Their time together was over all too soon. Had it really been ten minutes? It was humiliating for him to have to obey the guard’s order like a dog on a leash, but it would be worse if he didn’t.
He flashed Delia a cheerful wink before being led away back to his dark cell.
31
It turned out that Benedict Kincaid wasn’t a completely heartless block of ice after all. During the train ride from Rotterdam to Brussels, Delia finally came up with an argument that persuaded him to make an effort on behalf of Finn and Mathilde.
“I’ve spent the last three years battling anti-German bigotry in New York,” she told him as the train headed south toward Brussels. “You’ve been back in America long enough to see it. If we can make progress on Finn or Mathilde’s behalf, it will help lower the temperature of anti-German hysteria in New York.”
Baron von Eschenbach backed her up. “Being the personification of evil is getting tiresome for ordinary Germans,” he said, only half in jest. “Give the Germans a chance to show some benevolence. We can publicize our humanity by showing mercy to the Verhaegen woman.”
It took a lot of nagging before Benedict finally budged. “If we succeed in reopening the port, I’ll do my best for Mathilde ... butonlyif we first succeed with the port.”
Delia wanted to cheer but held her composure. “And Finn?”
“I can probably finagle a visit,” he said, and indeed he won her that brief ten-minute visit.
Seeing Finn had been bittersweet. She wanted to weep after seeing his thin frame and the beaten expression on his face as he was led into the room. Finn used to face storms with a grin and relish any challenge. Yesterday he looked like a shadow of himself.
And today was the meeting she both anticipated and dreaded. The looming encounter with General Ryckman intimidated her like no other legal challenge of her life. The stakes for winning access to Rotterdam for CRB ships were already high, made more so because if they succeeded, Benedict promised to open negotiations on behalf of Mathilde and Finn.
The town hall of Brussels had been commandeered by General Ryckman to serve as his headquarters, where he ruled over occupied Belgium. German guards led the CRB delegation through the ornately decorated corridors toward the appointed meeting room.
Delia walked a few paces behind Benedict and Baron von Eschenbach, the sound of their footsteps absorbed by the royal-blue silk carpet. Gilded cherubs anchored near the top of the walls held lamps dripping with crystal. Rococo murals covered the arched ceilings and giant tapestries depicting scenes of classical mythology spoke of bygone eras. All of this was stolen from the Belgians for the occupying forces to enjoy.
The meeting room itself consisted of a long, dark mahogany table surrounded by cumbersome antique chairs. Scarlet wallpaper covered all four walls, darkening the room even more.
General Ryckman stood as they approached the table. With cheekbones as sharp as blades and his gray hair swept back from his forehead, he reminded Delia of an eagle looking down his beak at them.
He greeted them in English but directed his attention solely to Baron von Eschenbach. “Welcome to Brussels,” he said cordially. “I trust your journey from Berlin was uneventful?”
“Indeed,” the baron replied. “It looks as though you’ve recently earned another promotion,” he said with a nod to the general’s uniform.
General Ryckman’s eyes gleamed, and he touched the silver stars on his shoulder board. “Yes, the third star was awarded last week at a ceremony in Munich. The promotion of the kaiser’s senior officers was magnificent. Fireworks and music and dancing, although I could have done without the accordion playing. Next week there will be another celebration for promotion of the mid-level officers.”
“All well-deserved, I’m sure,” Baron von Eschenbach said politely.
“I expect they will enjoy the accordion music more than I,” the general said, then gestured for them to sit.
Delia tugged at a chair, but it was so heavy it barely budged. Benedict wordlessly drew the chair back, and she sent him a brief nod of thanks as she sat.
As Americans, she and Benedict were probably not worthy of the general’s regard. Even so, she knew the Hague Convention inside and out, and it would be their best weapon today. She opened her leather satchel and withdrew two files, one for each of the Hague treaties that Germany had agreed to. She handed a page that outlined SectionII, Article 23 of the 1907 treaty and slid it in front of Benedict.
His voice was calm as he opened negotiations. “As we begin this discussion, I would be remiss not to acknowledge Germany’s admirable humanitarian sentiments when they signed the Hague Treaty in 1899, and again in 1907.”
General Ryckman gave a single nod of his head but said nothing. He surely knew what was coming, and Benedict cut straight to the point.
“Article 23 of the treaty states an occupying force may not block or seize the property of civilians, and this includes relief supplies. It is our position that the food sent by the Commission for the Relief of Belgium is the property of Belgian citizens, and by blocking our access to the Port of Rotterdam, you are in violation of Article 23.”
The general stated that military necessity was a suitably legal reason for Germany denying shipments from America, and this trounced anything written in the Hague Conventions. He hadn’t finished speaking when Delia flipped to the relevant passage to counter the general’s argument and passed it to Benedict. He took it without missing a beat and immediately responded to the general, referring to the passage shown him by Delia.
The hour-long negotiation was filled with sparring back and forth. The days she’d spent studying the Hague Conventions during the Atlantic crossing paid off as she was quickly able to land on key clauses to bolster their case.
The general swiveled his attention to Baron von Eschenbach, speaking in German with a scolding tone. The baron replied in the same language, but his voice was more congenial.
Benedict leaned toward Delia and translated. “He’s demanding to know why a civilized German aristocrat would consort with American peasants.”
The general sent a surprised glance at Benedict. “I was not aware you spoke German.”
