by Anya Seton
'But she doesn't like me, Colonel Burr. She avoids me.'
'Pish, my dear fellow! Women are like that. You must go slowly. Recite poetry to her; they love it. Sing duets with her, give her posies, gaze at her with your heart in your eyes—but respectfully. Don't frighten her.'
Joseph looked blank, and Aaron went on. 'Do exactly as I say, and you will see. Defer to her opinion. Forgive me for saying so, but you are a thought arrogant in your manner. Women like compliments and pretty speeches.'
Joseph considered each of these recommendations and finally nodded. 'I will endeavor to do as you suggest.'
Aaron clapped him on the shoulder.'Tis a pity he's so deadly serious, he thought. Theo must learn to liven him up a bit. Yet he felt for his intended son-in-law a certain contemptuous affection, for already Joseph was become a part of the Burrs.
After a few days Theo admitted to herself that Mr. Alston improved on acquaintance, and she relaxed her hostility. She began by treating him with frosty dignity which gradually thawed to tolerance. For Joseph in turn treated her as though she were one of Baron Stiegel's blown-glass figurines and might break at a touch. They never referred to the scene in the garden, and its memory dimmed.
Joseph, having had it pointed out to him, realized that he was very much in love with her, but his native indolence combined with nervousness to prevent him from making any specific overtures as yet.
The summer days passed agreeably and Theo grew used to his constant companionship. They rode much together over the sand hills and through the woods of Manhattan Island. Joseph rode well, and felt at his best on a horse where his bulk and awkwardness were less noticeable.
He could not recite poetry, nor yet sing duets with Theo, but he could and did listen. Though music bored him, he hid it with surprising canniness, and kept himself awake while Theo played by watching the roundness of her white arms, or the enchanting tilt of her chin as she struggled through Bach's inventions or something she called a sonata by a young German named Beethoven.
Natalie kept out of the way. It did not take her long to comprehend the situation, and though she thought the young planter 'un peu farouche' and rather dull, on the whole she approved Papa Burr's plan. It was only natural that he should select his son-in-law in the French manner, and, judging by all the evidence, M. Alston was a most eligible parti.
In the kitchen the servants laid bets on the wedding date, and in New York drawing-rooms the match was discussed with interest.
Only Theodosia would not see.
It was on the first of August that Joseph proposed quite suddenly, having screwed up his courage for days. Mindful of Aaron's advice, he had tried to induce Theo to accompany him to some romantic spot. But by tacit consent they both avoided the garden, and his invention was low in the evening, so that his moment came in the full glare of noonday sun, outside the stables where they had dismounted.
Theo, frankly hungry, was making for the springhouse to get A glass of chilled milk, when he checked her by a clutch at her silk-covered arm.
She turned in surprise.
His face was red from heat and the exertion of their ride. His clustering dark curls clung damply to his forehead.
'Miss Burr—Theo, I have something to say to you,' he panted.
'Won't it keep until we get to the house?' she asked, amused.
'No!' he shouted, in a burst of desperation. 'You must listen to me now.'
'Softly—the servants,' she laughed, but she had a foreboding.
He propelled her down the path around the comer of the dairy away from the stable-boy's curiosity.
'Theodosia, I have a most tender regard for you; will you do me the honor to become my wife?' He spoke very fast in one breath.
She stifled an inclination to laugh, thinking that he sounded as though he had memorized the speech for days—as indeed he had.
'You arc very kind, Mr. Alston, and I am very grateful for the honor you do me,' she answered in the approved formula, 'but I have no intention of marrying. Now,' she smiled, dropping to her ordinary voice, 'let's go to the house.'
He was nonplused for a second. 'Go to the house?'
'Yes; I wish to change my habit. Then I will direct Alexis to make you some rum punch; it will be cooling,' she added, knowing how fond he was of this concoction.
'But you haven't answered me. I wish to marry you.'
'I did answer you. I appreciate the honor very deeply, but I have no intention of marrying.'
He frowned. 'You know very well that that is nonsense. We are virtually an affianced couple. Everyone treats us as such. I had not spoken before because your father said I must give you time.'
She jerked around, looking him full in the eyes. 'My father!' she exclaimed. 'You have spoken to my father?'
'Of course. The day I arrived here. He gave me full permission to ask for your hand. Nay, more, he said that my suit was most agreeable to him.'
'I don't believe it!' Her voice was high with anger and sudden fear.
Bewildered, he reached for her hand. She snatched it from him, stumbled down the path and into the house.
Aaron was writing in his library as she burst in, his head bent over the desk. She did not wait for him to turn, but flung strangled words at his back. 'Is it true that you wish me to marry Joseph Alston, and that you told him so?'
He sanded the words he had been writing, closed his portfolio, and walked over to her, putting a hand on either side of her face. 'Quite true,' he said quietly. 'And, my dear little girl, I will tell you why.'
He told her why. Not the whole truth, yet a near version of it. He marshaled all the arguments, using cold logic, though wooing her the while with his irresistible voice. He talked for nearly two hours until she was beaten and helpless beneath his tenderness and implacable purpose.
'I don't love him,' she wailed.
'That's childish, Theo. Love between husband and wife is born of mutual interest, companionship, and children. If you mean that you feel no passion for him, then I say that it is a very good thing. Passion is fleeting, a trick of nature. Nothing more.'
'I don't want to leave you. I never thought—thought you would let me go away.'
The pain in her cry struck an answering chord in him, too, though he went on inflexibly: 'We shall not be much separated, no more than we have often been in the past. You will come here to me, and I shall visit you. You know, don't you/ that you are my chief, my dearest concern, always?'
She tried to smile. 'I thought so, yes.'
'You know so, surely. Do you remember the letter I wrote you last winter from Albany, in which I told you that the happiness of my life depended on you; for what else or whom else do I live?'
She hid her face on his shoulder.
'And are you not convinced that I know what is best for you?'
Yes. She could never doubt that. As it had always been throughout her life, a momentary rebellion gave way to the seductive joy of submission to his will.
'Oh, Papa, I know that you are the best and wisest of men. I'll do as you think right, of course, but——'
He smiled down at her. 'But me no buts, Miss Prissy. Go instead and convert your eager swain into the happiest man in the states. I see him lurking disconsolately behind the hazel bush near the dairy.'
After her first reaction to the shock, Theodosia found it not disagreeable to be engaged. No date was set for the marriage, so that could be relegated to a hazy future, and, except that she now called Mr. Alston 'Joseph' on occasion and must submit to a respectful kiss on cheek or hand, matters seemed very much as they had been.
Guided by Aaron and his own disposition, Joseph kept his love-making to the minimum, for he knew no middle ground. There was passion, and there was the restrained affection with which one treated one's affianced wife. Moreover, any such regrettable loss of control as that which had overpowered him on her birthday must never be repeated. After marriage, of course, the situation would automatically change. Some combination of the two states of feeling would then
appear, and he looked forward to this eagerly. However, he was a languid young man and suffering just now from a mild attack of the fever which periodically afflicted all tidewater Carolinians, and most of his energies were engaged by Aaron.
Joseph and Aaron were closeted in the library every day until dinner-time. The latter spared no pains in grooming his prospective son-in-law for his new political rôle. He initiated him into the intricacies of preferment, persuasion, and promises; he taught him one of his private ciphers and dazzled him with an atmosphere of high drama. He also borrowed money from him, but in such a charming and complimentary way that Joseph felt himself privileged to be allowed to contribute. In other ways Aaron found Joseph more useful than he had dared hope. The young man showed an unexpected talent for letter-writing. He was as verbose and expansive on paper as he was inarticulate of speech.
Aaron, whose own style was always brief and pithy, tactfully pruned many of the classical allusions and involved flights of rhetoric, but he kept Joseph writing letters to the South. Letters to influential families extolling Colonel Burr's aptitudes. These would bear fruit in the elections.
Theodosia, during those hours in the library, was left to her own devices except for the tasks which she must perform. Aaron expected summaries of every book she read, so many lines of Terence daily, a page of Corneille to be translated into 'graceful English.'
'Better to lose your head than your habits of study,' he told her, and found time himself to supervise her work.
After the three-o'clock dinner came the time for gaiety, and there were many pleasures. Turtle feasts on the rocks by Turtle Bay in the East River, with the succulent green meat roasted in seaweed fires. Long excursions on horseback to the Marriner's Tavern north of Harlem, a beautiful old house which had sheltered Washington, but was now in eclipse, not yet bought and rejuvenated by Stephen Jumel and his lovely and disreputable wife, Eliza. There were private parties, soirées, routs, and balls, and there were theatrical performances played by a secondary company until the regular season should start.
The new Park Theater was to reopen that year on September fifth after the summer recess. It was to be a gala night, and all that part of New York society which did not think play-acting immoral would be there. Aaron had reserved a good center box for twelve shillings, and invited the Comte de Joliette to squire Natalie and complete their little party. The box would not be comfortable with more than five occupants.
It was a delicious afternoon, warm and yet with a sparkle in the air which hinted of approaching autumn. They dined early so as not to be hurried in driving to the town. The curtains would rise at seven.
Theodosia had dressed in bird-of-paradise yellow, a color which accentuated the auburn in her hair, upon which perched a distracting little evening hat of straw and willow-green satin. She wore a set of seed pearls; ring, necklace, brooch, and even buckles on the green kid slippers were all fashioned of seed pearls shaped like tiny cornucopias. She had inherited these jewels from her mother, and their subdued luster became her better than Aaron's flashing diamonds. This she would not admit, however, and would have worn the gaudier ornament except that she did not wish to attract attention from the rowdy clement in the gallery and pit.
Natalie, neatly fashionable in a brocaded gown of the new color called cachou-nut brown, followed Theo into the Italian chaise. The three men settled themselves on the seat opposite to the girls.
Aaron, who was as fond of fine materials as a woman, wore his best suit, a gray silk woven at Lyons, and brightened by an embroidered waistcoat. He had directed Joseph to New York's best tailor, so that the planter seemed better groomed and less bulky than usual. Aaron and Joseph were simply dressed as became Republicans, with no frills except the ruffled jabots beneath their chins, but the Count had remained true to powdered hair, frothing lace, and the splendor of paste buttons and shoe buckles.
The coachman slammed the painted doors and they set off at six. Theo hated to be shut in, and would have preferred to gallop to town on Minerva. Yet when they came to the Lispenard Meadows and clouds of mosquitoes rose from the marshy pools, she was glad enough for the protection of the coach.
'These marshes are unhealthy,' said Joseph, languidly slapping at his leg. 'We have the same trouble at home. Swamplands produce tainted air. You had a plague of fever here last year, did you not?'
Aaron nodded. 'We did. People turned yellow as Theo's dress, and died in droves. Still, we arc safe at Richmond Hill; the air is pure there. I hope, by the by, that you will not keep Theo shut up on the plantation during the fever months until her constitution becomes accustomed to your Southern miasmas.'
Theo, who had not been attending, looked up quickly and her heart jumped. Was it possible that she was really to go so far away to that barbarous land? How could her father speak of it so casually?
'Certainly not,' said Joseph impatiently. 'We never stay on the plantations in the summer. We go to Debidue across the Waccamaw, to Sullivan's, or sometimes up the Santee.'
'O là là!' cried Natalie, laughing. 'What fonny names! Theo will have to learn a new language.'
Joseph was affronted. 'I fail to see anything amusing in those names. Debidue is French, besides. DEBORDIEU'. He spelled it sulkily.
'Tiens,' said the Count, flicking his ruffles and permitting himself an amused smile at Natalie. 'Eet ees French, most certainly.'
'Our place-names up here are equally startling to unaccustomed ears,' put in Aaron quickly, seeing that Joseph continued to scowl, resenting both the criticism of anything pertaining to South Carolina and of his French pronunciation.
Theo leaned back against the velvet cushions and thought, How silly this is! What difference does it make what the places are called, these places a thousand miles away from Richmond Hill? O Father, I can't go. You know I can't. Unhappiness clutched her.
Aaron saw her face and understood instantly. He leaned forward and murmured so that the others could not hear above the rattle of the coach: 'In the summer you will not be at any of those places, but up here with me.'
She gave him a grateful smile.
The chaise entered the city limits on Duane Street, bumping over cobblestones until they crossed Broadway and reached the park in front of the Court House, already called by some ambitious citizens the City Hall.
The theater faced the little expanse of grass and trees on Chatham Street, and there was a tangle of private carriages before its doors; a jostling crowd of servants and loiterers came to gape at the gentlefolk, some beggars, orange vendors hawking their wares, and a long straggling queue waiting to buy the cheaper tickets.
The Burr party went directly upstairs to the curtained-off boxes. These contained hard wooden benches, none too clean, even as did the pit below them.
Theo leaned forward against the wooden rail and examined the scene. The huge crimson plush curtains hung motionless across the dark stage. It was early, but the musicians were beginning to arrive. As each one clambered on his stool, he lit the candle by his music rack, thus adding yet more smoke to an atmosphere that would be dense as a fog in the Lower Bay before the performance ended. Smoke from the candles mingled with smoke from rank cigars which rose from the pit despite the management's interdiction.
A large candelabra hung from the ceiling, illumining its gilded floral design, and making a tempting target for the young ruffians in the topmost gallery, who had come plentifully supplied with rotting vegetables with which to pelt the actors should they prove disappointing.
The gentry sat in one of three rows of boxes, protected from any malodorous missiles. Each box contained a single candle in a glass shade. These were not extinguished during the performance, so that those who were more interested in watching the audience than the actors found it easy to do so.
'There come the Hamiltons,' cried Theo, waving across the theater to a stage box; 'next to the Schuylers.'
The three men in the Burr party rose, bowed ceremoniously. Alexander Hamilton hesitated a perceptible inst
ant, returned the bow in a markedly curt manner, and seated himself at once without a smile.
Joseph's perceptions had sharpened lately. He turned in surprise to his host. 'General Hamilton seems less than cordial, do you not think?'
Aaron shrugged, though his lips tightened. 'He mislikes my politics, though one would expect a bit more suavity in a social gathering. Still, after all, despite his pretensions and his grand marriage, he's naught but the bastard brat of a Scotch peddler. One must make allowances.'
Joseph looked startled at this bald mention of a fact, known to everyone, but never referred to, and Theo cried nervously: 'Father, hush! You speak too strongly,' astonished that Aaron had been betrayed into a speech so unlike him.
Aaron laughed. 'You're right, my dear. I accept the rebuke. One should never be vexed by trifles. The musicians have finally pulled themselves together into a semblance of a tune. I trust this means the play will soon start.'
The box beside them had been empty; now the door opened and a party of officers came in with a clattering of sabers and stamping of feet, jesting and swearing good-naturedly as they scuffled for the front bench. There were six or seven of them, Theo observed casually, hoping that they would quiet down in time for her to hear the first lines, for three loud knocks signaled the curtains' rise.
The first offering was The Grecian Daughter, with Mrs. Charlotte Mclmoth in the title rôle. Her charms were a thought mature for the part, but she was popular with the pit, who interrupted her frequently with bawdy compliments and huzzahs until the climax when the Grecian Daughter strikes to earth the tyrant who is about to kill her father; then the whole house paid the acting the tribute of silence, and a few feminine sobs were heard from the upper boxes.
Theo had seen this affecting tragedy before, and better done : in reality she agreed with Aaron's dry comment, 'That is an amazingly silly and old-fashioned piece'. Not for worlds would she have had anyone guess that each time she saw it she identified herself with the Grecian Daughter; that her throat elosed and she suffered terror while the distracted heroine fought to save her father's life, and that she felt vibrating in her own breast Mrs. Melmoth's cry of revenge as she stabbed the tyrant.
