My Theodosia

by Anya Seton

  She nodded. She never traveled without it. 'I have it here in my reticule'. She loosened the strings and drew the necklace from its little leather bag.

  Aaron lit the two candles which he had wrested from the unwilling jailer. She put the necklace gently down on the bare table where the light caught it. The diamonds shimmered and flashed yellow sparks. They stared at the jewels silently, both held by poignant memory.

  Aaron touched one of the diamonds. 'Poor little Miss Prissy,' he said, with a flicker of sadness. 'Another birthday has just passed, your twenty-fourth, and this time I gave you nothing.'

  'I want nothing!' she cried. 'Nothing but your freedom.'

  'I shall get my freedom,' he said, with confidence. 'And you shall yet have magnificent jewels, opals and pearls and diamonds that will make this necklace look like the tawdry bauble of a barmaid.'

  She looked at him in quick surprise. 'You have not then abandoned all hope of'—she cast a quick glance around, and whispered—'of "X"?'

  His eyebrows shot up. 'How can you ask me that? Do you think me a weakling? I am ashamed of you. Here, take your necklace and flaunt it proudly'. He gathered up the diamonds and poured them back into their leather pouch.

  When she left him, Aaron knew that he had reinfected her with hope and confidence, a confidence that he quite sincerely felt himself. But there were undoubtedly difficulties. He foresaw a long legal battle, recriminations, accusations, the necessity for parrying the venomous many-headed serpent which Jefferson had let loose.

  If only I had money, he thought, with a burst of anger. Money would have riveted Wilkinson's fickle loyalty, would even at this late stage shut the venal general's prating mouth. Aaron knew his man. The blustering turkey-cock could ever be swayed by self-interest. His newfound patriotism and horror of what he now called conspiracy had coincided with the disappearance of Aaron's funds—the monies subscribed to the cause by Joseph and Blennerhassett and others.

  Aaron's thoughts turned again to Theo's necklace. Upon consideration he decided that its forced sale would not bring enough to compensate for the pain of depriving her of it Besides, it might be urgently needed later—when the trial was over.

  He seated himself at his table, pulled a sheet of foolscap from a pile, headed it in cipher, 'A New Plan for Royalis; Government'. He had become so accustomed to using symbols and numbers in place of letters that he no longer needed to consult a key.

  He wrote rapidly: 'The Mexican Empire under Aaron Burr will be a monarchy incorporated with the best features of democracy. Though unlimited power shall be firmly vested in the Emperor, the people will nevertheless have restricted representation in the government'. He filled page after page with detailed analysis. It was an occupation which never failed to give him keen enjoyment.

  Outside, the long-threatened storm exploded into thunderclaps and a torrential downpour. Lightning blasted an oak in a near-by field. The deafening crash rocked the jail, brought screams from two tipsy strumpets who were confined on the floor below.

  But Aaron never even looked up from his writing-table.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THEO found that Aaron had not exaggerated the ‹lumbers of his friends and supporters in Richmond. There were many who thought him a martyr to Jefferson's petty persecution. They rallied around the charming Mrs. Alston, deluging her with hospitality. In obedience to her father's wishes, she entertained and was entertained. There were nightly routs or musicales or dances. The town was crammed with visitors, who streamed in on foot, on horseback, in the stages, or in elegant Italian chaises. They slept four in a bed in the taverns, and in private houses the children were banished to the attics to make room for guests.

  Besides the curiosity-seekers, there was a multitude whose presence was legitimate: witnesses, journalists, and an array of lawyers for both sides. There were distinguished names for the prosecution—the United States District Attorney, George Hay; that flower of oratory, William Wirt; and Alexander McRae, the Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia.

  Aaron's own array of talent was no less impressive—Edmund Randolph and Benjamin Botts and John Wickham were minor stars revolving around the huge bibulous bulk of Luther Martin. With the latter gentleman's defense Aaron had not been pleased. It was perfunctory and, all too frequently, unintelligible because of his habit of enlivening the tedious court proceedings with copious swigs from a large black bottle which he kept concealed beneath his coat-tails.

  'See, my dear, if you cannot induce in him a more serious attitude toward my fate,' said Aaron on one of Theodosia's daily visits to the jail.

  And she had succeeded brilliantly. The yellow brocade dress and the diamonds were bewitching. The rouge was unnecessary that evening. She had felt well and confident. The admiring glances, the little sympathetic murmurs which followed upon her entrance to the Richard Keenes' drawingrooms buoyed her and gave her an assured sparkle. Luther Martin had come to her side at once, his eyes brightening. And she had charmed the old man with smiles and flattery, made him feel that he was a gay dog indeed.

  'Egad, I'm half in love with the lovely Mrs. Alston,' he told everyone, slapping his great thighs and reaching for his bottle. 'Did I know no other good of Burr—and I do, mind ye—it would be enough for me that he has such a daughter.'

  And Theodosia, hearing this roar from the other end of the room, had smiled and been well content: especially as the ultimate object was obtained, and Martin's handling of the case increased in fervor.

  But every morning the carnival spirit, the gaiety, and the certainty that, after all, this was—as Aaron said—but a temporary embarrassment, were dimmed by the grimness of the courtroom. Each morning Theo entered the Capitol and was ushered to her seat in the gallery. Then, with the majestic arrival of John Marshall on the bench, the three imperative knocks of the gavel, the appearance of Aaron under heavy guard in the prisoner's box, her courage ebbed.

  John Marshall's face, sternly imperturbable under the curled white wig, filled her with fear. A just man, Aaron had said, and not likely to be swayed by Jefferson's hostile pressure. Maybe not. But he was not sympathetic to the defense either. His cold judicial stare told her that. And where might he not conceive justice to lie? How could he or any man sift truth from the wicked welter of accusations brought forth by General Wilkinson and his cohorts?

  And even if the judge was impartial, the jurymen all too obviously were not. When the counsel for the prosecution spoke, they leaned forward straining not to miss a syllabic, they nodded as though unconsciously, they murmured to each other, and at the mention of the words ' traitor,' 'conspiracy,' or ' treason' their eyes shifted to Aaron's impassive face with glances of collective hostility. When the lawyers for the defense countered, they relaxed and stared at the ceiling, either not listening at all or listening in but a bored manner.

  Over and over again Luther Martin stumbled to his feet to check the interpretations which now one and now another of the witnesses conceived to have been Aaron's plans.

  Once, General Wilkinson endeavored to bolster his tale of treason by alleging that he had heard that, besides desiring to split the Union and seize Mexico, Colonel Burr had conceived the idea of introducing 'some of his desperate followers into Washington and at a given signal seizing the government, appointing himself President, and possessing himself of the public monies deposited in federal banks.'

  Here Aaron permitted himself a gentle smile and murmured to one of his counsel, Wickham, ' 'Tis a most ingenious idea. Would that I had thought of it!'

  The young lawyer shushed him nervously, but at the same instant Luther Martin roared: 'Objection, Your Honor. May I once again point out that we arc not here concerned with General Wilkinson's fantasies. The prosecution is endeavoring to prove that the accused committed an overt act of war. Without this proof it cannot establish the crime of high treason. These chimeras which the witness fancies may have passed through my client's mind have no bearing whatsoever.'

  Judge Marshall nodded gravely. 'That
is quite true. The prosecution will confine itself to establishing that an act of war occurred.'

  The courtroom rustled and settled back. It was stifling hot in the small room jammed with people. Theo felt her head whirl and a sensation of faintness. When the court declared a recess, she got up and forced her way through the jostling crowd to the air. Sun beat down on the Capitol steps. She leaned against the wall and wished helplessly for water. She dared not go far, unwilling to miss one moment of the proceedings. She shut her eyes.

  'You look faint, Mrs. Alston,' said a cheerful male voice at her elbow. 'May I help you?'

  She started; the voice seemed familiar: the face, too, with its high color, small hazel eyes that, though sympathetic, yet had a mischievous gleam, tousled brown hair, neckcloth askew under one ear.

  'Why, thank you——' she began uncertainly. Where had she met him? He was no acquaintance from the Carolinas, his Yankee inflection showed that.

  'You don't remember me,' he said, with a shout of laughter. 'Oh, fickle Dulcinea! Have you forgot the banks of the East River? Have you forgot your first kiss, if I may be so bold?—Washington Irving, ma'am, at your service.'

  'Oh, of course,' she cried contritely, laughing a little. 'You must forgive me'. She had a vision of the boy and girl, halfplayful, half-enamored, experimenting together with the light sweetness of adolescent love. Richmond Hill and her seventeenth birthday! How happy I was!

  Aloud she said, 'That was so very long ago'. In spite of her effort to be light, her voice faltered. 'You have hardly changed,' she went on quickly.

  'Nor you, Theodosia, except to grow more beautiful'. But this was not quite true: he found her much changed. She was beautiful enough, her great eyes as magnificent as ever, her hair as burnished and silken, but the dewiness was gone, the fresh sparkle. And though her face was still smooth and unlined, it had sharpened. When she did not smile, it was marred by a heaviness of expression which aged her. Joy and expectancy have deserted her, he thought, and immediately rebuked himself. How could one be joyful and expectant with a father on trial for his life?

  'I see a bench down there in the shade,' said he, indicating the square. 'Let us sit there, and I will find you some refreshment.'

  'I dare not leave,' she began. 'I must be there when they convene.'

  'They will not do so for half an hour,' he assured her. 'The marshal told me.'

  She allowed him to settle her on a bench, declined his offer to procure her a glass of Madeira from the tavern across the square, but gratefully accepted the cup of water he brought her.

  'So you, too, have come to gape at the pillorying of an innocent man,' she said sadly, turning to him.

  Poor Theo, he thought with sympathy. Does she really think him so innocent? His writer's brain was fascinated by the new angle which he might glean from this meeting. He longed to probe her, to uncover for his delighted inspection the motives and emotions which animated her. But he did not wish to hurt her. Though the boyish love he had felt for her had long since vanished, it had left a residue of sentimental interest: a pleasing nostalgic pang.

  'I have not come to gape. I am reporting the trial for the New York Chronicle. '

  'Oh'. She accepted this vaguely. 'You have then become a writer, as you meant to be.'

  'Not as I meant to be'. He laughed. 'Not yet. But I shall'. 'Tell me truly'—she turned on him with sudden vehemence. 'Do you think it is going all right—for Father, I mean? I hear so many conflicting opinions. I dare not know what to believe. I can't always understand what happens in there'. She pointed to the Capitol. 'It goes on and on. There is so much legal talk. They all contradict each other. And that beast of a Wilkinson—how can they listen to his monstrous lies!'

  If they are lies, thought Irving cynically. But he had no admiration for Wilkinson, and, though he did have many doubts about Aaron's guilt and ultimate fate, he could at least give her one truthful reassurance.

  'Your father is superb. I admired him particularly at his first encounter with the General in court. Colonel Burr looked him full in the face with one of his piercing regards, swept his eye over his whole person from head to foot as if to scan his dimensions, then coolly resumed his former position. There was no appearance of study or restraint in it, no affectation of disdain or defiance, nothing but a slight expression of contempt. I know of no other man who could have withered a treacherous enemy so cleverly. The General, for all his bombast, collapsed like a balloon.'

  'Oh, I know!' she cried. 'Father is wonderful, always. But you haven't answered my question. There can't be any doubt of the outcome, can there? Sometimes——' Her voice sank. She shut her lips over the rest of her sentence: 'I can't help feeling frightened'. That would have been disloyalty, disobedience to Aaron's express commands. She had forgotten for a moment that Irving was a journalist : one of the howling pack that had already done their best to rend Aaron.

  'How silly of me to ask such questions!' She straightened, and her voice had a false briskness that Irving thought pathetic. 'Of course there is no doubt of the outcome. An innocent man cannot be convicted. I mean simply, how does it appear to you as an observer? You will, I trust, furnish your paper with an unprejudiced account.'

  'Most certainly,' he answered kindly, glad that this committed him to nothing. He moistened his lips, considering best how to find the answer to a multitude of questions which plagued him. Where was her husband? Had they really been on Blennerhassett's Island or no? Above all, what, in so far as she knew them, had been Colonel Burr's real intentions? She held the key to all these matters. Matters he and his confrères had speculated upon and discussed pro and con night after night, after the day's session was ended. He ached with curiosity.

  It was maddening to sit there beside her and to know that, by clever tactics, by invoking the ghost of their faraway little love affair, or indeed by downright bullying, he might wrest from her so much valuable information. And yet he could not. Her dignity, her air of remoteness, and, paradoxically, her vulnerability constituted a shield. He knew that she was scarcely conscious of him, now. Her eyes were continually raised toward the Capitol Building, her fingers plucked at a small lace handkerchief on her lap: scarcely conscious of him as a person, sitting on the bench with her, and not conscious of him at all as a man. This piqued him slightly, for women did not usually treat him so. And yet was it not that same impervious quality in her which had intrigued him years ago? He had been unable to pierce it then, and now he no longer had the urge to try.

  The town clock struck, and Theodosia sprang to her feet. 'I must get back.'

  Irving offered her his arm and escorted her to the courtroom. When they entered, the prisoner was already in the box. Irving, watching with alert interest, saw the quick look that flickered between Burr and Theodosia.

  Why, she worships him, he thought, startled. And he, in his cool, self-centered way, worships her. That was more like the signal of parted lovers than a look of filial affection.

  The idea interested him. He reached for the quill pen provided for members of the press, pulled the bottle of ink toward him and made some quick notes before settling back to listen to the proceedings. The trial had been exciting enough before by reason of the magnitude of the charge, the number of persons involved, and the former high standing of the accused. Now, after his re-encounter with Theodosia, it had developed overtones which intrigued him mightily. This is far better than the theater, he told himself with delight. His bright hazel eyes darted from one face to the other, speculating and weighing.

  Next day he had abundant new cause for interest. Matters went badly for Burr. The prosecution produced witnesses from Blennerhassett's Island: a groom and a gardener who made damaging admissions. There had been great preparations on the island—the storing of food, the outfitting of boats.

  ' Warships, might they be called?' the prosecutor suggested. Well, no, not unless you called flatboats warships.

  ' But there were guns?' Oh, yes, for sure. There were plenty of muskets
and ammunition.

  'And Colonel Burr had raised a sizable army to use these muskets and ammunition?' Yes, a good number of men had enlisted with Colonel Burr.

  A murmur ran around the courtroom. The jury was fixed by the prosecutor's triumphant eye: here was the beginning of the necessary proof; it remained but to show that those muskets had been fired, then Burr's goose would be cooked for sure.

  Everyone in the courtroom knew the value of this evidence. Everyone tilted forward straining to see Burr and how he took it. Not a muscle in his indifferent face quivered, however. He sat relaxed, a trifle pale, perhaps, but no more so than could be explained by the continued and choking heat.

  Irving alone of all the crowd looked, not at the prisoner, but at Theodosia. He thus happened to see a flash of naked emotion on her face. And the emotion astounded him: he had expected consternation, dismay, fear; and he saw instead utter amazement followed by joy. It couldn't be joy, unless she had lost her reason, he thought dumbfounded. He then perceived that her dilated eyes were not fixed on her father as was their wont, but on a point beyond Burr's head. Turning, he followed her gaze.

  There was a newcomer. A tall gaunt man with fair hair, leaning against the wall. And his eyes were riveted on Theo as hers were on him. It was for this man, then, that her face was illumined with a bewildered joy that transformed it; had transformed it, for now, as Irving turned to look at her again, her eyes were cast down, but even across the dozens of people who separated them, he could see that her cheeks, even her neck and the square of chest exposed by her dress, were scarlet Now, what is the meaning of this? thought Irving. Can it be the husband? Does one ever betray so much emotion at beholding a husband? He listened a moment to the evidence, which had once more bogged down in technicalities and required no attention, then he jogged the arm of the journalist next to him. 'Tell me, pray, do you know the name of the long fair fellow who stands over there against the wall? He in the green coat?'