My Theodosia

by Anya Seton

  Aaron began again with leisured relish, 'To our next President, the great and glorious unknown'. He looked full at Hamilton, who choked, thinking that Burr had contrived this with his usual hypocrisy.

  The substitution of 'unknown' would be accepted by the other guests as a delicate compliment to the only Federalist present, but Hamilton knew very well that his host had meant, 'the great and glorious Aaron Burr'. It was a challenge, subtle, of course, as was this insinuating schemer's every act, but none the less a challenge. Hamilton marked it down.

  Aaron was amused by his opponent's annoyance. He enjoyed a contest of wits as much as Hamilton hated it, nor did he realize the depth of the other's enmity. Hamilton himself could not.have explained the instant dislike he had conceived for Burr from the time of their first association as young officers in General Washington's military family. Though he had resented the similarity between their persons and ambitions, and the contrast between his own tarnished boyhood in the West Indies and Burr's aristocratic background of wealth, education, and respectability, it went deeper than that.

  Aaron, still on his feet, proposed another toast. 'And now, gentlemen, I give you one of our company ... a young man of great estate and ancient lineage, a gentleman of culture and understanding, who is most certainly destined to carve his name upon the tablets of our country's history. I give you Mr. Joseph Alston.'

  So, thought Hamilton, as he rose with the rest, that's the way the cat jumps now. And for what purpose is Burr shoveling flattery at this oaf of a planter who is obviously destined to carve his name on nothing more enduring than his own rice swamps? He pondered this without result.

  In between the toasts that followed, Aaron conversed with Joseph Alston, awakening in him, by the simple method of telling him of them, sentiments that he had not known he possessed.

  The young planter relaxed, puffing at his cigar. Colonel Burr, it seemed, thought him wondrous patriotic, found that he had great understanding of the country's needs. Joseph hazarded a few remarks and found that they revealed conspicuous political acumen. Dazzled by this new picture of himself, he suddenly realized that none but Colonel Burr had ever had the penetration to value him at his true worth. A hazy glow of good-will subdued his habitual truculence. He helped himself to repeated glasses of Madeira, until Aaron, who had barely sipped from his own glass, pushed back his chair.

  'What do you say, gentlemen, to a game of loo or whist or dicing? Though I believe that the younger ones amongst us may prefer to dance. At any rate, let us join the lovely charmers who await us, I trust, impatiently.'

  In the drawing-room the ladies upon finishing dinner had divided themselves into two natural groups. At one end by the fireplace, the matrons clustered around Mrs. Hamilton and enjoyed a technical discussion about a difficult lying-in. Even Mrs. Jay inclined her stately head and gave it as her opinion that a drop of laudanum was permissible at such a time. 'Though, mind you, I don't hold with coddling. Our Creator intended women to suffer, and has given us the strength to stand it.'

  Sophie du Pont made a tiny choked sound. 'Does eet—is eet so bad?' she whispered.

  The ladies looked at her frightened face, and Mrs. Hamilton's softened with quick sympathy. 'My dear child, I didn't realize. How stupid of me to talk like that! I can see now, but really with these new styles one can hardly tell, can one? No, of course it's not so bad.'

  Sophie tried to smile. 'But I am so old for a first. Twenty-five.'

  The ladies clucked dismay; not one of them but had had a full nursery by that time. Still, Mrs. Hamilton launched into detailed advice, for, by virtue of her many pregnancies, she was an authority. Sophie listened respectfully.

  At the other end of the long room the girls twittered like starlings. They had intended to try some recently imported songs on Theo's magnificent new pianoforte. Angelica Hamilton and Theo enjoyed duets. But Angelica was more than musically talented, she was touched with genius, and Theo found herself unable to follow the other girl's brilliant performance. So they gave it up. Angelica played soft roulades and chords to herself, while the others abandoned music for more exciting topics.

  'La!' cried Katie wickedly, 'such goings-on as I have seen here tonight! Natalie making eyes at the Count, and our Theo positively throwing herself at Mr. Whatever-his-name-is from Carolina. I blushed for you, my pet—truly I did.'

  'I did not throw myself at his head!' cried Theo indignantly. 'I was but being polite.'

  Natalie nodded, her plain little face showing annoyance. 'You must not say such silly things, Katie. I only make nice talk with le comte de Joliette to make him feel at ease, and Theo the same for Mr. Alston'. She opened her reticule and, extracting a handkerchief to be embroidered, inserted a needleful of silk. Natalie's hands were never idle.

  Katie tossed her yellow curls. 'Oh, to be sure—I was teasing. Still, it was rarely diverting eo watch Theo'. She giggled, drew down the corners of her mouth, and mimicked Alston's ponderous speech. '"Indeed, Miss Burr, I find your appearance not inferior to that of some of our reigning belles." What a compliment! Had it been I, I should have slapped him.'

  Theo laughed. 'I nearly did. Still, it's doubtless very good for my vanity to be snubbed.'

  Katie suddenly sobered, touched Theo's hand. 'You have no vanity. You're so pretty and accomplished, and you—you have so much.'

  'So much?' Theo repeated slowly, squeezing Katie's hand in return. She had never thought of comparing her material circumstances with those of Katie, who lived over a shop in Pearl Street with a crotchety grandmother, and laughingly confessed to scrimping for months to buy the material for one new dress. Theo had always taken her possessions for granted : the horses and servants and abundant table, this new pianoforte, all the splendor of luxury that made Richmond Hill. Then the new gown tonight—it had cost twenty pounds—and the beautiful necklace. These were all part of the safe, pleasant scheme of things, part of her father's cherishing care.

  But if she were deprived of everything material, it would not matter, she thought. She and her father could see more of each other if they dispensed with the elaborate panoply of living. There would be fewer people to distract them.

  She pictured Aaron and herself relegated to a tumbledown cottage in the woods. She would cook his food over a romantically crackling fire; she could tend him and make him more comfortable than might any number of servants. She saw herself busy, happy, indispensable.

  And Aaron—she realized with a shock. What would he be doing? Impossible to imagine him chopping wood or watering stock. Even more impossible to see him clothed in sweaty homespun. Her idyll was ridiculous.

  She smiled unconsciously, and Katie trilled with laughter. 'I vow you're thinking of John Vanderlyn. On him, at least, your beauty is not wasted. He stares at you ravenously.'

  'Does he?' She was startled. 'I hadn't noticed.'

  'Lawks!' Kitty's pretty jaw dropped. 'I truly believe you hadn't. You are the queerest girl. Hark! Here come the gentlemen now'. She straightened against the lyre-backed chair, crossed her feet demurely, and unfurling her ivory fan fluttered it with airy grace.

  Natalie patted her already neat hair and shoved her embroidery hastily into the reticule. It was not comme il faut to let gentlemen see one doing anything that savored of domesticity. It would be lamentably bourgeois.

  Angelica Hamilton ceased playing, twisted around on the stool, her long face both unhappy and self-conscious, now that she no longer had her music to support her. The other women, including the matrons, all melted into various attitudes. Only Theo had no part in the galvanic thrill which transformed them at the approach of masculine steps and voices.

  She watched them with detachment and a twist of envy. They were all, even Natalie, expectant and excited, anticipating pleasure and the delights of flirtation. Yet, for her, the evening had grayed. The magical mood, the breathless joy which had been hers four hours ago when she entered this room, had somehow seeped away. It was a formless disappointment. Something that she ever
anticipated was not coming.

  She sighed, wishing that it were time for everyone to go home. Then she and Aaron would have their invariable bedtime chat, and he would make her laugh again with his wittily caustic comments on the guests.

  The returning gentlemen were preceded by four hired musicians: two fiddlers, a harpist, and a pianist. The string players had brought their pitch-pipe. They were unused to playing with the pianoforte, which they regarded as a most unnecessary instrument. The orchestra broke into hot argument, which Aaron quelled. 'Tonight,' he announced, 'we shall have only cotillions and valses led by Mr. Barks at the pianoforte.'

  More of this French craze, thought Hamilton sourly. No doubt the minuets and congos were no longer good enough for the magnificent Colonel Burr. He'd be damned if he'd caper around in a cotillion. Let the Republicans make fools of themselves if they wished to. He crossed the room and seated himself beside his wife.

  'This gathering nauseates me,' he said in her ear. 'How much longer must we endure?'

  'Sh-sh,' whispered Betsy Hamilton. 'You are intolerant, Sandy. The young people are enjoying themselves. Soon there will be a party of whist for you. Now behave yourself.'

  He shrugged his shoulders, crossed his silken legs. She was right, of course. Good breeding demanded that one allow oneself to be bored, insulted, have one's dearest convictions outraged in the name of accepted hospitality. He should not have come. He had let the womenfolk persuade him. They were fond of little Theodosia. Poor child, lashed to the chariot wheels of such a father. He stared at Theo with rising irritation. Spoiled she was. Burr showered gifts on her as though she were a princess—or his mistress. It was preposterous, vulgar.

  The musicians after several false starts struck up a recognizable rendition of 'The Lass of Richmond Hill'. There was laughter and an outburst of clapping. The song had been written in England and referred to a far different Richmond Hill, but its appropriate title pleased Aaron. He took Theodosia's hand and led her forward, started the singing himself, while she stood blushing beside him.

  On Richmond Hill there lives a maid

  More bright than May-Day mom,

  Whose charms all other maids surpass,

  A rose without a thorn.

  This lass so neat, with smile so sweet,

  Has won my right good-will.

  I'd crowns resign to call thee mine,

  Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.

  As the song was finished, Aaron put his arm around Theo's waist. 'Is my lass of Richmond Hill enjoying her party?'

  'Indeed I am, Father'. She smiled at him. 'They are all so kind, and you are so good to me.'

  Her lassitude had gone. The sound of the music, the touch of her father's loving arm had dispelled it. And the prospect of dancing. She dearly loved to dance.

  She saw Vanderlyn, Robert Swartwout, and Alston start toward her from different sides of the room with the evident intention of leading her out. She would tactfully choose Vanderlyn, she decided; he would best know the figures, having just returned from France.

  The three young men reached her at the same moment. Vanderlyn and Swartwout spoke in undesigned duet. 'Miss Burr, I beseech the honor——' and broke off, glaring at each other.

  But Alston said nothing, stood awkwardly before her, biting his lips, his face uncommonly flushed. His expression had changed from its former surly indifference. He gazed at her now in a bold way that made her uncomfortable. He must have had plenty to drink, she thought, but would he never find his tongue?

  'You wish to speak to me, Mr. Alston?'

  He cleared his throat. 'To converse with you, yes. I was not going to ask you to dance. I do not like these outlandish dances.'

  But I do, was at her tongue's tip. She raised her hand toward Vanderlyn who stepped forward eagerly.

  Aaron slid himself between them, turning his back on the discomfited young artist, and addressed himself to Alston.

  'I quite understand your aversion to dancing, Mr. Alston. I'm sure that Theodosia will be delighted to humor you. My dear'—he turned on her his brilliant gaze—'why do you not show Mr. Alston our picture gallery? It is of some interest, I believe. And he might like to view the gardens, as well. I know that they cannot compare with the beauties of those on his own plantations, but I trust he won't find them too dull.'

  Disappointment choked her; she raised beseeching eyes to her father's face. Was it really necessary to go on trying to entertain this very boring and unmannerly planter? Must she miss the dancing—and on her birthday too?

  Aaron's face softened as he met her look. Unperceived by the others, he shook his head, his lips formed words. 'To please me. You may dance later.'

  She nodded with equal care. Of course, she could do that, or anything to please him. There was a delicious joy in being included in his plans, even though he seldom explained them to her. She gloried in being useful to him—important. But if only she knew his purpose in regard to Alston. She had received no definite hint, though her common sense told her that there was need for flattery, and that he was not averse to impressing the planter with the lavishness of their establishment. It was a rôle she had played before, and she slipped into it expertly now that her momentary rebellion had passed.

  'Shall we, Mr. Alston?' Her low voice was now enriched with a tone of intimate persuasion very like her father's. She smiled, glancing at him sideways from beneath her long lashes.

  Alston's red face became redder. 'Delighted, ma'am,' he mumbled, and stalked after her into the hall.

  She led the way upstairs to the long narrow picture gallery. It had been fashioned from three attic rooms, and it housed a collection of which Aaron was very proud. There were sketches and three finished portraits by Vanderlyn, rough studies by Stuart, and miscellaneous specimens of French and Italian art. Amongst the latter were two Venuses, and a copy of Titian's 'Sacred and Profane Love'. This picture, with its clothed and naked females, always tickled Aaron. 'How true a realist was this Venetian,' he was fond of saying. 'See how much more desirable he has made the profane lady, while the chaste one is well-behaved and pallid, very pallid.'

  Theo had heard this and other comments many times, scarcely listening. The pictures were an old story to her. She enjoyed the rich colors and the surprised admiration of strangers upon first viewing the collection, but familiarity had dulled her interest.

  She was, therefore, astounded, after she had lit the candles, to hear Alston gasp as he took a hurried step backward.

  They stood before one of the Venuses, a lush blonde adorned only by a necklet of pearls.

  Theo had opened her mouth to launch upon her usual little speech of explanation—'Father had great difficulty in procuring this painting; the treatment of the flesh tones is con sidered very fine——' But her speech was cut off at the source. She stared at her companion.

  He turned his head slowly from side to side like a goaded bull, and yet his eyes darted down the line of pictures, passing over the portraits and landscapes to linger surreptitiously on the nudes. He threw her a peculiar sidewise glance and cleared his throat.

  She was annoyed. His embarrassment, though she had never encountered the like, affected her by contagion. The brass candlestick trembled in her hands. She became conscious of her own body, her extravagant décolletage. Her irritation increased, though she dimly comprehended that he belonged to a much less sophisticated race than the men she knew.

  His reasoning was simple. In South Carolina young ladies did not gaze upon lewd pictures in the company of young men, or at all for that matter. It shocked him, but it excited him as well.

  He had never felt sexual interest in a girl of his own class. No gentleman would. There were women, both black and white, provided by a beneficent Providence for such purposes. One married eventually, of course, a girl of suitable wealth and family, and one begat children. But one did not expect to be stirred by one's wife; one sullied her purity as little as possible.

  Theodosia's attitude baffled him.

&
nbsp; 'The pictures are very pretty,' he muttered. 'Now let us go out to the gardens, as your father suggested.'

  She nodded quickly, glad to escape.

  On the stairs going down he took her arm awkwardly; its bare cool flesh gave him unexpected pleasure. His hand tightened, and she drew away from his hot fingers.

  A full moon lit the gardens, painting them with silver and black. Against the darkness of leaves and well-trimmed grass, fireflies made tiny orange lights. The air was sweet with heliotrope and box.

  She walked very fast, giving him no time to linger, pointing out the interesting features: the little maze, not yet grown high enough to be mysterious; the sundial from a Versailles garden; the pond, clamorous with bullfrogs. Alston was forced into an ungainly shamble in order to keep up with her swift feet.

  'You go too fast,' he complained at last, as they entered the grape arbor. 'Let us sit down here on this bench.'

  She hesitated. Through the open windows of the drawingroom music streamed, the mellow harmony of the fiddles, the joyous plink-plunk of the pianoforte. Dancers passed and repassed across the brightly lit rectangles, their heads swaying gracefully to valse rhythm. She saw a blur of smiling faces, heard Katie's unmistakable laugh. They were all having such a good time in there. She yearned to join them. Alston, who had previously only bored her, now made her extremely uncomfortable as well. That moment of mutual embarrassment in the picture gallery had changed their relationship. His attitude had become intimate, and tinctured with a definite flavor of pursuit. And she had no wish to be pursued. Still, her father would be displeased if they returned so soon, or if she refused to a guest any reasonable request. Particularly this guest. Aaron had made that quite clear.

  She sighed, seating herself primly on the edge of the bench. Moonlight filtered through the grape leaves above and endowed her with a luminous beauty, softening the slight heaviness of her jaw line and enlarging her dark eyes to supernatural size. Theodosia was pretty by any light, but now she was breath-taking. A siren.