves.”
Delphine took the cards, they felt pleasantly cold in her hands. She shuffled badly at first, then made an effort to concentrate, and her shuffling improved. Delphine split the pack and laid the two halves in front of her.
“Now choose which half she should use.”
“These.”
The fortune teller quickly laid the cards in the shape of a cross.
“Hmm. I see a journey, quite recent. You have travelled far. Does the letter J mean anything to you?"
"Alors elle voit que vous avez fait un voyage, il y a pas longtemps. La lettre J, est-ce que ca signifie quelque chose a vous Madame?"
“J for Georges, my brother.”
The gypsy spoke. “No, J not G. J for John.”
“Oh. J comme Jacques?”
“Yes.”
Delphine blushed. “Mon Pere."

The gypsy nodded. Delphine wondered if the woman could read her thoughts as well as her cards.

“You have two knights. The knight of pentacles and the knight of air. Two young men. One dark, one light.

"Alors, vous avez deux chevaliers. Jeunes hommes. L'un qui est de la nuit, l'autre d la lumiere."

Four more cards were laid in a line one above the other.

“This is interesting. Strength followed by Justice. But it’s inverted.”

“Inverted?” asked Marie-Claire.

“It’s the wrong way round."

"Elle dit que c'est tres interessant. La Puissance et puis La Justice. Mais La Justice, c'est a l'envers."

"There is going to be a fight ahead, an obstacle. You will have to show your inner strength and make a choice, it will not be easy. The third card is the Tower, followed by Death.”

She looked across at Delphine.

"The Tower shows that there will be a change of fortune. People are always afraid when they see the hangman. But it does not mean death, it signifies the end of something. Looking at these cards, I can’t see what. Only time will tell.”

"Attend. Il sera un combat. Un obstacle. Vous devez etre tres fort, et choisir quleque chose. Ca sera difficile. La troisieme carte c'est La Tour, et la prochaine c'est la Morte."

Marie-Claire turned to the gypsy. "What was next?"

"The Tower stands for change, dramatic change, the Death card tells of the end of something and the start of something new. She isn't going to die. The cards don't tell me what the change will be."

"La Tour ca signifie un changement d'affaires dramatique. La Morte c'est le fin de quelque chose, mais pas votre vie. Dieu merci! Des fois elle ne prevoit pas l'avenir tout a fait clairement vous savez."

The gypsy held out her hand. “That’s all I can see. And now it’s time to pay, my pretty one. Silver if you please.”

"Et maintenant il faut payer Madame de l'argent."

“Oh. De l’argent?. I have nothing.”

“That’s a very pretty necklace you have.” The girl pointed at the pearls.

“Non!” Delphine stood up abruptly. “C’est pas possible. Attendez.”

Before she could be stopped Delphine swept out of the tent and into to the open air. Forgetting that Jack might still be nearby she marched to where Georges and the Comte had said they would be.
“Ah Delphine there you are. We were wondering what had happened to you.” said the Comte.
Relieved at finding them so easily Delphine smiled.
“I was having my fortune told.”
“Oh how interesting.” said the Comte.
“Georges, I need to pay the woman. Can you lend me something?”
“To pay some woman who has lied to your face? No, absolutely not. I can’t believe you did anything so stupid. She will have to do without her money.”

“ But Georges. She’s expecting me. What if I don’t go back and she puts a gypsy curse on me.”
“Let her.”
“But Georges!”
“Delphine, you really shouldn’t believe such foolish nonsense. We are not peasants.”
“Here, let me do this small thing for you.” Said the Comte. “Where is this woman?”
“Do you see the row of tents opposite The Angel? It’s one of the ones there. I’m afaid I don’t know her name or if there was a sign. Tell her it is from the girl with the pearl necklace, so she knows I have settled my debt.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course now you are in my debt and I insist that for the rest of the day you do not leave my side.”
He stood up and held out his hand, Delphine accepted it. “D’accord.”
The Comte kissed her hand and set off on his misson.
“Ecoutes-moi, Delphine. The Comte and I are not friends. He is a very rich man and I am a soldier. I need his money to raise an army. He needs me to win back his castles. We are using each other, and that is absolutely clear to both of us.
Georges put his hand out towards Delphine.
“When I left home to fight you were a little girl. Now I find you have grown up. I had not realized I had been gone so long. I promised our father I would look after you. So I say this now to protect you. The Comte is playing with you. To him this is just a game. Next week there will be another pretty girl that catches his eye. Do you understand?”
The Comte returned.
“Ah Comte. I hope you were successful in lifting the gypsy curse? What do you say to another bottle? Monsieur Colombord. Another bottle if you please and an extra glass for the lady.”