Alex immediately dashed off a short note—“It would be my pleasure to be a guest at your table”—and spent the rest of the day contemplating the significance of Mrs. Cochran’s missive. Eliza’s aunt had attempted to play matchmaker before and could simply be doing so again. But there was something leading in her use of the words her own young man. Had Eliza spoken to her aunt? Had she told her that there was something between them? If so, this was the best news he had had all winter. Certainly their time together so far had been encouraging, but he didn’t want to assume too much. But he didn’t want to play it too cool either, lest she think he was careless of her feelings.
Fortunately General Washington was away and the workload was relatively light: the usual appeals to wealthy American businessmen and plantation owners asking for money or munitions or wool or food; the various summaries of troop movements and intelligence; the flood of letters of condolence for soldiers who had succumbed to their wounds or illness. There were only three today, a blessing.
By five, he was out of the office and back to his quarters, where he bade the manservant he shared with four other officers to press and brush his uniform into crisp neatness and polish his boots. There wasn’t time to heat a proper bath, so he stripped down to his tunic and hose and washed his armpits and nethers with frigid water from the basin, then splashed himself with rosewater and dressed in his freshened uniform. He would have liked to have brought flowers but it was the middle of the winter in northern New Jersey: Flowers were but a distant memory. But as he headed out he spied a small bowl of oranges on a side table. They glowed like little suns in the dim room, and he couldn’t imagine how they’d survived from whatever tropical clime they’d originated in. He shared this house with seven other officers and he knew the oranges were intended for all of them, but he knew that fresh fruit in February would be more welcome than three dozen red roses. He grabbed a sack and tipped the oranges into it and quickly headed out into the evening.
Lights were blazing in the main parlor of the Cochrans’ appropriated house, and multiple shadows could be seen moving around beyond the heavy curtains, drawn against the cold. Alex rang the bell and Ulysses let him in. He took Alex’s coat and hat in the hall, and showed him into the parlor.
The room radiated with heat. The three Schuyler sisters were present, Angelica and Eliza seated on a sofa and Peggy on a chair nearby, while Stephen Van Rensselaer and a short, portly man in his early thirties occupied a pair of cane chairs on the other side of the room. Van Rensselaer was out of earshot, yet the drone of his voice could be discerned from the expression on his face. Church stared at him blankly, clutching a goblet as though it were the only thing that kept him from bolting from the room.
Alex tried to catch Eliza’s eye, but Aunt Gertrude rose from the same wing-backed chair Eliza had occupied days before and interposed herself between him and his object.
“Colonel Hamilton! It is so good of you to grace us with your presence on such short notice, and so soon after your last visit.” She glanced at the sack in his hand. “And you brought your laundry!”
Alex laughed at her joke. “Actually,” he said, opening the top of the sack. “They’re—”
“Oranges!” Aunt Gertrude almost shrieked. “Oh, what a blessed sight. We ate the last soft apples from the cellar just after Candlemas and haven’t seen a rind of fruit since. Oh, I feel healthier just looking at these. Eight of them! My stars, these must have cost as much as a good mule!” She leaned in close, and as she did, Alex got a good whiff of perry on her breath: Aunt Gertrude, it seemed, was tipsy. “Dr. Cochran is away until Monday. I’ll split his with you, and it’ll be our little secret.”
“It’s a deal,” Alex said. He handed the sack over and turned toward Eliza, only to have Mrs. Cochran grab him with her free hand and turn him toward Van Rensselaer and Church.
“We’re too small a party to segregate into separate parlors,” she said as she led him to the pair of men, “and wood is so dear to heat a second room as well, so just pretend that you gentlemen are in your own chamber and we ladies are in ours. Mr. Van Rensselaer, I believe you know Colonel Hamilton. Colonel Hamilton, this is Mr. John Barker Church, an Englishman, I’m afraid,” she added mischievously, “but one who aids our side at no inconsiderable risk to his own person. Dinner should be ready in a half hour or so,” she said, retreating to the far side of the parlor.
Alex shook the men’s hands and took a seat on his own cane chair. The chair had its back to the women and he didn’t want to appear rude by turning it, so he sat at somewhat of an angle so he could at least glance at Eliza out of the corner of his eye. At least her sofa faced his side of the room, and he could make occasional, if brief, eye contact.
“Colonel Hamilton,” John Church said now. “You honor us with your presence. It is well that we should have at least one soldier among us.”
“I’ll join up next year as soon as I’m seventeen. I wanted to join this year,” said Stephen, “but Papa wouldn’t let me.”
“I’m sure you’ll make a fine soldier,” Alex agreed. “And it’s not too late for you to join our side, Mr. Church.”
John Church sat up straighter in his chair. “I think you will agree that I have done much for the Americans, Colonel Hamilton. One out of every four bullets fired by an American rifle was procured through me. Yet I remain an Englishman and will not commit treason against my country.”
“But the bullets we fire are against British soldiers,” Alex replied. “Does that not distress you?”
“Of course it does,” Church replied. “As it should distress you, and all people with an open heart. To see so many of my fellow countrymen cut down in defense of an unjust policy grieves me, yet neither will my conscience allow me to support continued colonial domination. War is a degrading business all around. Thank God, it’s profitable or it would have no use whatsoever.”
Alex chuckled along with Church and Stephen, though he was not sure if he should be offended. Angelica’s beau was either a shrewd man or a buffoon, he wasn’t sure which.
“I make light of a foul situation,” Church parried, “but I cannot wait for this war to be over, and to return to England. It is my hope that we can bring a bit of American-style democracy to our side of the pond.”
“And Angelica?” Alex responded. “Does she want to bring some American-style democracy to your side of the pond?”
“It is my fondest wish,” he said, glancing over Alex’s shoulder. Alex turned, but it was Eliza who caught his eye. For the first time that evening she was able to smile directly at him. Alex felt the sudden need to loosen the buttons of his waistcoat; his heart was full to bursting.
The door opened, Ulysses entered with Loewes, the young footman, and after conferring briefly with Mrs. Coch-ran, pulled a table out from a wall and set it in the center of the room. Louisa and a chambermaid appeared with china, plate, and linens and set it quickly, as the men stood and allowed their chairs to be pressed into service, while chairs were brought for the women’s side as well. Mrs. Cochran’s wing chair was pushed to the head of the table, and soon enough, everyone was seated in front of steaming bowls of stew.
To Alex’s dismay, though, he was seated directly across from Peggy, with Angelica in the middle and Eliza at the far end. Church was seated next to him, and Stephen across from Eliza.
“Colonel Hamilton,” Angelica said, almost before they had begun eating, “we have been seeing a great deal of you lately. Or should I say, my sister Eliza has been seeing a great deal of you.”
Alex felt his cheeks warm. “Not nearly as much as I would like,” he said quietly, and dipped his spoon into his stew.
“Is that so? Then are we to conclude that you have proper intentions toward our sister?”
Alex struggled to keep his spoon steady as he brought it to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed slowly, hoping that someone would speak, but the table remained silent
save for the occasional clink of metal and china.
“I would not like to characterize my feelings toward Miss Schuyler in public, if that is all right with you?”
“Dear me, Eliza,” Angelica continued, turning to her sister, “I hope he has more gumption on the battlefield than he does with females, or the war is doomed.”
Eliza didn’t meet her sister’s eye or Alex’s.
“Like I said, I hope Colonel Hamilton has more gumption on the battlefield than in courtship if he is hesitant to publicly announce his affection. Why, I told Mr. Church he was too old and too short for me the first time we met, and he still told everyone that he was going to marry me!”
“I believe you said I was too fat, too,” Church said, laughing and rubbing his belly.”I have grown very fond of your softnesses,” Angelica said coyly, “though take care that they remain firm softnesses, as it were, and do not begin to sag. I should not like it if I were seen on the arm of a man who . . . drooped.”
“Oh, Angelica, you are too saucy!” Aunt Gertrude said, though it was unclear whether she was amused or outraged. “You would not speak so if Dr. Cochran were here.”
“What did she say that was so saucy?” Stephen asked. “She just said she didn’t want a man who—” He clapped a hand over his mouth, less than quick on the uptake in social settings.
“I don’t know,” Alex said now. “I don’t think a man should presume too much. A proposal isn’t a battlefield charge, after all. It’s much more a game of diplomacy.”
Eliza smiled at him when he said this, but Alex’s gaze was caught by Angelica’s. She had the strangest look on her face. Of determination, mixed with chagrin. It was as if she were determined to put him on the spot, yet she also felt guilty about it.
She is under some external pressure, Alex said to himself. I can only hope she manages to resist it a little more effectively than she has been.
Alas, after another moment of hesitancy, Angelica drew a deep breath, as if preparing a second salvo.
“The more significant absence tonight is that of our parents, who, though they have some knowledge of Colonel Hamilton—you remember he tried to have Papa thrown in jail last year—do not know nearly enough about him to judge whether he is a suitable candidate for one of their daughters.”
“Angelica, please,” Eliza said now. “You are being too bold.”
Another pause on Angelica’s part, another flash of pain on the tightly drawn features of her face. “Sometimes boldness is necessary,” Angelica said. “You have never had any sense when it comes to men, and if someone else doesn’t look out for you, you will end up penniless and cooking your own food.”
It is the parents, Alex said to himself. It must be.
“I assure you that I would cook for Miss Schuyler, if it came to that,” he said, attempting levity.
“I have no doubt you would,” Angelica said, “by which I mean that I have no doubt that you probably do know how to cook, as you were raised without benefit of servants or, if I understand correctly, without benefit of family.”
Alex’s eyes widened. He did not know that he had ever been spoken to so bluntly in his life—or at least since he had arrived in the north—and certainly not by a lady.
“My father . . . traveled,” he said, choosing a word that was not, at the most literal level, a lie, “and my mother was taken home when I was quite young. I was raised by friends of the family. My family were but recent immigrants to the West Indies, and alone there, and it was impractical to send me back to Scotland.”
“Well, one certainly can’t fault your resourcefulness,” Angelica admitted. “You have certainly made a name for yourself, and done great service to your country, despite the fact that you come from, well, nothing.”
Alex startled and coughed. “I must say, Miss Schuyler, I have never had a compliment feel quite so much like a knife in the bowels.”
Angelica colored beneath her powder. “Oh, damn it all!”
Peggy tittered. Eliza gasped. Aunt Gertrude reached for glass and downed it in a single quaff.
“Good God, Miss Schuyler!” Stephen said, the urgency of his words undone by a squeak in his voice. “Have you quite lost your senses?”
Angelica put her left hand on Eliza’s right and squeezed visibly, but her eyes were trained on Alex.
“You must know, Colonel Hamilton, how inordinately fond we all are of you. Even my father, whom you tried to imprison, has nothing but praise for the alacrity with which you performed your duties. But I am honor bound to remind you that the Schuylers are one of the oldest families in New York, with connections to the Van Rensselaers, the Van Cortlandts, and the Livingstons on our mother’s and father’s sides. Your own people do not have the same depth as do ours, neither of blood, nor, more pointedly, of pocket. To see my sister wedded to a man whom she loves and admires would give me nothing but joy, but you can’t possibly expect to claim her with a bag of oranges, can you?”
Alex glanced at Eliza to see how she reacted to her sister’s words. She was clearly aghast, and Alex took this as a sign that Angelica’s words, if ostensibly on Eliza’s behalf, were not also at her behest. Peggy and Stephen looked embarrassed, whereas Aunt Gertrude’s eyes, when they met his, were positively heartbroken. But the most unhappy person at the table (save perhaps him) was clearly Angelica, and Alex was once again convinced that she spoke on behalf of someone else. It could only be General and Mrs. Schuyler.
“Miss Schuyler,” he said then, turning back to the eldest sister, “at the risk of public hubris, may I remind you that I am the chief aide-de-camp to His Excellency, General George Washington, the commander in chief of the Continental army. On his behalf and on behalf our country, I have corresponded with the representatives of no fewer than four kings, thirteen princes, twenty-one dukes, forty-seven earls, and more marquesses and counts and knights-errant than you could fit on the island of Manhattan. Further, in my defense, my name—my name, I tell you, and not my father’s or my grandfather’s or some other moldering ancestor—my own name is known to every American of any distinction whatsoever, from Ambassador Franklin to Thomas Jefferson and James Madison to John Adams, and John Hancock to John Jay. Why, even Patrick Henry and Robert Morris know me by name, and it is by their high standards, and not by a list of names in a kirkyard, that I judge myself, and expect others to judge me.”
Angelica listened to Alex rattle off his list with a growing smile on her face.
That put her in her place, he thought. But he had underestimated the eldest Schuyler sister.
“That’s quite an impressive roster of names, sir,” she said when he had finished. “It sounds like my mother’s Christmas card list.”
It took Alex a moment to realize she was toying with him—Christmas cards?—but it was not until Peggy tittered and Eliza covered her eyes with her hands that he realized her joke had undone all the work of his list of accomplishments and contacts. The reaction from the others came gradually with Church spitting out an uneasy chuckle while Stephen searched everyone’s facial expressions for clues as to how to respond. When Aunt Gertrude joined in with an almost masculine guffaw, Alex realized Angelica’s trick had hit its mark again.
But someone came to his rescue. “Oh, come now, Angelica, you know Mama has only ever corresponded with two kings, and one of those was an exile from some Italian isle that is hardly larger than the Pastures,” said Eliza, setting the joke squarely back on her sister.
Alex smiled, relieved, and the merriment gradually ran its course and the rest of the evening passed in a noisy swirl of cigars and hard cider. He made the effort to be the bon vivant but Angelica had unintentionally struck his Achilles’ heel. It was true; he belonged to no one.
IT WAS NEARING midnight when Alex headed toward the coat closet, steeling himself for the cold outside air. Angelica rounded the corner like a nighthawk and caught his arm, fixing him with
a smile that was both challenging and a little sad.
“In truth, Colonel Hamilton,” she said, “you haven’t got a penny to your name, do you? A pity, for it appears you are quite taken with my sister, and it bereaves me to say that the feeling is mutual. Alas.”
And for the second time in his life Alex found himself struck speechless by a Schuyler girl.
24
Mother’s News
Eliza’s Bedroom
Morristown, New Jersey
February 1780
With Aunt Gertrude tucked away all cozy in bed, Eliza pulled both sisters into her second-floor room. She shook her head and punched a pillow, bouncing on the bed. “Angelica Schuyler!” Eliza began. “What were you thinking?”
Angelica sighed and didn’t say anything for a long moment, then pulled a letter from her purse and handed it to her sister in silence.
“You need to hear this, too,” she said to Peggy. “It concerns all of us.”
It was chilly in the room, and Peggy joined Eliza beneath blankets that had been warmed by a brazier. Angelica slipped behind a screen and began changing into her nightclothes as Eliza read their mother’s letter aloud:
“My dear Angelica,
“I write to you as the eldest of my daughters, not because I think that the information I am going to share with you is the sort of thing that a girl of your age should concern herself with, but because there are times when a girl of any age must concern herself with things that seem masculine, or foreign, or otherwise unpleasant. I speak frankly when I say that you are not as intelligent or educated as your sister Elizabeth, but you possess a capacity for captaincy that she, who is independent rather than a true leader, does not. I therefore confide this information to you with the trust that you will see that it is put to its proper use.
Alex and Eliza--A Love Story Page 17
