French soup

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 much the same, so breakfast was a short and sombre affair. Around ten Eliza would go to the market and fetch the fish or meat for supper, her 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 Quimberec. Then about a week after they had srrived, he received a message from one of his fellow émigrés. Georges got dressed immediately.
“Delphine, I’m going to meet the Comte de Bercy, he’s here for a few days. 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 taunt 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 had to get out of the house or she would go mad, Delphine offered to come with Eliza to the market. Eliza readily agreed, and soon the two women were heading down the cobbled streets towards the quay. The street was narrow with, houses cramped together as in all cities. What surprised Delphine the most was the number of taverns and gin shops she passed. At home in Auray there were a handful of bars, but here in Portsmouth there was one on every corner, sometimes two. The streets were bustling with people; sailors, soldiers, housewives, maids. Occasionally a carriage would pass along the street, forcing the crowds to part, then coming back together again as soon as the last wheel had gone by.
For Delphine the crowds were like nothing she had ever seen before. The biggest town she had ever been to was Quimberec. She was completely overwhelmed by the noise and the number of people around her. Eliza followed the same route every day and despite her size kept up a swift pace. Delphine was tempted to stop and look around her, but uncertain where she was going in such a huge crowd, 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 a lifeless grey which the sun had field to break through. The sea, what little of it was there to see was the colour of iron. The rainbow colours of the boats clashed against this dingy backdrop and seemed to stand out like they had been dropped from the heavens.
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 lunch.
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, twitching fish. There Delphine could see a 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. She was determined that they would do this right, with no missing ingredients.

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 tellement 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.