Sharing Hamilton

by Diana Rubino

  I clutched my collar. “You mean—pay someone to follow Alex around and report back to me?”

  He held his palms upward and raised his brows in a “what choice do you have?” gesture.

  “It seems a sneaky underhanded tactic,” I countered.

  “Eliza, I can see your fear of danger is eating away at you. You believe his political life may be on the brink of ruin.”

  I listened, thinking. “Yes, and knowing James Reynolds is a staunch loyalist only adds to my trepidation. Oh, dear.” I sighed. “I believe Maria is merely the conduit James used to reach Alex. She's an innocent party in all this. Alex would never give her a second glance.” I sat back and nodded. “Mayhap you are right. This involves high stakes. Someone is out to destroy Alex, and it is not Maria Reynolds. She is hardly a seductress.”

  “There must be someone in Philadelphia whom you can hire.” He encouraged me further by topping off my brandy snifter. I much preferred cider. But I drank some more.

  A thought hit me like a flash of light. “Robert, I do know someone locally. Her name is Ann Bates. She was a loyalist spy for the British forces, and a very successful one at that. She later taught school in Philadelphia. I even know where she lives—not far from us.”

  Robert's eyes lit up. “I know Annie. She was in Henry Clinton's espionage during the war and infiltrated General Washington's camp many a time. She was quite successful at her craft. A clever lady indeed. Oh, Annie, what mettle she had.” He chuckled. “I have some fond memories of that old gal. Right you are, Eliza, no one will find out what you want to know faster than Annie.”

  I nodded my agreement, knowing what I must do. “Lord help me, I do not want to hire a former spy—a loyalist spy for the British, no less—to follow my husband around.” I took another sip, without a grimace this time. “Politics might be a big game to Alex, his friends and his enemies. But he doesn't realize how a scandal could ruin his reputation forever.”

  Robert nodded in agreement. “Whether it be true or not, you need to know. His name, his marriage, and your sanity depend upon it.”

  I decided at that moment to call on “Annie.”

  Maria

  “You love me, Alex? You truly love me? Are you sure?” My breath caught in my throat. My heart danced. His admission rendered me breathless. I melted into a puddle in his lap.

  “Maria, I've been awaiting you all my life.” He stroked my cheek. “You're everything I've wanted in a woman—allure, intelligence, talent, fun—I've never met a woman who was all those things wrapped in one beautiful package.”

  I gazed into his eyes, knowing our souls had entwined before this, ages before.

  “I wanted you so badly from the moment we first met, at Aaron's soirée,” I divulged the risky admission. “Though I knew you were already taken, and your course already laid out for you, I craved your attention, not to simply revere you from afar. I wanted to know you personally, even if only to spend one visit together. Just to be close to you. But I knew it was a fantasy. I was distraught when you left New York to live here. Then, when James made us move here, I knew our paths were destined to meet. It could not have happened any other way.”

  “Then your initial letter to me had subtext I missed?” His lips curved with mirth.

  “Oh, no, not at all,” I murmured between kisses on his face, his ears, his lips. “We—I was destitute. James had—” About to blurt it out, I stopped myself. I couldn't bring myself to admit I'd lied to him; I'd been a pawn in James's plot. “All I wanted was to meet you, to be alone with you, for a few stolen moments. That was all I deserved. After all, you are—who you are! I'm—no one.”

  “Ah, you're far from no one. A pity James doesn't realize that. But I do. I will come clean with you, Maria. I love my wife, but I am not in love with her. As I am with you.”

  He ran a fingertip over my lips and I tingled all over. I wanted to climb to the roof and sing to the entire world, “The great Alexander Hamilton, my new love, is in love with me!” How could I ever keep this a secret? The best part of being in love was sharing it with others. Oh, how I wanted to tell someone! But who could I trust?

  “I am all talked out. Come upstairs.” His voice caressed my ears. “Take this candle, for my hands will be busy.”

  I slid off his lap and grabbed the candle in its holder. He swept me into his arms and up the staircase to a small bedroom. It held one canopy bed with carved bedposts. He set me on my feet. We stood facing each other, our eyes locked. The hunger of a wild wanton gnawing at me, I stripped him naked. I stood back and observed his lean but muscular figure. Shadows from the lone candle played on his hair, his exquisite features. I studied the contours of his cheekbones, the wisdom in his eyes, the curly mat on his chest, his flat stomach, his strong legs.

  Our lovemaking seemed different this time, more intense, after admitting our love for each other. It didn't matter to whom we'd promised ourselves at the altar of marriage. Alex and I belonged together. We'd spoken vows that meant more to me than the lines I'd parroted after the minister when I wedded James.

  As I'd hoped, he asked me to stay the night. I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and wake in his arms. I began wishing Mrs. Hamilton would never come home, and we could stay like this forever. But that couldn't happen. We had to keep hiding.

  Tonight I got a sample of it when a knock came on the door. Leaving me cold in the bed, he warned me, “Do not come downstairs.” He pulled on his dressing gown and went down to admit his visitor. I crept to the top of the stairs and peeked through the railings in the dark. He lit a candle in the foyer and opened the door. Voices ascended to my ears as I peered down to look.

  God's truth, if it wasn't James and Dolley Madison! More people followed, talking and laughing as they crowded round Alex in the foyer. A violinist and a flutist entered, and I nearly fell over when I saw who the violinist was—Mrs. Platz, my instructor! I gasped and choked, trying to suppress the coughing, but I couldn't stop. Mrs. Platz glanced up the stairs. For an instant our eyes met. She turned and rejoined the crowd. I crouched behind the banisters, frozen with shame.

  Now with Alex hosting a party, I had to stay up here, hidden. In the cold. In the dark. How I wished to be part of that laughing group! This was how it had to be—with Alex always on stage and me always backstage—hiding.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maria

  “She is beauty in distress.” Alexander Hamilton on Maria Reynolds, in his first draft of The Reynolds Pamphlet

  Teusd'y eve, Feb'y the 7th, eleven of clock.

  I fulfilled my dream this morn—I woke up in his arms. We made love again, but it was urgent and brief. “I have an early appointment, so this has to be a rush tumble.” He kept one eye on the clock. It was over before I noticed the movement of either the clock's hands or his hands.

  As he hustled into his britches, I voiced my wishes for later that day. “Alex, I want to be here when you return, to share supper. I long to be your Mrs., even for one day.”

  He grabbed his shirt, shaking his head. “Nay, you must return home. Your being seen here will spell trouble—at the very least.” He ran his hand over his growth of whiskers. “I need a shave. Be dressed within the quarter hour and I'll have a carriage waiting for you outside.”

  My heart heavy with dejection, I slid off the bed and plucked up my wrinkled clothing, hardly fit to wear in public. I had to admit he was right. We could not take any more risks. Mrs. Platz already saw me crouched at the top of the stairs.

  He sent me home in an old carriage, obviously a spare. Mrs. Hamilton must have taken the fancy one to New York. When I arrived home, James looked up from his pen and parchment. “How went last eve?”

  “Fine.” I cared not to elaborate, and he didn't ask. He didn't even ask if Alex had given me money. “By the amount of whisky you've already consumed, I can see you have more on your mind.” I headed upstairs to change my clothes.

  He stopped me. “My cousin Simeon will be here shortly. Maggs is pr
eparing roasted capon and boiled potatoes. You may join us if you wish, but we're meeting with Jacob again, and will be in talks the rest of the day.” His way of saying, “I prefer you vacate the premises. We care not to discuss business with a lady present.”

  Cousin Simeon was a younger, and in honesty, less comely version of James. But any time these two lads bounced their wit and humor off each other, with imitations of everyone from John Adams to Elizabeth Monroe, they had me in stitches.

  “Why Simeon?” I asked idly. “I'm not interested in your scheme, just that capon.”

  “As you know…” He placed the pen in its holder and leant back in his chair. “Last year, Jacob and I bought up claims to back pay of Continental Army veterans. The new government hadn't honored the claims. Because of their dubious value, we got them at a price far lower than the vets were actually entitled to.”

  I sat across from him. “Yes, I already know about this.”

  “Sim supplied us with Treasury Department lists,” he explained. “He shouldna have, but he was privy to the lists and, desperate for extra income, he took advantage of his position.”

  As a treasury clerk and another gambler on speculation and dice, Simeon was prone to losing money.

  I nodded. “I know all this. They brought you up on charges, and later dropped them.”

  He sported a smug grin at the mention of the dropped charges. “Now it appears they want to use that minor infraction to press more serious charges against us for something else.” He lowered his eyes and continued, “and this time I doubt they'll be dropped.” He rubbed his forehead.

  “What something else?” I tensed. “Will one of your schemes land you behind bars?”

  He looked back up at me. “Jacob and I have an acquaintance, John Delabar. One eve over a few pints, we persuaded him to perjure himself, so that we could pose as executors of the estate of a Massachusetts soldier, Ephraim Goodenough, with outstanding claims against the Federal government.”

  “How did you know about this Goodenough soldier?” I asked.

  “Sim told us about him.”

  “How does the law know you did this?” I prodded.

  He leant forward and clasped his hands twist his knees. “Unfortunately, instead of being dead, as was stated, Ephraim Goodenough is much alive, and decided to bring charges against us. Whilst at work the other day, cousin Sim heard that our generous benefactor Hamilton got wind of this. Hamilton ordered Oliver Wolcott, the Treasury Comptroller, to look into it, question Sim, and write up a report on it. Whether Hamilton's doing this because Sim's surname is Reynolds, and he wants to make life difficult for him and me, I know not. But we're gathering here to discuss a strategy to defend ourselves, because tis likely Hamilton, that sod,” he hissed, “will take this ball and run with it.”

  My limbs trembled. My tongue dried up. I licked my lips. “By God, why didn't he ever mention this to me?” Did Alex even know Simeon Reynolds existed? “James, I—I know not why Alex would want to make things difficult for you. He's been giving you money, he's been giving me—” I halted and blushed.

  “Aye, we know what he's bin givin' you.” He smirked, but got dead serious again. “I dinna know if Hamilton knows Sim and I are related, but he may be giving to us with one hand and taking with the other. Ah'm tending not to trust him. However, he could only be playing out his Mr. Righteous role, showing the treasury and President Washington and all his noble peers of the realm how upstanding he is, to clear his path for the kingship—I mean—presidency. All I know is that we need defend ourselves.”

  “You committed fraud, James. A serious Federal offense,” I chided, my tongue so dry I could hardly speak. I didn't dare pause this discussion to fetch a drink.

  His gaze now secured to his empty glass, James said, “That's why ah'm hoping you can put in a good word for me to Hamilton. Git him in a weak position, if y'know what I mean. First mention cousin Sim, and how innocent he is of any wrongdoing. Then tell him that Jacob and I meant no harm, it was an error in judgment, and ah'll gladly pay the money back—with interest. Obviously, it's bin spent. But at heart, ah'm a patriot, and ah'll also gladly give back half of my earnings from the Commissary Department.”

  He blinked when he saw my mouth fall open. “To make amends, Maria. Out of patriotism and concern for our fellow veterans. I shall make this sacrifice. So help me God.” He raised his right hand and gave a solemn nod, as if he'd just taken the oath of office. All he needed was a Bible to swear on.

  At that gesture I couldn't keep a straight face. “I'll wager Alex will burst into gales of laughter, weak moment or not. James, you're so full of dung, your eyes are brown. You're hardly a patriot, as everyone knows, and you're no veteran. You didn't even lift a musket. I know that Alex respects your father, but Pa and son handing out hard tack and coffee beans in the Commissary Department hardly qualifies as serving in the military. He'll laugh me right out of his b—his house.”

  James looked me square in the eye. “I ask you one favor. You willna oblige me. Immense. But dinna come crying to me when he ditches you and takes up with some other doxy. You want to keep his interest in more ways than the obvious, this is one way to do it. Tell him you want to help, too, by knitting blankets for soldiers, or volunteering to care for them in the next war.” He refilled his glass. “Show him you care about the vets, too. Ask him to raise their pay. Ask him to wield his power to help the vets, instead of wasting his efforts persecuting Sim and Jacob and me. We're innocent citizens who now want to make amends for what I admit was a mistake. I truly believed he had better things to do with his time. Is he not busy enough creating a bank and running the country's coffers? He has spare time to bust my culls?”

  “All right, James, somewhere buried beneath all your piles of manure is the truth. It needs be believable,” I warned him. “I shall prepare something to say to him. But you'll have to trust me. I shall not memorize and parrot one of your contrived scripts.” I would use any excuse to see Alex. “But if he is intent on prosecuting you, Jacob, and possibly Sim, I want to know why he didn't tell me before.” After all we'd shared last night, especially our declarations of love, my heart ached over Alex's keeping this from me. I planned to tell him so when we next met.

  Cousin Sim arrived, eyes wide in surprise at seeing me.

  “It's safe to discuss our strategy in Maria's presence,” James assured him. “She already knows all about it.” Then he blabbered, “She's even going to speak to Hamilton on our behalf.”

  Sim gaped at me as if I'd sprouted two more heads. “You—you're on speaking terms with Secretary Hamilton?” He said the name with reverence, as in a prayer.

  He needn't know we were on loving terms. “Yes, we've exchanged a few pleasantries and—favors, here and there. I may be able to use my influence to get him to reconsider pursuing this case against you.”

  But before I had a chance to return to Alex's house, and even before the capon was cooked, two burly men delivered a summons. Oliver Wolcott, Comptroller of the Treasury, swore out two warrants for the arrest of James and Jacob, for fraud and subornation of a witness—a serious crime against the Federal government.

  “I promise I'll get you out.” I grasped my husband's hand as the clerks hauled him off to jail. He did not resist. Sim trembled and burst into tears. I comforted him with whisky and began rehearsing my speech to Alex tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eliza

  Albany, Wednsday eve, February 15th, six of clock

  As my pen scratched across paper, pouring my heart out to Alex about how much I missed him, I wondered what he was doing. With the children gone, I knew he was lonely in our big house. The servants never provided companionship; they cooked the meals, lit the fires, cleaned up and vanished to their quarters. I hoped Alex was spending his eves engaging in stimulating activities. Anything but working. Work seemed to consume him lately, as he became more vital to the nation's growth.

  After urging him to find ways to amuse himself, I kisse
d the bottom of the paper, folded and sealed it, and left it on the hall table to be posted.

  I knew he thought of me, late at night, in bed.

  Maria

  “Please take me to Seventy-Nine South Third,” I told the coachman at six of clock, when I knew he'd be in residence. I dashed out of the carriage afore it halted. Candles glowed in Alex's dining room windows. I knocked, and a manservant admitted me.

  “Yes, Secretary Hamilton is expecting me,” I answered before he finished the question.

  Once more I was escorted into the sitting room. I stood, shivering, trembling, waiting.

  Alex entered the room in a blue velvet jacket, lace at the throat and cuffs, and matching britches. I almost leapt into his arms.

  “Maria, I was just thinking of you! I meant to send you a note to return this eve but got frightfully bogged down with tasks.”

  “I couldn't stay away, Alex. I counted the minutes till we could be together again.” My heart dancing with happiness, I nearly forgot about James sitting in a cold cell. My lover's lips sought mine and I melted in his arms. A ringing dinner bell jolted me to my senses.

  “My evening meal awaits.” Alex broke the embrace. Obviously his appetite for food won out over his appetite for me.

  I clutched his arm as he headed out. “Alex, I must address a most grave matter. James is in jail. And I think you know why.”

  “He's committed an infamous crime, my dear. But innocent until proven guilty.” Vexation toughened his pitch. “Must we discuss this now?”

  “Yes, we must,” I returned, matching his tone.

  He strode towards the dining room. “Do you care to sup with me?” he asked more genially. “Have you dined yet?”

  “Yes. No—I'm not hungry.” I followed him, my empty stomach churning. “Maggie cooked capons, but I managed not a bite.”

  Two servants bustled in with serving dishes, set another place for me, and poured wine. “James wants to make amends—re-pay the soldier he'd wronged and re-pay the treasury half his war earnings,” I recited my speech and sat.