“As you were, Miss Nash,” he said with a slight bow. “And I wish only that you will hear me out a few minutes and judge me on my merits.”
“I will hear you, but if your uncle sent you, it is a waste of time,” she said. “I will starve rather than submit to unreasonable conditions from my trustees.” She looked away over the Channel so he might not see a flush of humiliation in her face. It was anathema to her to realize that he too must have been made privy to her trustees’ proposals.
“Those of us unfairly restrained by circumstance must often bear more than our share of humiliation,” he said. “I believe we should find ways to help each other.”
“How do you propose to help me?” she asked. She moved to a small iron table and sat down.
“By asking you to help me,” he said. Now very circumspect, he waited for her to ask him to sit, and she indicated with her hand that he should sit down. He settled himself slowly.
“I believe you and I might be of great assistance to our country and to each other,” he went on. “Are you interested in work that is perhaps more vital and intellectual than ladies’ committees and fundraising?”
“I am always ready to serve, Mr. Poot,” she said. “But the need for paid employment keeps me from some more important opportunities.” It was a sore matter to Beatrice that donating one’s service full-time to the cause seemed to have become the social currency of the town.
“In this we are alike,” he said. “Without the connections and fortune to lubricate the acquisition of a cozy command, I have had to watch the less competent be raised to positions for which I would willingly give my life.”
“We must all help as we can,” she said. “You know Hugh Grange has just joined the Medical Corps? A competent officer and a worthy endeavor, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed,” he said. “And I have been called, at last, to serve.” He held his hand to his heart. “I am to join a small cadre of legal minds to do a great service to the people of Belgium and to our country by collecting accounts of the horrors of the German invasion from every Belgian refugee in the area.”
“Mr. Poot, I think that is wonderful,” said Beatrice.
“The account, collected and collated, will be published as an official British Government Report, which, it is hoped, will weigh heavy on the scales of justice against the Kaiser.”
“And how may I help you in this endeavor?” asked Beatrice.
“Suffice it to say that in this effort to bear witness, no horror or brutality must go unnamed, no feelings must be spared, no compromise can be made for daintiness,” he said. “I made this quite clear to each of the Belgians whom I visited at the hostel, and yet I could gain no cooperation, and indeed all seemed to lose their ability to speak English as I pressed them.”
“Perhaps you overwhelmed them, Mr. Poot?” asked Beatrice. “They have been so bullied and tormented by the Germans they may be frightened of your obvious authority.”
“I told the commission that a military uniform would have cowed them in a way a bowler hat cannot,” he said. “But perhaps you are right, Miss Nash. I do sometimes forget my natural power of authority. It is important to know how to soften one’s approach, how to tease out the truth with suggestion and a little sympathetic coddling.”
“I’m sure when you ask them nicely…” began Beatrice.
“I believe you have established a rapport which might diffuse any defiance on their part,” he said.
“I have every faith in your powers of gentle persuasion, Mr. Poot,” she said.
“Also the fact is that they don’t all speak good English—after all, why would they?—and my French, while serviceable, is not, shall we say, nuanced?” From the ugly red flush on the tips of his ears, it appeared Mr. Poot knew full well that his French was rustier than the job required. “I just thank the good Lord they didn’t send us the Flemish ones.”
“I imagine a firm grasp of the language is required,” said Beatrice.
“You would serve your country by assisting me for just a few hours with this vital work,” he said. “But you see, I throw myself completely at your mercy in the asking and I would be for ever beholden.”
“I desire to make no one beholden to me,” said Beatrice. “I know too well how it feels.”
“It is of the utmost importance to my aunt and uncle that I perform well in this commission,” he said. “It has been suggested that those who produce the most compelling findings may be offered a more permanent government position.” His face betrayed a naked eagerness for such advancement.
Beatrice considered him carefully.
“Your uncle’s proposal to monitor my funds is unacceptable,” she said. It was an abrupt comment, and she wondered if she had made herself too vulnerable. “You must understand my position?”
“To be denied access to sufficient funds and treated as a child is demeaning,” he said. “If I had your proxy to act, I would insist to my uncle that a simple written tally of accounts, submitted once a month, was more than adequate?”
“He wished to make me accountable to Mrs. Fothergill,” she said.
“No, no, this is a simple clerk’s job, nothing more,” he said. “I would take on the responsibility myself, and you can imagine I would be most strict about not prying into the detail of any expenses but merely reporting that they are of a reasonable size.”
“Why would he agree, Mr. Poot?” she asked.
“My uncle is very flattered to be approached by such august London solicitors,” he said. “He was quite downcast at your refusal but considers your stubbornness insurmountable. Were I to return with your agreement to our arrangement, I believe he would be amenable.”
“I will help you, Mr. Poot,” she said. “It is only right that we help our country and that our Belgian guests have the opportunity to expose the evils they have endured.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“And I will agree to your oversight of my accounts on a trial basis for one quarter,” she said.
“I will be happy to be of service and you can rely on my absolute discretion,” he said.
“I do not wish our arrangements to be taken as making either of us in the least beholden to the other, Mr. Poot,” she said.
“Your bluntness is admirable, Miss Nash,” he said. “Let me say in return that I hope for no ties but, perhaps, the bonds of friendship.”
“Unfortunately, our legal business must render any friendship moot,” she said. “But we are not really acquainted, so it will be no loss to either of us to maintain a strictly business relationship.”
“Of course,” he said. He did not look entirely happy, but relief at her acceptance of his plans must have outweighed any desire to protest.
“May I expect your office to deliver the promised draft for ten pounds to my lodging by close of day tomorrow?” she asked, rising to leave.
“I do believe your trustees will approve our arrangements, but you must understand it will take some time for the final papers to be drawn up, and given the times, our local bank may be slow to release any draft they receive,” he said. “I think I can get you two pounds?”