by Diana Rubino
I fell back against the cushion, stunned. “No, how—how—how can that be, Alex? We—were so careful.”
“We were,” he assured me. “If you refer to you and myself. How careful have you been with James?”
“James and I only—” My mind raced back to the last few times we'd coupled. He hadn't had his condoms on hand. We took our chances. I tried to remember my most recent monthly course. I could not. “I could be two months along already. Two months ago, when we made love so intensely, you forgot to—you did not—” I flushed, too embarrassed to say it—he'd spilt his seed inside of me.
Now he looked as dumbfounded as I. He sat still, his eyes fixed on mine, at a loss for words for the first time since I'd met him.
I licked my dry lips. “It—it could also be James's.”
He heaved a deep breath. His shoulders rose and fell in what looked like relief. “Then will you raise the child as your husband's and give it his name?”
“Of course, I must. As long as I have any doubt as to the paternity, I will not hold you accountable in any way. It would be terribly unfair to you.” I already knew our liaison had ruined his chance for the presidency. His fathering an illegitimate child would destroy him.
The wave of nausea passed. My appetite even returned, my stomach growling with hunger.
“Thank you, Maria. If you come upon hard times, I shall contribute anything I can to the child's upbringing, education—I only beg that you do not give him—or her the name of Hamilton.”
“You needn't beg.” I touched my fingertips to his face. A shadow of stubble dusted his chin. “You needn't even ask.”
“Now I believe I'd best leave you alone to get some rest.”
I nodded my thanks but could say nothing. He stood, but made no move to leave.
I glanced at the clock. It was going on six, and Jacob expected me at seven. “I cannot rest yet. Jacob is waiting for me.”
“Oh, yes. Jacob.” He nodded and broke his gaze.
“Tis not like that. Please, Alex, I never loved anyone the way I love you. The marriage proposal in your parlour was a ruse, please believe me.” I reached up and grasped his hands. He clasped my fingers in turn. But he made no move to embrace me. “You must believe me!”
“I do believe you, Maria. But we met too late, when fate had set our paths, and we could not undo what fate had already done. Had that been you instead of Elizabeth Schuyler at that soirée at her aunt's house in Morristown, you would be Mrs. Hamilton right now.”
“I know.” Oh, fate could be so cruel! “What year was that anyway?”
“Oh, it had to be…” He squeezed his eyes shut as he counted back the years. “Seventy-nine mayhap?”
I shook my head. “Then it could never have been. You would not have wanted to court a miss of but twelve years old.”
He widened his eyes and blinked. “God above, I hadn't realized you were that young.”
“Well, I was,” I confessed. “I do not feel so young anymore.”
“You have your whole life ahead of you, Maria. I am middle-aged. When my term at the treasury department ends, I shall move back to New York, resume my law practice and hope to enjoy my golden years hearing cases, gardening, seeing my children grow up—” He halted when he realized what he'd said.
“That's all right, Alex, because I was planning to move back to New York also. Not to follow you there. But because there is no longer anything for me here.” I felt queasy again but did not tell him. “I must get ready for Jacob.”
“Of course.” Then he asked me the same question I'd asked him numerous times: “When will I see you again?”
Now it was my turn to say, “I do not know.”
* * *
I could not disappoint Jacob and refuse this sumptuous feast because I felt ill. His Tuscan chef had created a fabulous meal consisting of what he called 'insalata belissima,' Italian' bread, veal Florentine with the Stinky Rose—garlic—and ricotta sauce, risotto with pureed strawberries, and macaroni pudding for dessert. I ate as much as I could, which was not much.
We sat in his parlour afterwards, dipping spoons into the rich pudding that shamed our ordinary fruit ice. Somehow the dessert—or mayhap it was the garlic—calmed my roiling stomach.
When we finished, he settled next to me on the settee, our thighs touching. Tis now or never, I mentally gave myself a shove. “Jacob, I need tell you a few things.” Still searching for the precise way to phrase this, I moved silent lips, prompting him to tilt my chin upwards with his other hand.
“What do you want to tell me? Is it good or bad? Then mayhap we can work through it together.”
“Tis all good,” I assured him. “I think so anyway,” I had to qualify it. “Jacob, I'm—I believe I am ready to accept your marriage proposal.”
Before I took another breath, his arms clasped me, his legs pumping in excitement. “Oh, Maria, how I've longed to hear those words! My love, we will—”
“Rein in your spur, I have more,” I announced.
He leant back, his hands now cupping my cheeks. “Carry on, my love.”
“I will be brutally honest. I made the decision to marry you but two hours afore arriving here.” I fidgeted with the lace around my sleeve. “Then, within minutes after I made that decision, I realized that I'm—I'm going to have a baby. And I cannot tell you with absolute certainty if James is the father.”
His gaze fell like a rock from a cliff as he gave me a knowing nod. “I take it Hamilton will not leave his wife over this.”
“No. And he will not let me give the child his name. I do not want to halt my divorce from James. I—” I took a deep breath and rubbed my sweating palms on my satin skirt. The nausea began to rise. I swallowed to force it down. “I do really want to be with you. But—will you still have me now, knowing this?”
He stroked tendrils from my moist forehead. “Maria, I said I loved you, and I meant it. Unconditionally. I will be happy to raise the child as mine. And he or she will be happy growing up with his or her half-brothers and sisters, as I hope we will have many more.”
“Thank you, Jacob.” My voice broke with relief. “You are a candidate for the sainthood.”
“Ah, wait till you relish my boudoir performances, my dear. I hardly conduct myself as a saint twixt the sheets.” As he brandished a rakish grin and cocked a brow, he ceased to resemble the same proper Jacob I'd known all these years.
I instantly felt well. “Do you care to give me a sneak preview?”
He reclined and focused a sultry gaze upon me. “Nay, I do not. I wish to wait until we are lawfully wedded and in our marriage bed.”
“My goodness, Jacob, you are far ahead of your time.” I gave him a saucy smile.
He leant forward and kissed me. My arms wound round his neck as our lips met, warmly and comfortably. Learning to love Jacob is easier than I ever thought possible, I silently affirmed to the long-suffering Mrs. Hamilton.
Severus
The young woman narrowly avoided colliding with me as I appeared like a phantom in the night and blocked her path. “Oh…sorry, sir…” She sidestepped out of the way. I shot out a hand and laid it ever so gently on her shoulder.
“Careful, my dear, do not tread so quickly upon these uneven streets. And what brings you out alone at such a late hour? Don't you know how dangerous it is? Especially these days? You're lucky you haven't been accosted…or worse…as yet,” I warned her in a chilling tone.
“I was hurrying to my employer's home. I just enjoyed my half day off by visiting my parents.” She straightened her cap as the moonglow illuminated her smile. “I'm so relieved, sir!”
We resumed walking. “Are you indeed? And why is that?” I inquired, excitement building within me, from my watering mouth down to my burning loins.
“I thought at first you might be that fiend we've read about in the papers, going about at night, killing young women.” She covered her lips with her hand and tittered.
The mention of the word “fiend”
helped to accentuate my rage. I now sought only an ending, a release of the fire that burned a column down my body—and within my soul.
“And what makes you think this killer is a fiend?” I quizzed her.
She waved her hands about. “Oh, sir, surely you must agree, for no normal man could surely perpetrate such atrocities, and, well…I've heard things, you see.”
“What things, girl?” My voice gathered volume as my rage mounted. “What have you heard? And from whom?”
“Well, sir, the papers say the monster kills the women first and then he…he…well, he does things to them.” Her voice weakened as she glanced about, as if expecting this “monster” to leap out from behind a tree and slaughter us both.
As I sensed her fear, a cruel grin spread my lips, baring my teeth. “Come now, you speak riddles. To what things do you refer?”
“Rumor has it, sir, that the madman violates them, after throttling the life from them, not before. He's a morbid ghoul.” She shuddered.
I ignored that hyperbole. We walked a few more steps and she halted before a Tudor-style house. “Thank you for seeing me safely home, Dr. Black.”
“You know me?” I turned and faced her, standing toe to toe, blocking her way to the entrance.
“Oh yes, sir. I've seen you visiting the house, and Mrs. Parr, the Hamiltons' cook, told me what a good friend you are to Mrs. Hamilton. I'm a personal maid to Prudence Fisher, a near neighbor of the Hamiltons. Mary Ann's my name.”
Those few words were sufficient to seal the girl's fate. No one could know that I prowled these neighborhood streets late at night. “Come, I'll see you safely inside.” I cupped her elbow. As we crossed the gravel driveway, the street lamps' glow faded. The staff entrance lay at the end of a narrow passage that ran along one windowless side of the house. She led the way towards the door…and with my rage fully fuelled, I struck.
I threw the scarf round her neck, pulling the ends tight. She began to choke and gag, kicking backwards at my legs. Prepared for such a move, I easily avoided her efforts. Within seconds, she slumped in my arms. I lowered her, almost reverently, to the ground.
Now the time had come for me to crown my stay in the Colonies with my most sensational 'love affair' to date. Quickly checking for any sign of another soul, I yanked her skirts up around her waist. Removing her undergarments, I took a few rapid breaths, pondering my special predilection. I then removed a long slim knife from a pocket sewn into the inner lining of my jacket. I set to work with a manic vengeance, slicing and hacking until all that remained was a bloody pulp of flesh. My knife glinted in a sudden shaft of moonlight as I cut away the bodice. I took a moment to savor the silent, unmoving breasts, before once again succumbing to the red mist of rage controlling me. I used a slicing motion until, sated with my efforts, I placed the dead girl's severed breasts down on the cold ground, one on either side of her head.
As quickly as the frenzied attack had begun, it ended. I rose to my full height and surveyed my latest handiwork. A bystander, had there been one, might have been surprised to witness tears falling from my eyes. An unbearable grief crushed me as my mind cognized this sadness and tragedy. Dabbing at my eyes with my still-pristine scarf, I fell to my knees and, muttering a prayer, gently placed a kiss on the forehead of poor innocent Mary Ann. She hadn't deserved this.
With time slipping away, I needed to depart the scene of my final statement to the local constabulary and the soon-to-arrive Detective Le Clerc. Looking down, I noticed a dark red spatter of the girl's blood on my attire. My previous killings had not resulted in such blood loss, having been restricted to strangulation, but this time I'd allowed my rage free rein. Under normal circumstances, escape might prove problematical. Not so now. I shucked off my coat, turned it inside out, placed the knife within its specially crafted pocket, and flipped my scarf round my neck. Keeping to the shadows, encountering nary a soul, I approached Silas Brunt's home. The chemist was already abed, so Brunt's manservant admitted me and readily accepted my explanation: “Oh, that…I attended a premature birthing emergency, hence the blood…” I made light brushing motions across my front.
When the servant retired for the night, I penned a note of thanks to Silas, changed into clean clothes from my waiting portmanteau, and crept out. I deposited my bloody clothes, bagged and weighted, in the inky Schuylkill River, knowing the minimal chances of them ever being discovered.
* * *
Nobody would have recognized the bearded man in priest's garb who, later the following morning, boarded a ship bound for Brazil, where missionaries such as 'Father Michael O'Brien' complete with convincing Irish brogue, were much in demand. To all intents and purposes, Dr. Severus Black simply faded away, leaving nothing but questions behind his sudden disappearance.
Maria
May 10th,, 10 of clock
“This arrived by courier, Mrs. Reynolds.” Maggie placed a letter next to my breakfast plate.
“Who is it from?” Jacob sat across from me, his fingers laced round a coffee cup.
“From Aaron Burr. He told me he would give me a few days' notice before the divorce is final.” I sliced the letter open with my paring knife. “To give us time to finalize our wedding plans.”
“I wish you would let me see the dress,” he pleaded once again, so many times now I'd lost count.
“No and that is final. Tis bad luck for you to see the dress afore the ceremony and we need none of that.” I unfolded Aaron's letter and read what I'd expected. “One of his clerks will deliver the final decree on Tuesday.” I met Jacob's adoring gaze. “So we may be married on Wednesday.”
“Why wait?” He placed his cup down, stood and rounded the table to lean over behind me. “Let us be married immediately you receive the papers.” He began massaging my tense neck muscles.
“Jacob, that is so hasty!” My eyes slid shut as the knots in my neck loosened.
“And ever so romantic.” He kissed my ear. “Will you indulge me?”
“Yes, darling.” I relaxed under his soothing touch.” Before the ink is even dry, if you wish.”
“Those men were simple fools to let you go, Maria.” He turned my face to his and planted kisses on my lips.
“I learnt some lessons of my own, though,” I admitted between kisses. “The biggest is that a marriage should only be between two. Any more than that, it gets rather crowded.”
“I'll always respect that,” he promised, like a vow.
“Please do.”
May 15th
The expected knock at the door made me jump nonetheless. A courier handed me a letter from the office of Aaron Burr, Esquire. I managed to open it without tearing it. Jacob and I read it together.
“You are a free woman, Maria.” My husband-to-be smiled down at me and our lips touched lightly. “For the next few minutes or so.”
Together we walked down his long marble hallway to the strains of Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring from the beautiful Bach cantata, performed by the string quartet he'd hired. We entered his drawing room and faced the minister.
After we exchanged vows and kissed for the first time as man and wife, I closed my eyes, reveling in this special moment. But I took a few seconds for a small wish—my dear Alex and my dear James, wherever you are, I hope you are happy.
Chapter Forty-Two
Maria
July 5, 1804, New York City
Jacob and I had come to the city to see the opera The Poor Soldier, which had been President Washington's favorite. He'd seen it right here, at the Park Theatre. We lingered on for a few days, although the streets reeked of rancid garbage and filth in the scorching heat. I longed for our country home and fresh air.
Jacob went to visit some friends whilst I headed for the Battery in hopes of a cool breeze. I joined the stream of clerks and commercial men hurrying down the Broad Way, brows knitted and lips pressed together. It was then I saw those violet eyes. I halted in my tracks.
So did he.
“Alex.” We stared at each o
ther for what seemed like an eternity. He finally opened his arms and embraced me, right there on the street. “Maria, how good it is to see you. How have you been?”
“Very well.” I couldn't tear my gaze off him. “And you?”
The twelve years we'd been apart had aged him, as I knew they had aged me. His hair nearly all gray, he wore it shorter as in the current fashion. The lines around his eyes had deepened; a crease divided his brows. But he hadn't gained an ounce of weight. In his black jacket with bright buttons, white waistcoat, black britches and white stockings, he looked as trim and toned as the first time I laid my adoring eyes upon him.
“Getting by.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “We located here in 'ninety-five and I resumed my law practice.”
“I know.” One would have to be living in another world not to know what former Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton was doing with his life.
Passersby bumped against us and he led me over to the curb. “Would you care to visit my home for a bit? The family are up at The Grange, our estate in Haarlem, and the house will be quiet—and cool. The sitting room gets a nice breeze this time of day.”
“I would like that very much, Alex.” I could not describe the emotions that hit me with the ferocity of a gale force wind as I gazed into those eyes. The shock of seeing him had knocked the wind out of me.
“I'm at number twenty-six.” We continued down the Broad Way, toward the Battery where I'd been headed. I'd have passed right by his house without even knowing it.
We climbed the porch steps and entered his three-story brick townhouse. The silence of the dark hallway engulfed us. The hot noisy world vanished as he shut the door.
He slid off his jacket as he led me into a sitting room appointed with elegant French-style furnishings. A pianoforte stood against the facing wall. My feet sank into the plush rug. He gestured to a sofa covered with a rich gold embroidered cloth. Without asking he poured two glasses of wine and handed one to me.
“Madeira?” But I knew as soon as I sipped.
