“Have you no answer, Mary?” Mistress said, her voice still light-hearted. “My dear husband has as much as promised that one day we’ll all live in a grand palace of his making. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“I shall live wherever I am taken, Mistress,” I said evenly.
But what difference would it make to me where they lived? I’d still be sent to sleep in the attic, and the floor of a palace would be just as unforgiving as the floor of the meanest cottage.
But Mistress would not (or could not; I do not know which) see the truth in my words, and instead continued her teasing.
“You are always my petticoat diplomat, Mary, neither agreeing nor disagreeing,” she said, a hint of sharpness now to her banter. “You could claim a seat in Congress for all you avoid taking a forthright stand for one side or the other. Now go below, and make sure my trunks and boxes are all locked and ready to be carried ashore.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I murmured, thinking a score of forthright things about her that I could never say aloud. I curtseyed and slipped my basket over my arm, preparing to do as she’d bidden, and she looked again at the view before her. But as I turned away, the Colonel’s eye caught mine. He wasn’t laughing, nor even smiling. Once again, he understood, and his eyes were filled with sympathy.
I flushed, and hurried away, and did not look back. Although by law most all of Mistress’s property had become his once they had wed, she’d told me that the Colonel had generously let her keep sole ownership of me. I didn’t understand entirely how this could be, but so long as I must remain a slave, being Mistress’s property was preferable to being his. Still, I didn’t want to imagine what would become of me if she ever caught him looking at me like that. At the very least she’d sell me, and make sure I went to a place where I’d be used ill. As comforting as the Colonel’s understanding might be (and I am ashamed to admit that it was), I prayed he’d never show me that favor again.
Alas, I prayed in vain.
* * *
The first lodgings that the Colonel had found for us were in the upper rooms of an old Dutch-style brick house with a sawtooth roof, not far from where he kept his offices. As soon as I climbed the narrow stairs, I understood why most of Mistress’s belongings had been left behind at the Hermitage, and why, too, the Colonel had wanted to promise her that things would be better in the future.
These lodgings were more bachelor quarters than a fit home for a married household. There were only three rooms: a parlor with their bed in one corner, and a dining table before the fireplace, a small chamber for the two boys, and another tiny room that they planned to use for dressing and washing, and where the Colonel sat to be shaved each morning by Carlos.
There was a true kitchen in the cellar that the house’s owner said was to be shared, if we wished. I felt only disgust when I first visited it and saw all the mouse leavings about the floor and the water puddled around one wall that stank like the nearby privy. To my relief, Mistress shared my reaction, and instead I made do by cooking light meals in one or two pans and skillets on the hearth in their parlor. This suited Mistress and the Colonel well enough. For those first weeks, it seemed they were content to live on coffee, tea, and love.
Carlos and I slept on the floor of the little dressing room, and I made sure each night to place the two spindle-back chairs between us. But to his credit, Carlos seemed to have lost interest in mischief with me, and we settled into a truce, if not a friendship.
I did soon learn, however, that Carlos was shockingly free with his master’s business, and shared with me much about the Colonel that I hadn’t known. He told me how through his own brilliance, the Colonel had persuaded the state’s Supreme Court to let him take the bar exam without the required three-year clerkship, citing his military experience as a substitute. Because a new law had been passed in New York prohibiting any lawyers with Tory sympathies from practice, there’d become a shortage of lawyers, and as soon as the Colonel had first passed his bar exam, and then a second to become a counselor-at-law, he’d seized the advantage for himself.
According to Carlos, the Colonel’s intelligence, handsome appearance, diligence, and confidence combined with his heroic record as an officer during the war and his well-respected family had won him both clients and cases. Even with the two clerks he’d hired, he almost had more work than he could handle.
“You can think you’re better than me and know everything worth knowing in this house, Mary Emmons,” Carlos said with his usual flippancy, “but you’ll see soon enough that I’m right. Master’s set his sights on becoming a wealthy gentleman and nothing won’t deny him.”
It was true that the Colonel appeared to be a gentleman of many accomplishments, and well regarded wherever he went in Albany. Still, I could see for myself how modest our lodgings were, and I recalled how he’d worn an old coat to his own wedding. But Carlos assured me that this was all temporary. As soon as the Colonel began to collect the fees he’d earned, he would move us all to a better house.
To my humbling surprise, Carlos’s prediction was soon realized. Before the summer was done, the Colonel had moved us all to another and much more agreeable residence. Although not large, this house belonged entirely to our household, and was more removed from the bustle of the docks and other commerce. Also of brick, it had tall windows that overlooked the North River and the green fields on the western banks, a parlor of sufficient size for entertaining guests, two separate bedchambers, and a respectable kitchen.
Mistress quickly set about making this house into a pleasing home. For her, of course, this meant first unpacking her books, but I soon saw other marks of the Colonel’s growing prosperity in the new furnishings and carpets that began to appear. He also ordered a Franklin stove for the parlor to be sure that Mistress would be warm in the winter, a stove that the boys immediately turned into a game of daring each other to touch the cast-iron surface.
Mistress had several new gowns made and older ones refashioned to suit the changing fashions, while the Colonel, too, had two new suits for his appearances in court. A fat-cheeked Dutch girl who spoke next to no English was hired to come several days a week for sweeping and laundry, as was a gardener for bringing order to the small walled garden behind the house so that Mistress and the Colonel could dine there. On nights when they decided to entertain, other servants beyond Carlos and me were hired or borrowed, too.
I was surprised to see how much the Colonel trusted Mistress with his business affairs. She was completely at ease in his office, and when he was away from Albany for a trial or other court business she was the one who oversaw the clerks, and answered questions as if she were herself a lawyer. Given her learning and intelligence, this was perhaps not so extraordinary in itself, but few other gentlemen would trust their wives so thoroughly with their affairs of business.
But Mistress performed more expected obligations on his behalf, too. Upon her first arrival in Albany, she called upon the wives of prosperous and important gentlemen, as she and the Colonel had agreed. Many had been away from their city homes for the warmer months, and now that the weather was once again cooler they’d returned. Just as the Colonel worked long hours to better their situation, Mistress now toiled as well, keeping up a stiff schedule of calls, teas, and dinners. She even began attending the North Dutch Church on Sundays, because it was the church that all the oldest and wealthiest Albany families attended.
As can be expected, among the most important of these new duties was calling upon Mrs. General Schuyler and her daughters at The Pastures, the manor house we’d first seen from the river. Because the Colonel wished Mistress to make the very best impression, he had hired her a chaise (for he could not yet afford to keep one of his own) to carry her the mile between our lodgings and The Pastures, and desired me to attend her.
The last time I’d accompanied a lady like that I’d been a child, traipsing along in a jingling collar and gaudy silk costume as Madame’s poupée. While I wouldn’t be expected to kneel on the floo
r or be petted like a tame monkey, I knew that my purpose remained much the same, to show to all of Albany that Colonel Burr was sufficiently successful at his profession for his wife to keep a mulatto slave to do little more than follow about after his wife.
This time I’d also carry a basket of shortbread biscuits as an offering. They were the Colonel’s favorites, and favorites of everyone who tasted them, too, and we’d always had them at the Hermitage. Now I baked them here in Albany, following Chloe’s recipe and thinking of her as I did. I knew Mistress would claim that the recipe was hers, and smile proudly when the biscuits were praised, since I’d seen her do it before. But when I creamed the butter and the sugar and the eggs, I knew the truth: they were Chloe’s, and now mine as well. Wrapped in a checked cloth, they’d be a fit offering at any house.
Not that Mistress needed biscuits to win her favor. I’d never seen her intimidated, and she wasn’t when the chaise drew before the Schuylers’ house. It seemed much more imposing, even daunting, than it had from the river, looming before us with two rows of tall, shuttered windows, double chimneys, and an elaborate white-painted balustrade along the roof. Mistress sent me up the steps first to knock at the door and announce her arrival to the manservant who answered. She then swept briskly up the front steps as if she’d every right to be there, while I followed more meekly with the basket.
I was awed, even if she was not. I’d never been inside so fine a house. The center hall alone was the width of most houses, with large doors open at each end to let the summer breezes through. The walls were ornamented with elaborate and costly printed wallpaper showing scenes of fanciful places and creatures, and through the other doorways I glimpsed rooms filled with fine furniture, porcelains, looking glasses, and carpets. I also noticed numerous Negroes at their tasks, another sign of the General’s prosperity, just as I was for Mistress. Like me, their clothing was worn and mended many times, proving that the Schuylers’ taste for luxury would go only so far, and was not to be shared with those who’d helped create it.
We were shown into a large, sunny parlor with yellow patterned wallpaper, where several well-dressed women looked up expectantly from their needlework when we appeared. Within minutes Mistress had charmed them all with her usual mixture of flattery and wit. She’d always been skilled at judging what manner of conversation suited which company. Here there was none of her usual droll exclamations in French, or reflections on Lord Chesterfield or Voltaire. Instead, she plunged into tales of her two boys like any other fond mother, and how she’d been forced by the war to make so many little economies in her housekeeping, and how her favorite reading was a good book of sermons. I knew Mistress well enough to understand how calculated all this was on her part, but the other women loved it, and therefore loved her.
She took special effort to be agreeable to Mrs. Hamilton, a lively dark-haired young woman with bright eyes and a ready smile. In turn Mrs. Hamilton was eager to converse with her, and tell her how Colonel Hamilton always spoke so well of Colonel Burr and his brilliance in legal matters. Before we left, Colonel Hamilton himself appeared, kissing his wife before he greeted the rest of the ladies, which made them all sigh over what a gallant, doting husband he was.
In some ways, he reminded me of Mistress’s husband: both were young and handsome gentlemen who’d kept their military bearing, even as civilians. Where Colonel Burr had dark hair, a commanding gaze, and a certain dignified reserve, Colonel Hamilton’s hair was golden red and his close-set eyes were light blue, and he’d the manner of a man too eager to please. Of the two, I preferred Mistress’s colonel as being more gentlemanly, as I assumed she did as well.
But I was not prepared for what she said as we rode home together in the chaise.
“I know Colonel Burr calls you a sphinx, Mary, silent but all-seeing,” she said. She’d developed a taste for modish large-brimmed hats, and the wired silk flowers on the brim of the one she’d worn today bobbed and trembled with the jostling of the chaise over the cobbled streets. “What did you make of young Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton?”
“They seemed most content with one another, Mistress.” I was more interested in learning that the Colonel had called me a sphinx to Mistress.
“They did indeed,” she said, smiling at the memory. She conversed freely like this when we were alone together, perhaps because I was the only woman left from her former life, or perhaps because the joy of her second marriage had made her more at ease. I knew better than to mistake her confidences for true friendship, but recognized it for what it was, more a convenience, a diversion, for her.
“It’s a pleasure to observe that kind of wedded bliss,” she continued. “Though I’m ashamed to admit I’ve little memory of Colonel Hamilton from the encampment at my house, especially after he praised my hospitality.”
I nodded. “There were other matters making demands upon you, Mistress.”
She laughed softly. “Yes, there were a plentitude of those,” she said. “All those tents, all those men and horses!”
She turned her head to look out the window, her expression turning thoughtful.
“I hope for Mrs. Hamilton’s sake that the Colonel did marry her for love, and not opportunity, though there’d be few who’d fault him for it that he did,” she said. “Hamilton has no family, no influence, no prospects to speak of. Simply by marrying that sweet creature, however, he now has everything in abundance, and a dear little son in Philip besides. That child is as beautiful as an angel.”
She paused, likely remembering her own two boys at the age of the Hamiltons’ son.
“Do you know that once a match was considered between Mrs. Hamilton—Miss Schuyler then—and my Burr?” she said, still looking away from me. “It never went beyond the meddlesome hopes of parents and maiden aunts, but ah! For a great family from Connecticut to wed into a great family from New York!”
Absently she rubbed one of the looped ribbons from her hat between her fingers and smiled, but as she gazed through the window her eyes were filled with an odd wistfulness.
“Elizabeth Schuyler would have made Burr’s life so much easier,” she said softly. “Her very name would have smoothed over every obstacle, and she’d have given him that son that he longs for so much. He’d never once have to explain why he’d chosen her. Yet instead he married me.”
From any other lady, this could have been a declaration plumped with pride, or even gloating triumph. But this was more a confession of love, and one tinged with insecurity as well. How much Mistress must love her husband, to wish unselfishly for his sake and betterment that he’d married another.
I remembered what she’d said again later that month. I’d come up the stairs to bring her tea on a tray, along with the letters that had arrived at the house earlier that morning. Because she and the Colonel often kept late hours, it was her habit to begin her day slowly, and after her husband had left for his office or for court she would return to their bed alone, sometimes to read with a cup of tea, sometimes to sleep further. Although her headaches had lessened since we’d come to Albany, her constitution remained delicate, and I believe the further sleep was her way of keeping pace with her more vigorous husband.
But on this morning, when I entered the room, she wasn’t in the bed, but huddled on the floor, retching over the chamber pot.
“Oh, Mistress,” I said. Swiftly I set the tray on her dressing table, grabbed a fresh handkerchief, and went to crouch beside her on the floor. I slipped my arm around her waist to steady her, and held her until with a final gasping shudder she raised her head.
“That’s all,” she rasped, leaning back against the frame of the bed with her bare legs and feet splayed awkwardly before her. “There’s nothing left for me to puke up, anyway.”
I moved the chamber pot to one side. Gently I smoothed her hair back from her forehead, and wiped sweat from her face and lips with the handkerchief. Her skin was pale and waxy, and her breathing labored.
“Come, Mistress, it’s chill here on the flo
or,” I said, trying to persuade her. “You’re unwell. Let me put you to bed, where you’ll be warm.”
“I shall be fine in a bit.” She struggled to rise, and I slipped my shoulder beneath her arm to lift her up and onto the bed. Although we were of similar height, she’d always been a wisp of a woman, all bones and skin, while I’d the strength that comes from long hours and work.
She didn’t fight me now, sinking gratefully against the pillows with a sigh as I drew the coverlet over her, her eyes fluttering shut from the effort. Most likely it was one of her headaches that had made her sick, as they often did.
“I’ll send Carlos to fetch the doctor, Mistress,” I said, lightly stroking her forehead. “It’s best to be sure.”
“No!” she exclaimed, her eyes flying open. “I told you I shall be fine.”
“But the Colonel would wish it, Mistress,” I reasoned. “He’ll fault me if I don’t.”
“He won’t if he doesn’t learn I was sick.” She pushed herself up on her elbows, rising up more from sheer will than true strength. “You see, I’m already feeling better.”
“Forgive me, Mistress, but you’re not,” I said. “You’re whiter than that linen.”
“Mary, no,” she said, dropping back against the pillow. “I’m not ill. This isn’t a sickness or complaint. I’ve been down this same path before, and I recognize the signs.”
I frowned. “The signs, Mistress?”
She sighed again, this time with what seemed to be resignation.
“I’m with child, Mary,” she said. “Or at least it was this same way with me the other times, with the other babes. It has been a long while.”
“Oh, Mistress,” I said, feeling foolish for not understanding. Except for my brief time at Belle Vallée, I’d never been in a household with childbearing women; Chloe would have laughed aloud at my ignorance. “The Colonel will be overjoyed.”
She grabbed my arm. “You must not tell him, Mary, not yet,” she said, her voice edged with desperation. “Not a word! I don’t want him so much as to hope until I am certain. If he began dreaming of his son, and I am mistaken, then he would be devastated, and I—I love him too well to do that to him.”
The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr Page 28
