Alex stifled a groan. “I hope he is ready for school. Columbia is fast becoming one of the best universities in the country—I heard enrollment will reach nearly twenty students this year, and they have brought on a fifth professor! It will be big change for a boy used to studying with his brothers and a tutor in the schoolroom.”
“How hard can it be? They let you in,” Eliza teased. “Although as I recall, you didn’t stay around to graduate.”
“Hmmm,” Alex mused. “I seem to recall a little revolution getting in the way.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
Alex chuckled. “At any rate, I’m less concerned about Johnny’s ability to handle the classwork than the distractions of the city. New York is a far cry from Albany. There are theaters and parties and museums and visitors from a score of countries all vying for a young man’s attention.”
“And girls,” Eliza said. “Don’t forget the girls.”
“And girls,” Alex agreed. “But I trust the formidable Mrs. Schuyler will have imbued her eldest son with a firm sense of decorum and probity.”
“Well, let’s see,” Eliza said. “Of her three eldest daughters, the first eloped with a man rumored to have fled debtor’s prison—and possibly a wife—in England, the third was engaged for nearly a decade before she finally got her intended to commit to a wedding, and the second, ahem”—Eliza goosed her husband’s arm—“ran away from her fiancé at the altar to marry a boy from the Indies with no name.”
“I take exception to that statement,” Alex pretended to protest. “The name Hamilton is one of great distinction. My grandfather is an earl or duke or laird or something in the old country.”
“Well then, yours is the worst Scottish accent I have ever heard in my life,” Eliza said with a giggle. “It’s not even a good Caribbean accent, for that matter. And the very fact that you don’t even know your grandfather’s title calls into question your claims of aristocratic lineage. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you never even met your father, let alone your grandfather.”
Eliza suddenly caught herself, worried that she’d gone too far, as she knew her husband was sensitive about his background. But Alex only laughed, if a bit cynically.
“And a good thing, too, lest I ended up following in that incorrigible man’s footsteps.” Shortly after Alex was born, his father had abandoned his mother and never reappeared in his young sons’ lives, even after Rachel, Alex’s mother, succumbed to yellow fever when he was eleven.
“Well,” Eliza said soothingly. “You seem to have done pretty well on your own.”
“On my own? No, my darling. Whatever I have and whatever I’ve accomplished, I owe half of it to you. Without your constancy and steadiness, I would be nowhere.”
“Goodness,” Eliza said, though she blushed with pride. “I’m not sure if you’re describing a wife or a saddle pony upon which one might teach a child of five to canter. Oof!” she added as Alex pulled her into a bear hug and covered her face in butterfly kisses. “The corset’s bad enough after Rowena’s eggs. Don’t squeeze so hard!”
* * *
• • •
THE TWO CONTINUED their banter for the next hour as they made their roundabout way to the docks on the Hudson River. It was a glorious day at the beginning of summer, the sky as blue as Delft tiles and the mercury hovering in the mid-seventies. Horses’ hooves and wagon wheels clattered over the rutted roads with the insistent jangle of commerce—it hadn’t rained in nearly a week and the dirt was baked hard as bricks. The streets and sidewalks were alive with tradesmen and women hawking their wares, and servants and messengers hurrying about their masters’ business. Wheat and corn from the fields of upper New York State, tin and pewter from Pennsylvania, cotton from the southern states, fragrant spices and sugar from the Caribbean and farther afield: With a population of thirty thousand, New York had surged past Boston and Philadelphia to become the young nation’s largest city, and virtually anything you desired could be had there, and at any price, from the cheapest bits of dented, tarnished flatware to the most exquisite silks and china (these safely ensconced behind store windows, but still easily visible from the broad wooden sidewalks of lower Manhattan).
The sun had just passed its zenith when they emerged on the river just above New York Harbor. The Hudson was more than a mile wide here, an impressive, flat, gray highway upon which ran hundreds of boats, from the tiniest oared dinghies to ships of the line measuring nearly two hundred feet. The mail ship from Albany was a single-masted, heavy-bellied vessel that sat low in the water, and it took a few minutes before the Hamiltons were able to make it out amid the larger merchantmen at dock.
When they spied it, Eliza hurried forward. After dawdling and window-shopping through the city, she was suddenly impatient to see her brother. It had been a year since she’d seen anyone in the family, and two since she’d seen Johnny. Loosing her arm from Alex’s elbow and taking his hand instead, she pulled him through the crowd, equally divided between stevedores and porters and other dockworkers, and people like her and Alex, there to greet an arriving loved one or see someone off.
“I can’t believe he’s really here!” she said excitedly. “I cannot wait to show him the sights! Bayard’s Mount and Collect Pond and Federal Hall and Fraunces Tavern. Oh, I do hope he loves the city as much as I do and doesn’t miss the country too much!”
“He need only hop on a horse and ride a half mile north of Chambers Street and he’ll have all the country he wants. But I suspect he will take to the big city like a fish to water. Johnny has always been a worldly boy,” Alex replied.
“You speak as if you know my brother better than I do!” Eliza said. “He is a delicate child! The noise and bustle may be too much for him!”
“A delicate child! As I recall, he took a shot at the British raiding party that came to kidnap your father in the last year of the war. I say New York should look out for him, and not the other way around.”
“Well, I say we should look out for him right now. The pier is so crowded today, I don’t know how we’ll ever find him.”
Alex took a moment to glance around. “I think I have an idea where he might be,” he said then, and, taking Eliza’s elbow, steered her off to the right.
Eliza peered ahead, but all she saw besides the dockworkers was a group of women crowded in on one another as closely as their bustled skirts and parasols would allow. The way they were huddled together, Eliza assumed they must be inspecting some exotic goods just off a merchantman from the Indies or Europe. Maybe there’ll be oranges! she thought. Since Jane Beekman had introduced her to the unusual fruit last year, she couldn’t get enough of them. Alex recalled them fondly from his youth in the Caribbean, although he said he preferred something he called a “banana.” The way he described it made her think he was pulling her leg, but apparently they were quite delicious.
As it happened she was half right. The women, who ranged in age from sixteen to thirty and change, were indeed inspecting a new arrival fresh off the boat. But the merchandise they were haggling over turned out to be—
“John Bradstreet Schuyler!” she cried. Eliza’s upset stomach fluttered again as the covey of women whirled around in unison, revealing the slim figure of Eliza’s eldest brother, seated on an upended steamer trunk. His cheeks were so red that at first glance Eliza thought they were covered with lip rouge from multiple kisses, but it was just a blush. He sprang to his feet with a sheepish smile even as one of the girls said in an accusatory voice: “John? Why is this woman speaking to you?”
Eliza didn’t like the way the girl said “this woman.” It made her feel as though she were forty years old.
“Johnny,” she said in her most commanding older-sister voice, “why is this girl speaking to you?”
Johnny stepped in, his arms out wide for a hug, but Eliza’s look held him back.
Several of the women, sensing a familial a
uthority in Eliza’s demeanor, lowered their hackles slightly, though they were still clustered around Johnny as if he were a skittish kid goat and might bolt if they let down their guard. But the boldest one of the pack did not back down and turned to Eliza with her fists on her waist and her chin jutting.
Eliza summoned all the dignity her mother had instilled in her. “He’s seventeen,” she said serenely. “Maybe you should hunt for something a little closer to your own age.”
The woman’s jaw dropped open.
“And as for the rest of you, you are free to call on John in the proper time and place—which is not a busy dock on a weekday afternoon.”
“And what is the ‘proper time and place’?” said one of the girls, a rather pretty little thing, Eliza had to admit, though her hair looked a tad dirty beneath its powder, and her dress, which had never been fine, and might even be considered gaudy, was in need of patching.
“I’ll leave that up to John,” Eliza said. “If you don’t mind now, we need to get my brother home.”
The girl was ready to ask for her address, but the look on Eliza’s face stopped her.
“Come along, ladies,” the girl said. “I’m sure the son of General Philip Schuyler won’t be that hard to track down. Bye, John,” she said, all but throwing him a kiss, and then she and her companions tittered away.
“Check your pockets,” Eliza told her brother when they were out of earshot. “Make sure you still have your coin purse.”
“Oh, Eliza, please!” Johnny said. “I know they weren’t exactly our set, but they were perfectly respectable. Don’t be such a snob.”
Alex chuckled. “Your sister is the farthest thing from a snob, as you well know. She married a poor man, as she reminded me not twenty minutes ago, and I’m sure would back you if you chose to give your heart to a penniless girl. Nevertheless, those delectable beauties, who just, ah, paid their respects to you, were not doing so merely because they found you a strapping specimen of young manhood.”
Johnny looked a bit hurt, and Eliza softened toward her younger brother, of whom she had always been very fond. She was struck by the fact that little Johnny had had quite the growth spurt since the last time the Hamiltons saw him, and stood nearly six feet tall, lean and lanky. His wrists and ankles protruded slightly from his sleeves and pants, which only added to the perception that he was a boy who was not yet a man.
“What do you mean about those ladies?” John said at last, self-consciously pulling at his cuffs to cover the exposed bones of his wrists.
“Let’s just say that their time is not exactly free,” Eliza said.
John’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“Your sister means that if you wanted to continue your, ah, intercourse with them, a certain quid pro quo would have been expected.”
“Quid pro quo? You mean . . . payment?” John seemed even more confused. “But payment for what?”
Alex turned to Eliza helplessly, but she only covered her smile with her gloved hand.
Then John’s eyes went wide. He whirled toward the crowd of women, who were now descending on their next target in a flurry of silks and laces and titters. Their gloved fingers danced nimbly over the shoulders and arms of their new mark, as they had done on John’s just a moment before.
“No! You mean they’re—”
“Now, Johnny,” Eliza cut him off. “There is no need to name names. Their situation is unfortunate, but we do not have to add indignity by saying it aloud.”
“Wow!” John said, even as Alex flagged down a porter and directed him to have John’s luggage sent to the Hamiltons’ Wall Street home. “My first hour in the city and I’ve already been solicited! How exciting!”
“Welcome to New York,” Eliza said, finally giving her brother that hug. “And I was serious before. Check your pockets and make sure they didn’t steal your purse.”
2
“Lovely Lasses Left”
Columbia College
New York, New York
June 1785
Since his practice had expanded, Alex moved his law office to a new building just around the block from the Hamiltons’ home on the corner of Wall Street and Pine. As a consequence, he was happy to relinquish his study on the second floor to be his brother-in-law’s bedroom. The Hamiltons still had another bedroom for guests, and should Alex need privacy he had only to nip out a five-minutes’ walk to his own quarters. In fact, he was there, or deeper in the city, at least twelve hours a day, and sometimes more, so he hardly noticed the loss of the room at home, which had mostly become a catch-all for abandoned furniture, Eliza’s old dresses, and extra crockery.
The following morning, Alex took his breakfast at home as usual, then went upstairs to give Eliza a kiss before heading to work. It was but eight o’clock when he prepared to leave—early for many people, though late for him. Late for Eliza, too, who usually breakfasted with him before he left, lest, as she said, she didn’t “see his face in the daylight.” She, Alex, and John had enjoyed a quiet evening at home the night before, but there had been much family news to catch up on, and the talk—and the wine—had flowed liberally until well after midnight, so no wonder she was tired. Johnny, too, was still abed, though as Alex recalled, he had never particularly been a morning person.
When he got upstairs, though, Alex found that Eliza was awake and looking rather wan. He smiled wryly at her as he kissed her forehead, which was warm, though not feverish. “Are you all right, darling?”
In answer, she whimpered a little. “My stomach was feeling queasy again, as it is now.”
Alex thought back to the evening before and remembered that Eliza had in fact picked at her food, declaring the leg of lamb not to Rowena’s usual standards. Yet the leg of lamb had been succulently tender. Perhaps Eliza was truly ill.
He pulled a glove off and laid the back of his hand against Eliza’s forehead. Warm, yes, but she was well covered by her nightdress, cap, and bedclothes, so that was hardly surprising. There was neither the telltale flush nor perspiration of a fever, and the brightness in Eliza’s eyes was the flash of pique—an industrious woman, she hated to laze about—rather than delirium.
“Should I call the doctor? I hate the thought of you being sick.”
For the first time that morning Eliza smiled and patted her husband’s hand. “I think it’s just something I ate. I really must speak to Rowena about taking more care at market. I don’t know how you managed to eat so much of that lamb last night. Why, I wondered if it had been fresh when she bought it, it tasted so rank to me.”
Alex held back his response. He had thought the lamb particularly savory, as had John, who wolfed down three servings to Alex’s two, but instead of pressing the issue, he just said, “Well, let’s be gentle with her. She is heartsick for Simon, and understaffed as well.”
“That is the only reason why I didn’t reprimand her last night, even if I thought I’d been poisoned.”
Alex fought to keep a grin off his face. It wasn’t like Eliza to be so dramatic, and he found himself enjoying it—he was usually the one whining in their household. “Drayton is due today or tomorrow, so things should settle down soon. But I’ll have a brief word with Rowena before I go to work. Tell her to keep the ‘poison’ to a minimum.”
Eliza peered at him to see if he were teasing, but then her face went even paler. “Oh no! I was meant to take Johnny to the Columbia campus to meet Brockholst Livingston!”
“Don’t you worry, dear,” Alex said quickly. “I shall take him. What time was the appointment?”
“Not till ten,” Eliza said.
“Ten! It is half eight already, and Johnny is still asleep.” Alex gave Eliza another quick kiss and hurried across the hall to Johnny’s room. He knocked on the door but received no answer. He pushed it open and peered into the gloom—the room faced north and the velvet curtains were drawn
as well. The sour smell of alcohol filled the room. Alex noted a three-quarters-empty bottle of wine on the table beside the bed. No glass was visible.
“Johnny,” he said, “it is time to rise. You are due at Columbia in a little over an hour.”
No words came from the prostrate figure, but a white hand reached out and pulled the pillow over his rumpled head.
“John!” Alex said more sharply. “Brockholst Livingston is expecting you promptly at ten. It wouldn’t do to keep such an important man waiting.”
“If cousin Brock was an important man,” came a muffled voice from under the pillow, “he wouldn’t work at a school. He’d run an estate like a real gentleman.”
Alex was unaware that Brockholst Livingston was Johnny and Eliza’s cousin, but all these old families of New York had intermarried so many times it was more than possible. Still, General Schuyler had entrusted Alex and Eliza to see his eldest son through college—and he was paying the school good money for the boy’s tuition—and Alex was not going to fail his father-in-law.
He strode to the bed and yanked the pillow from Johnny’s head. “Up. Now. Or I pour the contents of the washbasin over your head.”
“The washbasin’s empty,” Johnny mumbled.
Alex glanced around the room. “But the chamber pot’s not.”
Johnny leapt from bed and began dressing.
* * *
• • •
WHILE JOHNNY WASHED and dressed, Alex dashed off a half dozen missives to the clients he was supposed to meet that morning, pushing back their appointments to the morrow. “Simon!” he called as he finished the last of them. “I need you to deliver—”
He broke off when Rowena’s sad face appeared from the dining room, where she had been polishing the silver after breakfast.
“Simon is off at the Beekmans’,” she said in a voice that could have been describing his death from a slow, wasting disease. “Perhaps I can be of service, Mr. Hamilton?”
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