Sharing Hamilton

by Diana Rubino

  “Yes, I had to. I'd rather be accused of adultery than of public corruption. They didn't want to hear it all, but I made them sit and listen until the entire story was out. My name means too much to me.”

  “And they believed it?” My voice weakened.

  “They left me under the impression that their suspicions were removed. But I do not trust them. They're all Republicans. If they're intent on destroying me, this is the way to do it. And if Jefferson gets wind of it—” He heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples as if he had a pounding headache. “I had to protect my innocence of corruption by admitting to our affair. I can only hope they'll keep their word, and naught more will be said about it. When I revealed the details about us, they blushed like schoolgirls, so I'm hoping that as men of honor, they sealed up the documents and will show them to no one.”

  I winced, mortified. “Now those men know all the details of our lovemaking!” I paused and asked the dreaded question, “Are you going to tell Mrs. Hamilton?”

  He glared at me. “Of course not. Why upset her?”

  “Alex—” I pushed myself off the desk and clung to him as if drowning. “Don't be so naïve as to believe these Republicans will keep their words. When it does come out, Mrs. Hamilton will hear of it. So why not tell her now? Tell her all of the truth, that we're deeply in love. Tell her you want a divorce. Now is the time. Mayhap this is an omen that we belong together. I'm so in love with you, Alex, you are the love of my entire life,” I rambled on and on. I can't even remember taking a breath.

  “And I love you, Maria.” He groaned. “God help me, but I do love you.”

  I pleaded, “Will you divorce your wife?”

  He shook his head. “That is impossible at this time.”

  The torrent of tears I'd been holding back since we'd met downstairs flooded forth. “But I cannot live without you,” I sobbed. Through the blur I could see my tears staining his velvet jacket.

  He wrapt his arms round me and I pressed my desperate, wanting body to his.

  He breathed harder. “Come with me.” He led me up a narrow stairway to a garret that held a cot and a small table with a washstand.

  He lay me down on the cot and I opened my arms to welcome him.

  As he lay on top of me, I wound my arms round his neck. Our lips met. A soft moan escaped from deep within my throat as he stroked my cheek with feathery touches. I parted my lips and he followed my lead. Before another thought about divorce or scandal haunted me, he began removing my clothing. I lay back as he untied his britches and pulled them down to his knees. “This must be a rush tumble,” he breathed as he positioned himself between my legs.

  We mated in a frenzy of need and urgency. It was over in less than a minute. “Sorry, uh…” he stammered an apology. “Not quite that rushed.”

  “Tis all right, hold me, I want you to hold me like this.” My arms held him fast.

  He unwrapt my arms from around his neck. “I can't, Maria. I've mountains of work, and clients arriving within the hour.” He slid off me and pulled his britches back up. Without another word, he left me alone in the dark windowless garret. I lay there for another few moments, savoring his touch, our mingled wetness between my legs. I dressed and stole down the stairs to his closed office door. Muffled voices sounded from inside. At least he now knew Jacob and I weren't entangled.

  As I walked home, I asked myself if I truly wanted to divorce James. With Alex refusing to leave his wife, I had no reason to.

  Until that evening when James gave me a reason.

  “Congressmen Venable and Muhlenberg were struck with so much conviction…that they delicately urged me to discontinue as it unnecessary. I insisted upon going through the whole, and did so. The result was a full and unequivocal acknowledgment on the part of the three gentlemen of perfect satisfaction with the explanation, and expressions of regret at the trouble and embarrassment which had been occasioned to me. Mr. Monroe was more cold but entirely explicit.

  “One of the gentlemen, I think, expressed a hope that I also was satisfied with their conduct in conducting the inquiry. I answered that…I was satisfied…and considered myself as having been treated with candor or with fairness and liberality.” – Alexander Hamilton

  Chapter Thirty

  Eliza

  Fryday, March 3rd

  Whilst nursing John and rocking him to sleep, the post dropped through the slot. Ada, my parlour maid, brought it to me and asked if I wanted tea.

  “No, thank you, I shall wait for Mr. Hamilton. He promised to be home for the midday meal.”

  But before I had the chance to open and read it, a knock sounded on the front door, and a minute later, Ada showed Dr. Black into the room.

  “Doctor, this is a pleasant surprise.” I greeted him in a sprightly tone, pleased to see our friendly medical specialist. “It has been too long since you have called upon us.”

  He doffed his hat and gave a little bow. Such a gentleman! “Good day, Mrs. Hamilton…” He cleared his throat. “Elizabeth if I may?” he posed it as a question.

  “I believe Elizabeth more than appropriate considering the services you have provided me.” I smiled and he rewarded me with the same. Again, I became aware of that certain something that his smile lacked. As if by instinct, this time I knew the reason why.

  “You honor me, dear lady.” Dr. Black crossed the room, held the curtain aside and gazed out the window with a desolate sigh. “I thought it an opportune moment to call and see how mother and child are faring, as my house calls necessitated me being in the vicinity this morn.” His gaze still fixed on the outside world, he traced his fingers along the torso of our Goddess Aurora statue, a gift from my sister.

  I sensed the doctor was nursing a great sorrow, a sadness that had touched his heart and turned part of it an icy fortress. Could I help him? I hoped to try.

  “We are fine, Doctor, as you can see. A spot of tea, mayhap?”

  “No, thanks just the same, I'm full right now.” He approached the cradle and bent to look at baby John. As he reached out to touch his cheek, I noticed, for the first time, what appeared to be scarring on his right wrist, visible for a split second as his sleeve rode up.

  “Oh, my dear man, you have been hurt.” I couldn't let the moment slip away, as it could be my only way to discover the meaning behind his unsmiling eyes.

  He turned to face me. “Ah, you saw the scars. I do not talk of it often, but many years ago I was the victim of a great tragedy. After losing my dear father to a drowning accident, some time later both my mother and my sister were lost to me when our home was burnt to the ground one terrible night.” His voice cracked as he appeared to swipe away tears.

  My heart went out to him. I searched for fitting words of comfort. But what could I say to comfort him? I perceived he would reveal little more. “You poor man…or boy as you must have been at the time. You have all my sympathy.” A lame platitude, I know, hardly a comfort, when I really wanted to go over to him and wrap my arms about him, bring his head to rest on my breast and soothe him by rocking him back and forth.

  He nodded, saying nothing.

  “And the scars you bear?” I gestured at his wrist. “Were you also burned in the conflagration?”

  “I was.” He pulled his sleeve over his damaged wrist. “I was unable to save them and my clothes caught fire as I reached out unsuccessfully to my mother. I had no choice but to turn from the flames and try to save myself.”

  “And you have felt a weight of guilt, have you not, since surviving whilst they did not? Is this why you carry a burden within you, and please, do not deny it, for I have seen it in your eyes, my friend. You cannot hide such things from a woman, you know.”

  “You are correct, of course.” He approached me, and just as I thought he'd reach for my hand in an attempt at human contact, he turned away and gazed into John's cradle again, his eyes forlorn, his shoulders slumped. “Your intuition is quite accurate, but I would prevail upon you not to make this information public knowl
edge. It was a tragic and terrible time for me as I entered early manhood. It is not a matter I am comfortable discussing with anyone, even you. I only do so now in light of the facts you have cleverly discerned.”

  Unable to bear watching him relive this horrific memory, I placed my hand on his shoulder. “It shall be our secret, Doctor. You, after all, maintain my confidence as part of your oath as a medical man, and I shall do no less now that you have shared your grief with me. But, please try to understand that you were not to blame for their deaths, and must not be consumed with guilt in the matter.”

  He thanked me for my concern, but to my surprise took it upon himself to make a hasty exit. “I shall return soon,” he called over his shoulder as he saw himself out. Had my intuitions embarrassed him? I hoped not.

  Alone with the baby once more, my attention focused on the stack of mail where Ada had deposited it. A letter from Mrs. Bates sat atop the pile. I laid John in his cradle and rocked it with my foot as I slit the letter open with my monogrammed opener. This must be important if she put it in writing.

  I saw Mrs. Reynolds waiting outside your husband's law office yestermorn, she wrote in her neat penmanship. I then saw Mr. Hamilton arrive. They both went inside. After thirty minutes, two other men entered. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Reynolds came out, looking disheveled, I daresay, and dashed down the street.

  I am still searching out who authored those anonymous letters. I shan't let you down, Elizabeth. Every one of my missions have been successful, and I do not intend to leave any stone unturned into making this endeavor a success. Your obedient servant, Annie Bates.

  I folded it and glanced through at the other post: a letter from my sister in England, addressed to Alex. She must be bored. I held it aside, with no desire to open it. Another one from my cousin Henry, trying to make a living as a poet. I opened the envelope to two of his poems, but frankly, poetry did not move me.

  I assured myself Mrs. Reynolds had found Mr. Burr's legal fee too dear and called on Alex to file divorce. I looked forward to attending Maria's and Jacob's wedding. If our country home was built by then, I would invite her to hold the ceremony and reception there.

  I decided to tell Annie to stop following Mrs. Reynolds. All I now wanted was to find the coward who'd written those letters to me.

  I brought the baby to the room he shared with Alexander, Jr. At the top of the landing, I glanced at the floor and noticed a shiny object. I picked it up and inspected it—a gold ear bob circled with diamonds. It was not paste. I knew what genuine diamonds looked like. None of our female servers could possibly afford something like this. Mayhap one of them inherited it. I questioned each of them, but none claimed it. After I placed it in my jewel box and dismissed it from my mind, I wrote a letter to Annie. Please cease following Mrs. Reynolds. I am convinced she's only hiring my husband to handle her divorce. But please continue trying to find out who wrote me those awful letters.

  I almost wished I'd receive another anonymous missive, for the more Annie had to work with, the better. But nothing came. Neither did Alex for our midday meal.

  A well adjusted person is one who makes the same mistake twice without getting nervous.- Alexander Hamilton

  Maria

  I drug myself home from Alex's office, alone and dejected, knowing not when I'd see him again. He hadn't even said “good day” when he hiked up his britches and left me sprawled on the cot. I felt—loath to say the word—used. But he was ever so busy. Grateful he took the time to make love with me, I knew he still cared.

  I fetched the post and opened a letter from my sister Susannah. With her twins due in February, she wanted me to come to Poughkeepsie posthaste. Her husband Gilbert Livingston, a prominent lawyer, had a caseload as heavy as Alex's. He also traveled often, trying cases throughout New York. I let out a girly giggle. Oh, to see Susannah again, to reminisce about our childhood, to play with my beloved nephews.

  I settled at James's desk and penned her an acceptance. Whilst sealing her letter, I glanced at the only pigeon hole that held a piece of paper. I know I'd cleaned out the compartments when I'd given Alex's letters to that odious Monroe. I slid it out and read it. I recoiled in horror that James had written this, but heaved a relieved sigh. Thank the Lord he hadn't sent it.

  It was an undated letter to Alex, forbidding him to see me again. I am putting a finell end to it. You insulted me by stealing into my house by the back door…am I a person of Such a bad Carector that you would not wish to be seen Coming in from my house in the front way?

  I concluded that the intent was to make Alex use the front door, where he might be seen. I folded and shoved it down my bodice, intent on burning it later. I hoped he'd forgotten about it by now.

  Yet did it matter? Alex had literally walked out on me, with no sign as to when he'd return.

  I tried to busy myself with The History of the Life and Reigne of Richard the Third, then needlepoint, then my violin. But I could not concentrate on any activities. Grabbing my cloak and bonnet, I headed out the door and into the cold air. I walked—and walked—and walked, aimlessly, until I realized I was in Jacob's neighborhood.

  The same butler who'd greeted us at the door yesterday saw me in, took my coat and bonnet, and ushered me into the sitting room. “Mr. Clingman will be out presently, Mrs. Reynolds.” He offered me sherry, but I refused. He bowed out, closing the door.

  I warmed my hands by the fire, my nerves jangly, anticipating Jacob's arrival. Everything had changed between us since our embrace and kiss, which I now admit, had aroused me. Naught was wrong with enjoying a dear friend's company, and if it led to a physical expression of affection, then so be it. I saw no harm to anyone, present or not.

  “Maria, what a wonderful surprise!” He entered the room and I met him halfway, rushing into his open arms. He smelt like hair powder and that same Tricorn cologne Alex wore. Inhaling the mingled fragrances, I imagined Alex holding me like this.

  “You're freezing!” He warmed my hands in his.

  “I walked,” I admitted, eyes coyly downcast.

  “All the way here? Why did you not send me a note? I'd have dispatched my carriage.” He cupped my frozen cheeks. They warmed instantly.

  “It was spur of the moment.” Of course I couldn't tell him why I had to see him, how distraught I was at Alex leaving me cold on his cot. But that wasn't the only reason. I was truly happy to see Jacob. He made me feel—the word was desirable. Something Alex hadn't done lately.

  We sat on his sofa by the fire as he offered me cakes and tea, but I refused refreshments. “I simply need to talk.”

  So talk we did. We made plans to attend As You Like It at the Philadelphia Playhouse, and a Bach performance by a local chamber orchestra. Events I longed to attend with Alex. But of course Alex and I could never be seen together in public. Not until he took that final step and left his wife.

  “And in the spring we will take my canoe upcountry and go rowing on the Hudson—” Jacob planned for the far future, as if I were a maiden. Or was it wishful thinking on his part?

  “Let us wait till the ice melts before we make spring plans,” I deterred him.

  His smile vanished and he cleared his throat. “Maria,” he began, his tone stern, “do you plan to stay married to James? From what I saw of you yesterday, it seemed you were bursting to tell me, but held back.”

  “Held back what?” Now I wanted a drink, but more than that, I wanted to know what he meant.

  “That you're not happy with him and are contemplating a divorce.”

  I tried to suppress a laugh in deference to the gravity of the moment, but couldn't. “I was never aware you read minds.”

  “Is that what you think I'm doing? Reading your mind? I don't believe I need to, Maria. All I am reading are your words—and your heart.” His voice lowered to a rumble.

  My sigh relieved me as if a massive weight had lifted from my shoulders. Hands unclenched, limbs relaxed, I knew I could trust Jacob with anything. Almost.

  “
Very well, Jacob, I have no reason to hold this in any longer. James has been rather, uh—” I searched for the most delicate words. “—inattentive lately. We each have—” My hands fluttered before me. “—other diversions keeping us apart. Not that I don't love him—” I added that qualifier.

  “I understand, my darling.” Now he fidgeted, obviously holding something back.

  “What is it?” I braced myself, clutching the chair arms, dreading the answer—he knew about me and Alex, he knew I'd been lying yesterday, and news of our liaison had spread like yellow fever. But what he told me came as even more of a shock.

  “Maria, I do believe James blackmailed Hamilton. But there is something else going on with James. Has he told you?” Jacob's voice wavered.

  “Told me what?” My first thought was, who is James trying to swindle now?

  “So he hasn't.” His voice dropped and he leant closer though we were alone. “Maria, James has a mistress. Has had for quite some time now. I wanted you to know, so that—if you do begin divorce proceedings, you'll have a much easier time of it. You can charge him with alienation of affection—and adultery. The most basic grounds for divorce.”

  I shook my head, unsure this could be true. “I know James has had dalliances with tavern wenches. I even heard, through tavern gossip, he'd been about to engage the services of the streetwalker Biddy Cummings, when the night watchman apprehended her and released James with a warning.”

  Jacob's expression remained blank. This talk about streetwalkers was as foreign to him as my speaking Arabic.

  “Pay heed, Jacob, I am not naïve enough to think his all-night activities begin and end in dice games.” But the question still plagued me: “Only one mistress?” was all I could think to ask. One sounded exclusive, long term, emotional involvement. Like me and Alex.

  “One that I know of. I've seen her with him, at a gathering at Patrick Bevin's home, or coming out of taverns.” He stroked his chin. His ring caught the firelight and threw sparks. “I've never seen him with her when he was sober, and I daresay neither was she.”