“I presume that our letter didn’t reach Mr. Hamilton?” John said.
“You wrote Alex?” Eliza turned to Angelica.
“John did. He had business to conclude with him stemming from the war.”
John Church’s secret relationship with the Continental army had been revealed following the cessation of hostilities. John had not sought the glory, but Governor Clinton had been on the verge of seizing his property as a loyalist, and the order to reveal his role had come directly from General Washington. Other presumed loyalists had similarly been revealed to be patriots, including Hercules Mulligan, whom Alex had brushed shoulders with in the lead-up to the war in the seventies.
“The Continental Congress still hasn’t paid John what it promised.”
“Oh, all the best people are welching on their debts these days,” Earl said from his chair.
Eliza glanced at him, but she simply couldn’t process his presence in her front parlor yet, and turned back to her sister. “They haven’t paid Alex either. He says it’s because they lack the power to levy taxes—” Eliza shook her head. “But this is hardly the time to discuss fiscal policy. You say John wrote Alex?”
Angelica nodded.
“Perhaps he just neglected to pass along the news,” Ralph Earl said. “Judging from the look on Mrs. Hamilton’s face, I would say that my presence here is as much of a surprise as is yours.”
Earl’s words were slightly slurred, and Eliza noted the glass on the table beside him, as well as the nearly empty decanter of honey wine Stephen had brought down from Albany. It had been full when she left a little over an hour ago. Perhaps Angelica and John had had some. But glancing at their chairs, she saw no glasses.
Eliza did her best to cover for Alex. “He mentioned that you were being released on, released on recognizance,” she said, pulling the word out and hoping she was pronouncing it correctly. “I assume the, ah, recognizance is ours.”
“Thanks to your husband tirelessly providing me with commissions, and to his keen negotiating skills, I have been able to reduce and pay off my debts. But I am still without ready income, not to mention a place to stay. Your husband was gracious enough to offer me the use of your guest room for lodging, as well as your parlor for painting a few outstanding commissions—first of which will be his own portrait.” He smiled messily at John. “What about you, sir? A family portrait? Or perhaps just one of the little namesake?”
“My name is John Church,” John said testily. Clearly, he had been dealing with Earl’s drunkenness for some time. “Our son is named after my wife and sister-in-law’s illustrious father, General Philip Schuyler.”
“I’m a man of peace myself,” Ralph Earl said, refilling his glass and taking a healthy swig. “Are you sure don’t want some of this decoction? I don’t know what it is, but it is quite satisfying.”
“No, thank you,” Angelica said firmly. “I don’t usually drink before lunch.”
Eliza seized on the last word. “Lunch! I’ll have Rowena prepare you something!”
“Is that your maid?” Angelica said. “She let us in but then promptly ran off to market. She said her larder was nearly empty. We have been attended to by a very cheery lad, although I fear Mr. Earl has been giving him tipples of drink. I think he may have fallen asleep belowstairs.”
“Mr. Earl!” Eliza said, her indignation only half feigned. “Please tell me you have not been giving Simon honey wine to drink? He is but nine years old!”
“The lad said he wanted to be a footman. How on earth can he serve drink if he doesn’t know what he’s offering up?”
Eliza shook her head in exasperation and turned back to her sister. “At any rate, I gather that you have met our houseguest. And where are you and John staying?”
Angelica frowned. “Well, we had written Mr. Hamilton to see if we could perhaps stay here, but I gather from Rowena that you have just the one guest room?”
“Oh! Of course!” Eliza said. “To sleep under the same roof again! It would be so fun! But …” She turned and glanced at Earl, who was making goo-goo eyes at the baby, or perhaps at John—his focus was rather glazed. “It’s true, we have just one spare bedroom. There is Alex’s study, though. I’m sure we could procure a bedstead and mattress. But by tonight?” She shook her head in consternation. “When did you write Alex to say that you were coming?”
“It must be three weeks ago now.”
“Three weeks? The mail was spotty when the city was first liberated, but service has been reliable for the past month. How could he not have received it? You wrote to the Stone Street address? He has been so busy. Perhaps it escaped his attention.”
Angelica shrugged in confusion. “It sounds like his practice is going well then?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Eliza said to her sister. “He has more clients than he can handle, but he has yet to take a case to trial, and thus to secure a judgment. And until there are judgments, the payments are”—she waved a hand at Earl—“nominal.”
“A journeyman’s days are never easy,” John said from his chair. “But we all have faith in Alex’s ability. Be patient, Eliza,” he added more pointedly. “Angelica and I barely saw each other for the first three years of our marriage either. And now we return to London, where I aim to stand as a member of Parliament. With the war is over, it is imperative that America and Britain restore normal diplomatic and trade relations. We have too much in common to remain enemies.”
But Eliza barely heard the second half of John’s speech.
“Return to London?” She whirled to Angelica. “Is this true?”
Her sister nodded her head, a curious mixture of sadness and excitement on her face. “It was in John’s letter to Mr. Hamilton. We sail on the tenth.”
“The tenth? Of April? But that is less than a fortnight away! Two weeks, and then I may never—”
“Hush,” Angelica said. “You will see us again, on this side of the ocean and, if you are feeling intrepid, in the Old World as well. My husband may be British, but our son is American, and I mean for him to know the country of his birth.”
Eliza felt like she couldn’t stop shaking her head. The slouching form of Ralph Earl melted into his chair in one corner of the room, while in the other, her brother-in-law dandled her nephew on his knee.
“You must stay here then,” Eliza said. “I have to have as much time as possible with you. If only Peggy could be here as well!”
“We saw her before we left the Pastures, and we have had ample time with her these past few years. And Stephen promises to take her on a European tour sooner rather than later.”
Eliza glanced around the room in desperation, as if a door might suddenly appear, leading to a fully kitted-out extra bedroom.
“If only I’d known you were coming. I would have made arrangements!”
“Do not worry about it, Eliza. John and I can find an inn at which to stay.”
“An inn?” Eliza said, as if Angelica had just announced that she would sleep under a bridge. “This is not how our parents raised us. To turn guests over to strangers. I would sooner sleep in an inn myself than send my eldest sister to one.”
She continued pacing, then pulled up short and turned for the door.
“Eliza?” Angelica said. “Where are you going?”
Eliza barely slowed, feeling that if she stopped to explain herself she wouldn’t be able to go through with her plan. “I will be back shortly. I have an idea!” she announced with more sureness than she felt. She shook her head at Ralph, who appeared to have fallen asleep in his chair. “And please, keep him out of the honey wine. One drooler is enough,” she said, pointing at baby Philip. “Oh, the baby! I never kissed the baby!” And she ran over and planted a wet one on each of his cheeks, put on a wrap, then hurried out the door.
It was but a few minutes’ walk to 3 Wall Street, an elegant town house that stood almost in the shade of City Hall on the corner of Broad Street. Eliza mounted the stone steps and, after catching a
breath, rapped the brass knocker firmly. A servant opened the door and showed her into the parlor, where a moment later a handsome man about Alex’s age joined her.
“Why, Mrs. Hamilton, what a pleasant surprise.”
Eliza shook his hand cordially.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Burr. I’ve come to ask a favor.”
22
Burning the Candle at Both Ends
Hamilton Law Office
New York, New York
March 1784
Alex didn’t realize how late it was until his lamp sputtered out and he was plunged into darkness. One minute his pen was scratching across a sheet of paper, the next he was engulfed in inky blackness, with only the faint smell of smoke letting him know that he hadn’t been whisked out of this world completely. Still, he was so disoriented that he found himself frozen in his chair, half afraid to move, as if a gap might have opened up in the floor, ready to swallow him up.
I have been working too hard, he said to himself. I need a good night’s sleep.
At length, he reached for his desk drawer, pulled it open, and rooted around inside until his fingers brushed against a box of spills. He was lucky to light it from the fireplace, then used its light to find the candlestick that sat on one of his bookshelves. He lit it, and a thin glow filled the center of the room, though the corners of the small room remained steeped in darkness. He opened another drawer reflexively and pulled out a bottle of lamp oil, reached for the empty lamp, then paused. He retrieved his watch from his pocket and squinted at the tiny hands.
Could it really be 11:08 p.m.? The last time he remembered looking at his watch it was just after 6:00. He thought of Eliza, all alone at home. She would be asleep by the time he got there. She never said anything, of course, his stalwart angel, but he knew she missed him, and he did miss her. So much.
A survey of his desktop told him his watch wasn’t lying. Stacks of paper were everywhere, inches high. He must have answered a hundred letters today. One prince, three ambassadors, two governors, five lieutenant governors, and fourteen congressmen numbered among his correspondents, along with dozens of current and former servicemen and twice their number of bankers and lawyers. Some of the notes were only a few lines long, but others ran to three or four tightly scrawled pages. Everything from condolence letters to tariff negotiations to banking proposals, the bulk of it ancillary to his legal work, but necessary if he was to secure the kind of well-connected, well-heeled clients he wanted in the long term. Necessary, too, if his point of view was to be heard in the formation of the new government, and the new country.
But the workload was taking its toll. This morning as he combed his hair he noticed his brush was littered with broken strands, and the dark circles under his eyes looked as if Ralph Earl had painted them on. But most unnerving were the effects on memory. He would get so focused on whatever was in front of him that he would forget about everything else. Even now, as he packed up his office, he found himself nagged by the feeling that he was neglecting something important. Something to do with Eliza, which made it even worse.
Eliza …
As he stepped out into the chilly evening, his mind filled with a picture of his wife. After a frenetic winter season of party after party, in which the young couple had found themselves embraced by both the best families and the most powerful politicians and businessmen in New York, life had quieted down, at least on the social front. But even as their party calendar emptied, Alex’s workload grew. His first court dates for the Childress case came and went, largely procedural affairs, although Aaron Burr made it clear that the state would show no quarter. Given Caroline’s precarious financial state, Alex had thought it might be best, for her sake, to try for a settlement. If he were to push the case to trial, he could set a legal precedent that would score a victory for all of his former loyalist clients—sixteen now and counting—in one fell swoop. But a trial could take months, even years to secure, given the backed-up state of Governor Clinton’s courts. Indeed, Burr, sensing the plaintiff’s desperation, had already begun filing delays in an attempt to bleed her dry. It was a clear stalling tactic, but just because it was obvious didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. The law was very open-minded that way. It didn’t care if your strategy was sophisticated or sloppy. It only cared about results.
Alex shook his head. Here he had meant to focus on his wife, and once again his work had taken over. Caroline’s demands on his attention had grown as the weeks passed. At the beginning, her talk was of her dead husband and her dire financial situation, but as time went by, she spoke about her loneliness, about her future and children’s. Though she had never said or done anything improper after he had made it clear her advances were unwelcome, she found excuses to clasp his hand or arm or knee, to confess her absolute, utter dependence upon him, not just for her family’s security, but for her future happiness.
Alex wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. Which is to say, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what she wanted from him, she had made it all too clear during their meetings. The sooner the case was settled, the better. He was a married man, with a beloved and much-missed wife at home, and he made it clear to his client that, while he was sensitive to her plight and her children’s, his heart was loyal to his own, and what she was intimating was impossible.
But enough of business. Alex was going home to said darling wife, and though he may have (once again) missed the chance to dine with her at a civilized hour, they could hopefully spend a pleasant hour or two together before bedtime. Then there would be a quiet weekend, just the two of them. He would lose the keys to his office and devote all his attention to Eliza.
But even before he entered his house, he sensed that his plans were not going to come to fruition. As he walked up Wall Street, he saw that the windows of the front parlor were blazing with light, as if a dozen lamps were burning within. So bright was the glow that for a moment Alex was afraid the house was on fire, but the gleam was steady rather than wavering, and the only smoke he smelled was the regular tang of the neighborhood chimneys. The lower shutters were drawn, though, so he couldn’t see in to find out why all the lights had been lit.
As he pushed the door open, a din of voices greeted his ears.
“No, no, closer together. Mrs. Hamilton, do please try to look as if your brother-in-law had not had an unfortunate encounter with a skunk. That’s better!”
Brother-in-law? Had Stephen and Peggy returned to the city? Funny that they hadn’t written to announce their arrival.
Alex poked his head around the corner. Clustered on the sofa sat Eliza and Angelica, with John Church sitting between them. The sisters were attired in elegant if loosely fastened gowns, uncorsetted and unlaced, and bedecked haphazardly with gaudy costume jewelry and wigs that sat on their heads as if they had fallen there off a tree branch. John was wearing a jacket that, besides being a rather shocking shade of gold, was also far too large for him. It was as though they had gotten dressed in the dark, or after they’d had several drinks.
Well, it certainly wasn’t dark.
“Alex!” Eliza called out gaily. “Look who’s home!” She lurched off the sofa unsteadily, and her wig fell in John’s lap.
“Alex!” another voice sang out. “Just in time!”
Alex turned, and suddenly everything fell into place. Ralph Earl stood at an easel. He was jacketless, his white shirt stained with sweat and his face flushed with drink. There was a paintbrush in one hand. With the other he snatched up a bright heap of gold fabric and came toward Alex with it.
“Here, here, put this on! You must join the picture!”
“Mr. Earl, I—”
“No, no,” Eliza said, coming up behind him. “Mr. Earl wants you in the picture, so into the picture you go!” She took what turned out to be a twin to the jacket John was wearing and, pulling at the buttons of his overcoat, began simultaneously trying to slip the new garment on him before the first was even off. Alex could smell the sweet scent of honey wine on her breath,
and her uncovered locks were in a state of shocking, if humorous, disarray.
“Eliza, darling, please, I haven’t even—”
But Eliza continued to pull on his overcoat. She had it open now, and was sliding it off him, but since she’d also slipped the gold jacket over it, the latter garment now fell to the floor.
“Hello?” she said in confusion. “How did that happen?”
On the sofa John Church was stroking Eliza’s fallen wig as though it were a sleeping cat. Angelica, on the other hand, seemed to be asleep, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder, her wig threatening to join her sister’s in John’s lap.
Eliza retrieved the fallen gold jacket, meanwhile, and was once again attempting to slip it on Alex, who was still wearing the gray jacket he’d gone to work in.
“Darling, please.” Alex caught the jacket and took a step back. “What in the world is going on?”
Eliza smiled at him a little crookedly. “Why, whatever do you mean, darling?” There was just the slightest stress on the word darling, but Alex didn’t heed the warning.
“I mean all this.” He waved a hand at the chaotic parlor. “Houseguests and pantomime and what seems to have been a significant consumption of alcohol.”
“But, darling,” Eliza said, laying still more stress on the word, “surely you know all about it, since you arranged for Mr. Earl to come stay with us after his release from prison, and you received John’s letter announcing his and Angelica’s arrival. As for the rest, well.” Eliza shrugged. “Since we have a houseful of guests, we might as well have some fun.”
Alex shook his head in confusion. “In the first place, I never received any such communication from John, or I would have told you about it. And in the second, it seems to me that it is you who forgot that Mr. Earl was coming to stay with us.”
“Forgot!” Eliza said, real heat coming into her voice. “How could I forget something I was never told?”
Alex racked his brain. He was sure he had told Eliza about Earl’s stay. He had arranged for it nearly two weeks ago. But he couldn’t remember a specific conversation.
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