by Diana Rubino
“I didn't realize I looked that distressed.” A smile came unbidden. “I know who wrote the letters. Thomson Callender.”
“Of the Gazette?” She squeezed her nose.
I nodded. “Aye, the infamous one and only.”
She tossed the tin onto the table. “I know'd I should'a looked somewhere like there first. If anybody's dirtier than officeholders, tis the journalists what write about them. How'd you find out?”
“James Reynolds showed me a letter from him,” I told her. “The writing was identical. No denying it. And his explanation confirmed it. Callender was hoping I'd divorce Alex over it. But Callender doesn't know me. I need proof first. Proof in an admission of guilt from my husband. And I certainly never got that.”
“Then why are you so distraught? Callender thrives on scandal. You already knew that.” She huffed and sneezed.
I blessed her. “James also told me the truth about my husband and his wife. Whilst I sobbed onto his shoulder, his wife came home and admitted it. The only one who's kept silent is my husband.”
She reached over and took my hand. “Oh, I'm sorry. I wish I could find words to say, but nothing would be fitting. I only wish I could have found out who wrote the letters first. But I did tell you I'd followed Mrs. Reynolds, and her path led straight to your husband, every time—'xcept once, when she went into Burque Jewelers. I entered after she'd gone, and asked Burque if she'd purchased any goods. With a grin wide as the Delaware River, he told me she'd purchased a pair of expensive diamond ear bobs. Ain't that a kick in the head. Not pearls. Not citrines. Pure ice. Her husband must be goldsmithing a roof on Mount Vernon.”
I nodded, knowing James and his financial fluxes. “Yes, their fortunes rise and fall like the tide. When they're flush with cash, they go on buying sprees and move into posher dwellings. They currently reside in a three-story brick with a garden and outbuildings on High Street. Furnished quite elegantly as well.”
As I rambled on, another thought entered my mind and niggled at me. I finally recognized what it was. “Wait. Diamond ear bobs? Why, I found a diamond ear bob at the top of my stairs not long ago. I questioned the entire staff, not that they could afford diamonds, but—dear God, it's hers. She was in my house. Of course. Oh, I am so stupid!” I slapped the side of my head, wishing I could kick my own behind.
“No, you ain't stupid,” she assured me. “Just trusting. You didn't want to believe what I was telling you. I followed them enough times to conclude they were, uh…meeting. Alone. Yet you trusted him. Not a vice, a virtue.”
“Thank you for the accolades, but it changes nothing about our lives now. I cannot bear the thought of Alex touching me again. I shall give him no more children. He can sire future children with—with her.” I'd drained my snifter without realizing it, and got up to help myself to the decanter. But I decided I needed something even more potent. “Have you any malt whisky? Preferably something foreign? And older than ten years?”
“Yes to all three.” She dashed to the cabinet in the corner where she poured me a glass. “Straight from Glenlivet in the heart of the western Highlands. This'll sprout hair on your chest. Cheers, my bonny lass.”
I sipped as she sat back down and hiked her skirts up to her knees, revealing a pair of bright red stockings. If this whisky didn't sprout hair on my chest, it would sprout a hole in my stomach.
When it finally went down, I said, “I now needs go to Thomson Callender and bribe him not to make this story public. It will cost dearly, if what James Reynolds says is fact. Callender pays for scandalous stories, but only if they're true. I expect he takes payment to retract them.”
She shook her head. “Nah, don't waste your time. No amount you can pay him will outweigh what he can make on newspaper sales when this hits the sheets. You will live through it, believe me.”
“I cannot show my face ever again. I feel like covering it right there, I'm so ashamed. I'll be the butt of hushed whispers and snickers behind fluttering fans whenever I pass by.” I cringed.
“As if you're the only woman who's had a—pardon the expression—philandering husband? Look at history, Elizabeth—in Europe, tis the norm. Tis a scandal if a married man does not have a mistress! At the very least a married man without a mistress is branded as one of them.” She flicked her wrist.
I blinked, befuddled. “One of them what?”
“You know.” She waved her hand. “A molly. A pansy. As was King Louis the Thirteenth.”
“Oh, God above.” I began to laugh, although why I found humor in this, I knew not. “No, my Alex is not one of them and never will be. He's always been a flirter and a gallant, and I should have known marriage vows would not alter his behavior.”
“Mayhap your telling him you know of his affair will alter his behavior.” She cast me a sly grin.
“I haven't been able to bring myself to speak to him.” I released a loud sigh and took another sip of the heady whisky. “But I do not expect anything will change him. If anyone changes, it must be me.”
Maria
Poughkeepsie, New York, March 14
Susannah was delivered of twin girls this morn, named Frances and Ruth, after our grandmothers. We sat round her bed eating pudding and drinking cider as her other tykes ogled their new siblings. I promised Susannah I'd take the tykes out tomorrow so she can rest.
They each had a pony they were too young to mount. I hadn't forgotten how to ride, so Susannah gave me permission to saddle up White Surrey, her beautiful bay mare. They had three other horses, pigs, chickens, goats and a dairy cow. With plenty to keep me busy, I almost stopped longing for Alex, until a letter from Aaron Burr arrived. I'd given him the address here, not knowing how long I'd be staying. He told me the divorce would be final by the first week of April. It loomed up dead ahead. Need I be present? I wrote back, not wanting to be. Another letter, this one from Jacob, announced his visit within a fortnight. I hoped it didn't coincide with the date of my divorce. I wanted to be alone that day, to think of James, and wish him well.
I wrote to Alex nigh on two weeks ago and received no reply. So I wrote again. Now that our love is known, we have no reason to hide any longer, I wrote in a fifth attempt, having torn up the previous four. We can be together always, as I trust you and Mrs. Hamilton will make the same brave move to end your loveless marriage as James and I have.
It made perfect sense to me. Having seen how James's revelation devastated Mrs. Hamilton, I could not see her wanting Alex in her bed any longer. Not one of the four of us needed remain married. Now Alex and I could start our life together. How could he possibly object? Yet another ten days passed with no word from him.
Jacob arrived on the doorstep the day after I received a letter he'd posted from New York City.
“Seems I travel faster than the post!” He swept me into his arms and twirled me round before my nephews' stunned faces.
Susannah, coming down the stairs after nursing the babies, halted in her tracks. “My, if you are James, you certainly have sobered and cleaned yourself up!”
“Very funny, Susy.” I took Jacob's hand and brought him forth. “This is Jacob Clingman. Jacob, my sister Susannah Livingston.”
He bowed, took her hand, kissed it, and displayed his dazzling smile. “I am here, Mrs. Livingston, for one reason only. To ask for your beautiful sister's hand in marriage. For real this time.”
My jaw hit the floor. I don't know why, but I was more surprised than when he recited that melodramatic proposal in the Hamiltons' parlour. My hand grew cold although his hands enveloped it. “God's truth, I'm not even divorced yet.”
“As if that matters.” He released my hands and slid from his pocket a stunning diamond band. Susannah descended the remaining steps and leant over the newel post to gawk at it.
“Heaven above, Mr. Clingman, it gives off more light than our chandelier when ablaze with a hundred candles!” She flashed him a grin. “You must really love my sister.”
“More than you'll ever know.” He ga
zed at me as if I put the Sistine Chapel's ceiling to shame.
Although afraid to, I looked into his eyes. They sparkled brighter than the ring.
Before I could say yes or no, he slipt it onto my finger. “Marry me, Maria. And if you'll not forget Al Hamilton, so be it. I cannot make you love me, nor make you stop loving him. But I do love you and will give you a life neither he nor James could ever give you.”
“Jacob—” I glanced away. Susannah had vanished, leaving us alone. “Please let me think.” I pressed my palms to the sides of my head, pounding like a hammer. “Mayhap when I get back home and tend to some details—”
“Home? Where is home, Maria? Philadelphia? That is not your home. This is your home. New York.” He gestured at the surroundings.
I hadn't even thought of that. I'd planned to go back to Philadelphia, at least keep a residence there, to be close to Alex until we could work things out. But home? No, it was not home. Home was wherever Alex and I could be together.
He had to know this. “Jacob, please. Give me a respectable amount of time to make up my mind.”
Which meant until I heard from Alex, divorced or not.
Eliza
I needed face my husband about this. With the dishes cleared and the children abed, I dismissed the servants. As Alex began his usual retreat to his study, I stopped him at the doorway. “Alex, we must talk.”
“You want money again?” he asked over his shoulder as he pulled his reading specs from his shirt pocket.
“No, it is not about money!” I retorted too loudly, my chest tightening in exasperation. “Why do you believe our entire lives consist of matters about money? What about us?” I spilt it before he sat at his desk. “I know about you and Maria Reynolds—your affair.”
He sat anyway, releasing his specs onto his blotter. I felt he deserved ample time to reply; after all, I'd shot him between the eyes with this.
“And how did you arrive at this conclusion?” he asked in his lawyerly tone.
Oh, what a lawyer, through and through! Cross-examining his own wife when caught like a stuck pig. “Never mind how I arrived. But I do know that Thomson Callender is the author of those letters to me, and every word of them speaks the truth.” I approached his desk and stared him down. His chair creaked and groaned as he reclined.
“Callender. I should have known.” He shook his head and combed his fingers through his graying hair.
“And I should have known you were bedding another woman.” I flattened my palms on his desktop, strewn with documents. “And I cannot describe how much it hurts. As if you buried a bullet in my spine. And severed my heart at the same time.”
He gave me his practiced courtroom eye roll. “Betsey, please, do not overreact.”
“No, Alex, don't lie to me any longer. You lied about what the letters said. You lied every time you left this house and told me you were working. I know you love her as you've never loved me, and truth be told, I thank her for it. For I could never love you the way I should—as your equal, your companion, your confidante. I am merely the mother of our brood, the keeper of your house, your security.”
I took a sharp breath and continued, “Maria is divorcing her spouse. I know not exactly why, but if tis in hopes that you will do the same, I now give you the chance. I shall grant you your freedom, be that what you desire. I am bigger than all of you, for I am offering you a divorce for the right reasons—putting your needs before my own, rather than the other way round. And that is all I have to say—except that if Callender prints this, and you are a fool if you think he won't, you can forget ever aspiring to the presidency.”
He heaved a sigh, his eyes downcast, looking more haggard in the candles' flickering shadows than he did in cold sunlight. “Betsey, I do not want a divorce, nor do I fear Callender. What would destroy my reputation are accusations that I embezzle from the treasury, not an affair. And before I'd let anyone believe I've pilfered the treasury or engaged in speculation with James Reynolds with public funds for private gain, I would publicly admit that my real crime was an amorous connection with his wife.”
“Why not admit it publicly now, before Callender blasts it across the pages of the Gazette?” I badgered him.
With a key he kept on a ring in his top pocket, he opened a desk drawer and extracted a pile of papers. He plopped them down between us. “This is one of the documents I've been working on lately. It is titled The Reynolds Pamphlet. In it, I explain my relationship with James and with Maria as well. I also state in no uncertain terms that my dealings with the treasury have always been scrupulously honest. When this is published, Callender nor anyone else will be able to dispute it.”
I swatted at the papers as if shooing a fly. “And you plan to humiliate me and your entire family so that your reputation with money remains intact?”
“Betsey, if my 'reputation with money' as you call it is destroyed, so is my law practice and my livelihood. Never mind the presidency—I could never presume to fill George Washington's shoes. Can you support a family of eight and five servants with—whatever your skills may be? I sincerely doubt it.” He gathered his “Reynolds Pamphlet” and placed it back into the drawer, locked it and dropped the key back into his pocket. “So go back to your domestic fripperies and let me take care of the business at hand—which right now is earning a living and keeping you in servants and flub-dubs.” He then slid his specs on and dipped his quill in his inkwell, a subtle move to dismiss me.
I turned my back on him and left him alone.
He'd refused the freedom I'd offered him. Was I relieved? Yes and no—yes, that he would remain my husband—and although I was soon to be the object of public humiliation and ridicule, I would not bear the stigma of a divorced woman as would Maria Reynolds. And no, because I knew he had no intention of ending his liaison with her. Whilst lying awake late at night alone in our bed, I would know he was warming hers.
Then I remembered Annie Bates's words. At least he wasn't “one of them.”
The only thing my husband had in common with King Louis XIII was they both favored monarchy.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Severus
Whilst visiting the home of the Hamiltons this day, I sensed a pall of uneasiness in the room as I sat in conversation with Elizabeth. Alex had greeted me briefly, only to quickly excuse himself. “I must retreat to my study and work on important matters of state.” After inquiring of her health, which she assured me was as well as could be expected, under the circumstances, I found my curiosity piqued.
“Pray tell me what circumstances you refer to, Elizabeth. What could possibly be amiss that may affect your well being, if not your personal health or that of the children? Is it Secretary Hamilton? Does he hide some illness from the public in case the nation may lose confidence in his capabilities?” I sat and took the steaming teacup from her servant.
“Oh, Severus.” She used my Christian name for the first time. She refused tea and paced the floor before collapsing into a wing chair. “Tis naught of the kind. I tell you this in trust, of course. Can I count on your continued discretion?”
Seeing her so upset re-engendered those alien feelings in me, that need to protect this lady, this almost divine example of motherhood, which was how I'd grown to see her.
“Am I not by now your trusted friend as well as occasional physician?” I blew on my tea. “You may speak to me with the same confidence with which you would speak to the face that looks at you from your mirror.”
She inhaled deeply. “My husband has been unfaithful to me, Severus. He has been carrying on an affair with Maria Reynolds for some long time now, since before the birth of baby John for sure.”
“I am so sorry,” was all I could say initially. I sensed the deceit of betrayal on her behalf, as much as I was able to 'feel' any such emotions. “Are you to divorce, then?”
“It appears not,” she responded, much to my surprise. “It appears Alex has no interest in divorce, and has very succinctly pointed out to
me that I am not financially capable of taking care of my children and this household without the envelope of marriage around me.”
“Ergo,, you are entrapped in a loveless marriage.” I sipped my tea, a bit weak for my tastes.
“On his part, it would appear so.” She lowered her head, her tone flat.
“And it means, perchance, you will not require the services of a physician of my specialty any longer?” I needed to know. Now.
She looked at me, her hands clutching the chair arms. “Severus, you are a friend to both of us, but more so, I think to me because we are also doctor and patient. I do not wish to lose either your friendship or your services because of this. I am still a woman, and prone to the same illnesses and diseases that beset any other woman in this world, so it seems to me I will still have need of your special knowledge from time to time.”
“Then you may call upon me at any time in either capacity.” I placed a smile upon my lips.
“Thank you. It is good to know there are still some men of honor and integrity in this world.”
“I thank you for the compliment and your faith in my abilities to serve you.” I stood and placed the teacup on the side table. “Now the time has come for me to take my leave, for I have paying calls to make.” After we parted, I hastened down the street to my next appointment, recalling with some irritation the conversation I'd had with Alexander Hamilton just the previous eve. We'd met at the City Tavern quite by chance. We shared a few minutes of polite conversation over a brandy. I hoped to take it a little further, to probe into his sources without alerting any suspicion, but his treasury work had blighted any attempts. I needed wait until another time.
“I'm glad to see you here, Severus,” he'd greeted me upon our meeting.
“You are?” I alerted, surprised, as no one was ever glad to see me.
