The Guinea Thief - Chapter 1 - Of Brandy and Bretons

Portsmouth, June 1800

Jack climbed the rigging and unfurled the sails. He loved the feel of the salty breeze on his face and the freedom implicit in the horizon ahead. Escaping from the bustle and clamour of the Spice Island, into the wide open stillness of the ocean was a soothing balm. Standing quietly on the yardarm as the crew worked below him, he relished this moment of peace and the good fortune that had brought him here.

Robert was in a cheerful mood, the cargo looked to be a profitable one, war is always good for business. The Breton fishermen had a long tradition of trade with Portsmouth, both legal and illegal, and war or no war, families had to eat. The English cutter slipped unnoticed into an inlet a few miles south of Auray. The river here was fat and lazy as it sprawled towards the sea. It was not convenient to land here, but Auray harbour was too closely guarded to risk venturing further upstream. Fred and the crew began to unload the tea. Robert and Jack set off to the town on foot.

After half an hour they came to a bridge, four granite arches spanning the river. It was called the Pont Neuf, and had been there for over three hundred years. Robert and Jack paid the toll, crossed the bridge and arrived at the main square. Timber gabled houses jostled for space, their upstairs windows overhanging the street and casting welcome pools of shadow in the midday heat. Robert confidently strode towards the far side of the square, tipping his hat in greeting as they walked.

“Monsieur, dame.”

“Bonjour, Messieurs.”
Jack stared at the old women in their black heavy silks, and high lace bonnets. The women of the Point were much more colourful, a flash of red petticoats as they walked, bosoms exposed, hair tumbling around their shoulders bonnet free, but then they were prostitutes. Aside from the occasional tricolour rosette, the men looked much the same as the fishermen at home.

“Whatever happens say nothing, just follow me.” whispered Robert. Jack nodded. He had not noticed the three French soldiers coming towards them. Robert stepped into the nearest shop, and Jack followed. It was a bakers shop. Robert lifted his hat in greeting.

“Bonjour Madame. Du pain. Le poulain, s’il vous plait.”

The loaf was swiftly handed over, Robert dropped some coins onto the wooden counter and the transaction was over.

“Merci, au revoir.” He turned on his heel and left the shop. Jack followed.
In those few minutes, the soldiers had passed and were heading onwards to the quay.

“This way.” Robert pointed to a narrow street running slightly uphill in the opposite direction.

Jack nodded, his heart still thumping. The roofs of the houses here were so close together that neighbours on opposite sides of the street could almost reach out and shake hands. There was a coolness in the air, even the sun struggling to find a gap in the gables. Halfway along the street Robert stopped and rapped on a black door. The knock on the door was swiftly answered, it was clear he was expected. Robert stepped inside and Jack followed closely behind. Robert was greeted by a small wiry man with the most impressive moustache.

“Salut Robert! Comment ca va?”

“Tres bien, et vous?”

“Comme toujours, la guerre, la mort, les impots. Plus ca change, plus ca change pas.”

Jack gave up trying to follow the conversation and glanced around the room. The stone floor was cold, the ceiling low and beamed. The only light which broke the gloom was from a huge fireplace where an iron pot hung from a fierce looking hook. A delicious smell of onions, garlic and fish wafted over to Jack. It was unlike any smell that had come from Eliza's kitchen and Jack wondered what it would look like. He realised how hungry he was. He licked his lips and hoped no-one had noticed the rumbling noises coming from his stomach. It had been a long while since he had his breakfast and as a growing lad the urge to eat came at very regular intervals. Jack heard a bustle of silk and turned to see an old woman coming down the stairs at the far end of the room. Her hair was shrouded in a lace veil and it was difficult to make out her face in the darkness. Robert's companion looked up, said something to the woman and waved towards Jack. Jack wished he had paid more attention in his french class at the grammar school. The woman came towards him and touched him gently on the shoulder. Now that she was next to him Jack realised this was not an old woman but a girl of his own age. The girl waved her right hand towards the fireplace and gave him a shy smile. Realising she was offering some food, Jack nodded and smiled back at her. She beckoned him over to the fire. The girl lifted the lid of the pot and gestured to Jack to look inside. With the lid off the smell became even more intense. Heady clouds of steam rose up the chimney. Inside the pot was a rich fish stew, red in colour.

"C'est bon?"

Jack felt relieved, this he could understand.

"Oui, c'est tres bon."

"Vous en envie?"

Jack's momentary confidence collapsed, he had no idea what she had just said. The girl spoke again.

"Monsieur, vous voulez quelque chose?”

Fortunately for Jack, Robert and his companion had broken off their conversation to watch Jack and the girl.

"She wants to know if you want something to eat.” said Robert.

"Oh. Yes please." Jack turned to the girl. "Yes, I'd love some. I mean, oui, oui, mercy."

The girl laughed and Jack grinned in response. In the light of the fire she was a very pretty girl indeed. Jack fought back against the blush he could feel rising up within himself. Thankfully the girl turned and went to a large dresser by the wall. Opening the heavy oak door she reached inside and brought out a wooden bowl and spoon. The Breton said something and Robert laughed and clapped the fellow on the back. They both got up and went towards Jack and the girl.

"My friend here Monsieur Cadoudal says that you are welcome to have some soup with him, but he can't afford to let you have his daughter Delphine, she's far too useful about the house.” Robert grinned. "She's a pretty little thing mind, and there's no harm in looking, lad, just watch that's all you do.”

Jack blushed again. Delphine filled the bowl and offered it to Jack. Jack was about to thank her when her father interrupted. They spoke rapidly, the girl answering her father as she fetched two more bowls and filled them, one for Robert and one for himself. Jack sat down on a stool and took a sip. The heady steam and explosion of flavours overwhelmed his senses. Jack glanced up and smiled at the girl.

"It's very good. Thank-you."

Robert pulled up another stool to sit down with Cadoudal, across the room.

Jack focused his attention back to his soup. His stomach had begun to growl and Delphine giggled. Jack gestured towards the pot with his spoon and back to Delphine.

"Vous?"

"Non merci, monsieur, j'ai mange deja. Mais c'est tres gentil de vous.” said the girl shaking her head.

Once again Jack wished he could understand what she was saying. Whatever it was, she made it sound very pretty, almost like music. He wanted to hear her speak some more.

"Did you make this?" he asked.

Delphine glanced across at Robert but his head was bent close to her father and they were deep in conversation. Delphine edged closer to Jack.

"Pardon Monsieur. Je ne comprends pas du tout l'anglais. Qu'est-ce que vous dites?” she said.

Jack smiled. She could probably make smelly feet sound like a dish fit for a queen. He wondered what else he could say to prolong the conversation. The last thing he wanted was for her to get bored and walk away. He hungrily took another slurp of soup, his appetite wouldn't let him neglect his stomach entirely. Delphine got up and Jack shot her a look of pain and disappointment, the same in any language. She smiled and pointed to the bread which lay on the side of the dresser, it was the loaf Robert had bought earlier.

"Est-ce que vous en voulez du pain?” she asked.

Jack swallowed hard. Was she making fun of him ? Her voice sounded even more lovely when she smiled. He nodded his assent and took the bread from her hands. The skin on the back of his neck tingled as he felt the touch of her fingers. He watched as she turned her back on him, her silk skirts swooshing as they brushed past his leg and she took some bread to her father. Almost without looking her father took the bread and passed a piece to Robert. Jack could not take his eyes from her, how could her father ignore her so?

The bread lay untouched in Jack’s hand. He hoped if he finished the soup quickly then perhaps the sweating of his palms and the redness in his face would go away. He ate it up as quickly as he could. Putting the bowl down he stood up and saw that Delphine had disappeared.

Damn, I've made such a fool of myself."

"Sir if you don't mind I'm going to step out for some air, I am getting too hot. Will you thank M Kadoodah...” He tried again, “will you thank him for the soup. It was delicious.”

Robert stood up and clapped an arm around Jack.

"Indeed I will, Jack. Our business should be finished in a while. Jacques men are already on their way to our ship, so Fred and the men will be able to load up the brandy without us. Don't stray too far and watch out for soldiers. I'll catch you by the bridge as soon as I'm done.

Robert spoke a few more words quickly to the Frenchman. M Cadoudal stood up and held his hand out for Jack to shake. Jack grabbed his hand, and wished his own wasn't quite so wet and sticky.

"Bonjour Mosieur, and mercy.”

"De rien, Jack. Au revoir.”

Jack turned and made his way to the thick oak door set in the granite wall. As he left he turned and waved to the men but they had already returned to their discussion. Jack stepped outside, and looked up the street. Which way? He had followed Robert without thinking and now Jack wasn't too sure if he should go left or right, the narrow street gave no clues. He was still wondering which way to go when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun round quickly his fists clenched ready to punch.

Delphine stepped back alarmed. Jack realized he had frightened her and put a reassuring hand on her delicate shoulder.

"No, don't worry, I'm not going to hurt, you, you startled me that's all. I thought you were a soldier.” He tried to soothe her with his tone, as his words were meaningless.

He held out his other hand towards her and smilingly she took it. A thrill ran through Jack. I must not frighten her again he thought to himself. They walked together hand in hand, Jack had no idea where he was or where he was going, but he didn't want to stop walking in case the spell was broken. As they walked Jack pointed things out and whispered the English word, Delphine answered him in French and tried to stifle her giggles as Jack tried to repeat them. Delphine made even the most mundane objects sound beautiful. They had just reached the Pont Neuf when a quiet English voice jerked Jack from the dream world back to the real one. It was Robert.

“Cadoudal just got word that his men have loaded all the brandy. The tide will turn in two hours, so we’d best get going.” Jack turned to Delphine,

"I must go.” Deciding he had nothing to lose he kissed her on the cheek. “I'll see you again, I promise. Je te amo.”

It didn't seem to have quite the reaction he was looking for. As he walked across the bridge he realized he'd muddled his Latin with his French. He turned and called back to her.

"Delphine je t'aime, je t'aime Delphine.”

Unfortunately for Jack, Robert heard him too. Robert could not resist telling the tale to Fred, before they’d even slipped their mooring the whole crew knew. They teased Jack all the way back to England. It was a long hard crossing, the wind against them, the journey slow. Finally they dropped anchor a few feet from shore, ahead was inky black sky and a ridge of darkness. Not a building in sight. A light flashed up above the beach. Fred returned the signal. Shadowy figures emerged from the sand dunes and scrambled down to the sea. Jack jumped overboard into the shallow water. No orders were given, none were needed, Robert’s men had made this run many times before. Voices carried easily on the wind, so they worked in silence. The brandy barrels were dropped overboard, lashed together in pairs and pulled onto the shoreline. Once afloat the barrels were much easier to move than if they were carrying them. The men on shore formed a human chain and passed the barrels up the dune, rolled them down the lee side and stashed them in the tunnels built into the dunes many generations before. As the last barrel was safely stowed, a pink glow in the east heralded the break of day. Jack slid back down the dune waded back to the boat and fell exhausted on to the deck. Fred hauled in the anchor and the cutter slipped smoothly away from the island and headed to Portsmouth. Back home on the Point the tavern doors were still open. Jack was not the only one who had worked through the night.