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.
“But I mean, surely, I must have—”
“And as for Angelica and John, I know you received the letter, because I found it open on your desk in your study.”
“In my study? Were you snooping on me?”
“No, Alex, I wasn’t snooping. I was preparing the room to sleep my sister and her husband, since you had promised the other to Mr. Earl.”
“But there isn’t even a couch in there. Surely you’re not going to put them on the floor.”
“Of course I’m not going to put them on the floor. I borrowed a bedstead and mattress from our neighbors.”
“Borrowed a—from who? Whom?”
“Theodosia.”
“Theo—you mean Theodosia Burr?”
“Is there another on this block?”
Alex could barely believe his ears. “I’m not sure I appreciate your tone, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Oh, really, Mr. Hamilton? Well, I’m not sure I appreciate being saddled with a houseful of guests with no advance warning. But guess what? We’re going to make the best of it. You’re going to put this gold jacket on and join us on the sofa, and Mr. Earl’s going to paint a fabulous picture of us.”
“You’re going to have to wake him up first,” John said from the sofa.
Alex glanced over and saw that Earl had wandered to the dining room, where he pulled three chairs out from the table and laid himself across them. Wet snores bubbled out of his mouth, which was slick with spittle.
“Nope!” Eliza called. “Mr. Earl! Up!”
Earl ignored her, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in his hands.
Suddenly a faint crying came from up the stairs.
Angelica sat up as if a shot had gone off. Her wig went flying over the back of the sofa.
“The baby!” she said, her voice less panicked than automatic. She lurched up and headed for the stairs, her half-tied dress sagging around her waist, revealing the lace of her chemise.
John smiled at them wanly. “It looks like our party is over. I’ll, uh, just give Angie a hand.” And se
tting Eliza’s wig delicately on the sofa, he set off after his wife.
Alex waited till his brother-in-law was gone before turning back to Eliza. “My darling, I—”
“Don’t you ‘darling’ me, Alexander Hamilton.” Eliza’s tone was quiet but firm. The alcohol was gone from her voice, and Alex now wondered if it had been there in the first place.
“Eliza, please. I’m so sorry. I’ve been running in so many different directions lately. I—I must have lost track of things.”
“Well, I know one direction you haven’t been running in. To me.” And now a little hurt crept into her voice.
Alex felt his knees quiver. “It’s true. I’m so, so sorry.” He put his arms around her. “Let me make it up to you?” he said, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips.
Eliza let her lips linger on his. “Don’t think you can kiss your way out of this, Mr. Hamilton.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alex said, kissing her again. “Mrs. Hamilton.”
Another kiss, and then he took her hand and turned for the stairs.
“What say we continue our fight in the morning?”
Eliza just shook her head at him. “I might find you irresistible, Mr. Hamilton,” she said. “But I believe you are overestimating your powers of persuasion.”
She headed up the stairs alone, leaving Alex’s jaw hanging open. From the dining room came the throaty rumble of Ralph Earl’s snores.
23
Salad Days
The Hamilton Town House
New York, New York
March 1784
“Tell me again,” Eliza said.
“Lettuce,” Helena Morris said.
“Let us . . . ?” Angelica parroted in disbelief.
“Let us . . . eat lettuce,” Helen answered with a laugh.
Ralph Earl reached a hand forward and fingered the green leaves. “It certainly feels like lettuce,” he pronounced, to the obvious disbelief of the Schuyler sisters.
“That’s because it is,” Helena said. “Lettuce. L-E-T-T-U-C-E.”
“But it’s the twenty-seventh of March,” Eliza said. “How on earth can one have lettuce on March twenty-seventh? It’s like . . . it’s like a mule having babies.”
“Mules can’t have babies?” Ralph said. “Then how on earth do you get more mules?”
“A mule is a cross between a donkey and a horse,” Angelica said, fingering the lettuce nervously. “It does feel . . . like lettuce.”
“You’re making that up!” Earl scoffed. “Donkeys and horses—preposterous!”
“People!” Eliza clapped her hands. “Focus! We are trying to decide what this very lettuce-looking substance is that Helena has placed before us. My guess is that she wrinkled some paper up and then had Mr. Earl paint it green.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Helena snatched a leaf and popped it into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed. “See? Not paper. Lettuce. I told you. It’s a gift from Jane Beekman. Her parents’ greenhouse is apparently as balmy as the tropics. They grow green vegetables all the year round. Try it,” she insisted, pushing a head toward them.
Eliza looked at Angelica and Mr. Earl to see if either of them would volunteer. Both shrank from the table. Well, Eliza supposed, it was up to her. “I got a taste of an orange from Jane’s greenhouse the other day,” she said.
Nervously, she reached out and pulled a small piece from a leaf. It certainly felt real. Tender, slightly damp, with a bit of a crunch as it ripped free. She took a breath, then tossed it in her mouth. She expected some kind of rancid taste, as when, as a little girl, she had licked a painting of cake, thinking it would taste like frosting, only to have it taste like paint smells. But this tasted like . . . lettuce.
“Remarkable!” she after a moment. “It really is lettuce.” She tore off another piece. She turned to her sister and the artist. “You must try it!”
“Delectable!” the artist crooned.
“Oh!” Angelica said. “I don’t think I’ve had a green vegetable since September. Just soft potatoes and mealy apples and squash. This is divine! I feel my complexion brightening and my bones growing straighter! What a miracle!”
“Helena,” Eliza said, stuffing her mouth with the green goodness. “I would marry you if I weren’t already married.”
“And if she weren’t a woman,” Angelica said with a laugh.
“A technicality. I would find a way around it. This really is wonderful. It makes me long for spring’s full arrival.”
“Now, now, don’t eat it at all,” Helena said, laughing, as they reached for a second head. “Save some for Mr. Hamilton.”
“Mr. Hamilton can fend for himself,” Eliza said, but she stopped herself from digging into the second head, and swatted Mr. Earl’s hand away when he reached for it.
“Mmmm, how did that go last night?” Angelica said. “You seemed rather upset with him.”
“Oh, he was suitably apologetic, after I finally got him to admit that he had forgotten to inform me that Mr. Earl was coming to stay with us, and that your and John’s arrival was imminent. It behooves me to remember that he is doing the jobs of five different men at present, and I need to be understanding.”
“And what are you, a hat tree in the foyer?” Helena laughed. “There when he needs you, forgotten when he doesn’t? I told John when he proposed to me: I would rather spend my life with a cabbage farmer in some godforsaken place like Easthampton or, or Ohio than with a man who neglects me.”
“But, Helena,” Eliza said. “It falls to the men to work outside of the home and to provide for their womenfolk.”
“And whose fault is that?” Helena retorted. “No one’s but their own. Why, would you feel sympathy when your jailor complained about the long hours he spent guarding you? Of course not. You would tell him to release you, and then you could both get a good night’s sleep.”
“Hear, hear!” Earl said, once again reaching for the lettuce. Eliza snatched the basket away and folded the cloth covering over it.
“Surely you are not suggesting that women could do the same work as men?”
“Suggesting it?” Helena said. “Of course not. I am stating it as absolute fact. Why, many’s the time I’ve looked over John’s account books and spotted some error or other he missed.”
“Well, I’ve looked over Alex’s court papers on a few occasions but I’m afraid I’m not much help in that department.”
“But did you train as lawyer?” Helena asked. “Did you clerk at court? Did you go to college even? I’m betting you did not. I’m guessing that you and Angelica and Peggy were educated just like me and my sisters: at our mother’s knee, in the schoolroom at home. And after everyone had learned the basics of reading and writing and sums, the boys went on to science and history and philosophy while you had a needle and thread stuck in your hand, or a bow and arrow—but a dainty one, not one that you could use on the field of war—or perhaps a pianoforte.”
“What on earth is wrong with playing the pianoforte?” Eliza asked.
“Nothing,” Helena said. “But it won’t exactly help you solve the problem of paying for a standing militia without a federal tax program, or correcting our trade imbalance with France.”
“Well!” Angelica exclaimed with a laugh. “Our little Helena is one of Mr. Locke’s rationalist empiricists, or whatever they’re called.”
“I don’t even know who Mr. Locke is, let alone a rational whatchamacallit. My observations are based on what I see with my own two eyes. Speaking of which,” Helena interrupted herself. “Angelica and I really should be off. I’ve promised to take her to my tailor to get some dresses made for her journey. Angelica’s garments are far too American to wear in Europe.”
“Imagine if a man had to spend half as much time on his appearance as we do,” Angelica said as she followed Helena to the wardrobe in the hall, where
she retrieved her coat.
“They would not start half the wars they do,” Eliza joked.
“No, no,” Helena said with a laugh. “They would start them, but they would never show up to the field of battle because they’d be forever getting dressed.”
“And with that, my beautiful sister, I bid you au revoir,” Angelica said. “John said it was unlikely that he would be back in time for dinner, but I will do my best.”
“And if we do run late, then I will make sure she’s fed and watered somewhere,” Helena said.
Angelica waited for the maid to retrieve Philip from his crib upstairs. Eliza had offered to watch him but Angelica said that unless she was hiding a wet nurse somewhere, the baby had best stay with her. Kissing Eliza good-bye, she and Helena headed out into the bright March day.
“Well, Mr. Earl,” Eliza said, turning from the closed door, “it seems like it’s just you and me.”
Love & War Page 23