At this point, he was reaching the end of his spoken French vocabulary.

“Savez-vous …” he snapped his fingers to try and find the word, then made a fist and circled it against the back of his other hand. “Clean?”

His eyes narrowed slightly on Zech, but then he turned to the young stranger. "Do you know how to clean?" he translated reluctantly. His eyes flashed back to Zech.

Chéri looked at both of them it was a weird request. "Well enough," Chéri was no maid, but right now something, anything was welcome, even just as a one off, so he made sure to nodnconfidently.

Did Zechariah want Tristan to think less of him for not adhering to ‘proper’ protocol and setting out hoops to jump for the tumtum? No. Did the look in his eyes say he already did anyway? Yes.

“Hired,” Zechariah said simply.

Tristan turned to the young stranger but did not translate Mr. Meijer's words. "Coming to think of it, I have a friend who might need a servant," he spoke in French.

Was it too late in the day to ask Douglas to hire a random stranger off the streets as replacement for Mr. Fraiser?

Pretty excited by the fact that Zechariah had said only one word, Chéri turned expectingly to Tristan. Whatever he said, it must have been a good word, no? But the good doctor turned and suggested something else.

Chéri massaged the back of his neck and admitted “I can clean and I can serve decently, but I don’t know if I am much of an actual servant, sir. Do you think this will work for your friend?” Chéri knew he couldn’t be a valet. Occasional maid? Sure. Dock worker? Been there, done that. Valet? God help us.

Zechariah side-eyed Dr. Wells, hard.

“Vous m’aven entendu?” Zechariah directed to the tumtum.

His understood French was much better than his spoken, but he was able to poach some of Dr. Wells’ words to his purposes.

“J'ai accepté. J’ai besoin de personnes … mm, engager? Servante.”

Translation:

“Did you hear me?” (formal)
“I accepted. I need a person … mm, hire? Servant.” (Broken French, probably.)

Tristan didn't look at Zech and didn't see the look he got. "He's desperate for staff," he replied quickly. It was just as much a lie in French. But Douglas was kind. He might hire the kid or help him find something if Tristan explained his concern. "You have options, that's all I'm saying. Dr. Wells, __ Flowergate, if you need help."

Did he want the kid to show up at his door and involve himself further? No. But did he trust Mr. Meijer? Absolutely not.

At this point the tumtum was deeply confused. They looked at Zechariah about to answer, then Dr. Wells, who had now introduced himself and made a formal offer of help, which clearly sounded better on paper.

“I… I don’t know the difference between the two offers, so how can I decide?” The confusion was bigger “But why” are you mentioning this offer just now? And why aren’t you translating? Confused as they were, Chéri reached their own conclusion“Or are you recommending your friend here?” Chéri turned to Zechariah with another smile “Sir, your friend was saying you are in urgent need, if that’s the case I’ll be glad to help you!” In a new scenario in which, once he understood the gravity of the situation, Zechariah’s friend Tristan was insisting for Chéri to clean the place. Chéri wondered how dirty Zechariah’s house must be for two men to try to convince them at the same time.

Zechariah buffed his nails on his sleeve, playing aloof.

How did he take back his recommendation of Dr. Wells at the molly house? Was that too petty?

… Nah! He would tell them he was greedy with the champagne.