Sharing Hamilton

by Diana Rubino

  Contrary to my prediction, Alex didn't die laughing. He nodded, then dived into his roast beef and potatoes. I could not touch a morsel. My plate grew cold. Nor was I interested in wine. “When you ordered Wolcott to investigate this and arrest James, why hadn't you told me about it?” I badgered, as rehearsed, anger rising as I glared at him.

  “Why should I have told you?” He glanced at me between bites and sips.

  “I believed we were confidantes!” I shouted, though I hadn't meant to. “I tell you all.”

  He ventured a dramatic eye-roll. “My dear, physical intimacy and tender feelings don't encompass divulging every detail of a man's life.”

  “Last night it was deep, true love. Now it's tender feelings?” Rage wound me up like a tight spring. “We need discuss our relationship in far more detail. Later. But this involves James.”

  “And at the time, he'd allegedly left you for another woman. You'd appealed to me, destitute, because he was a swindler, a cad. Why are you so indignant about saving his hide now?” He pointed his knife at my untouched plate. “You should eat. The beef is very savory.”

  I shook my head, disillusioned and confused, my heart in a muddle. I'd hoped he was taking steps to leave his wife, but I now realized we were miles from that stage. “Alex, I want you to unburden all your problems and cares on me. And I think I was entitled to know you were investigating my husband,” I added for emphasis.

  “Your husband was already with another woman. Or so you claimed.” His narrowed eyes cast doubt upon me. “Any sensible wife would be glad to be rid of him. Especially after committing a fraudulent crime against my—the United States Treasury.”

  I loathed keeping up the pretense that James had deserted me. But I daren't tell Alex the truth now. I couldn't bear having him throw me out of his house, out of his bed, out of his life. Desperately in love with him, I would die if he left me now.

  “Yes, I took James back. Mayhap I shouldn't have. But that arrest came as a shock, and I wish you'd told me about this before.” I helped myself to the wine bottle. “Now I can use some of this.”

  “Maria, you needn't know everything about me. Or what I do to benefit citizens, such as yourself, or the treasury, or aught else. Tis not my nature to have divulged something like this to you. I don't proclaim every good deed and expect rose petals strewn at my feet.” He stabbed the air with his fork. “That is Jefferson's style, not mine,” he added in a haughty tone.

  I now realized if I wanted to continue our affair, I'd have to accept all this.

  A server hovered around us with a silver tray and spoon. “More carrots, sir?”

  “Yes, please.” He certainly did have a hearty appetite. “And another basket of warm rolls. And more butter.”

  “Jacob Clingman is already free on bail.” I bowed my head. I couldn't look him in the eye as I admitted, “but we have no money for James's bail.”

  The server returned with his carrots, rolls and butter. Appetite still eluded me as he relished his feast.

  I twisted my serviette twixt my fingers. “It was a mistake, Alex. You know James, he'll do anything for money, but he meant no harm. He wants to make amends to the government. And so do I. I—I can knit blankets and socks for soldiers. If Lady Washington can do it, so can I.” This didn't sound quite as preposterous now. Certainly I could do this. I needed bail money, but I was too proud to ask. Food and rent money was one thing, but this—I just couldn't. Nor did he offer.

  Another server entered with an aromatic apple pye and a steaming pot of coffee. “I'll serve this myself. You may leave us till the morn.” Alex dismissed her and cut himself a generous slice. “Pye?”

  I shook my head.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I personally asked Comptroller Wolcott to serve the arrest warrants for your husband and Clingman. Wolcott is Clingman's superior. I cannot let this go by the wayside.” He dabbed at his mouth with his serviette and sipped his coffee. “I do not tolerate fraud in the treasury, Maria. I am accountable for everything that happens there. If someone absconds with a penny, I am accountable. That is why I hire men of integrity.” He dug into his pye. “Yes, Simeon Reynolds is young and gullible. He should be an accomplice. However, he's not been charged yet. But I preside over the Treasury Department, and whatever happens, tis my burden and my duty to make it right.” He projected his voice as if addressing the court.

  “I've no more argument in me,” I admitted. “No statesman has more integrity than you when it comes to money, especially the treasury's.” That was why he wouldn't give me bail money for James. He wouldn't take my word for it. He had to look into it himself. I bristled at what I considered a slight, but I held a great respect for his integrity. He put the treasury before me. I had to accept that. Or leave him. I chose the former, because God help me, I'd fallen too deeply in love with this man to let him go.

  “What did you think of Henry the Eighth?” He changed the subject.

  “I'd read it before.” As I pictured the portly king, my stomach churned. “I always liked the play, but loathe the real King Henry. It is sickening how he murdered his wives and destroyed those beautiful monasteries. The self-absorbed tyrant.”

  That made Alex laugh. “As is the current British monarch, Mad King George. Precisely why we're on this side of the pond.”

  “My family did not like King James,” I said. “They considered him a tyrant as well. He abdicated, did he not?”

  “Right you are. A group of His Majesty's subjects opposed both his religion and his absolute power. They deposed him in the Glorious Revolution. Not quite as glorious as ours, mind you.” He nodded. “But Parliament did regard him as to have abdicated, and Scotland's Parliament acknowledged that he forfeited his throne. You may remember what I wrote in the Federalist Papers about the authority of the monarch. It was almost unlimited until that revolution, when King James abdicated and William of Orange took over, that English liberty was completely triumphant. I would not want to have lived there before William.”

  “I do remember reading that.” My heart swelled with admiration for him. “I liked the way you delved into English history.”

  “I always loved to write. Were it not for the good citizens of St. Croix liking my newspaper article, who knows where I would be today?” He scooped up another forkful of pye. “Likely still there, running a sugar plantation, a Caribbean gentleman bean counter.”

  “That is not possible, Alex.” I fiddled with a spoon. “You would have found your way here somehow. This is your destiny. Greatness. To make American history. You never would have been happy to settle for farming on a tropical island.”

  A wistful smile played upon his lips. “At the time, I had no long-range plans. I went whichever way the wind blew.”

  “You cannot believe you were blown here—into King's College, General Washington's camp, the Congress, and now the Treasury Department? Surely you must have believed in yourself, in order to seek out Washington's attention, to take those first steps.” I sneaked my reflection in a butter knife.

  He cut another hunk of pye and slid it onto his plate. “I needn't have sought out his attention. He sought out mine. He was looking for the son he never had, and I was it. I do not know what brought me here—to this pinnacle of my life. I never had a moment to stop and think about it.”

  “I know why. Because no one else in this nation is capable of your visions.” I grasped his hand, wanting to touch this genius. “To merely be in your presence is an honor.” And here I was, his lover!

  “I'm not sure of that.” He glanced at me and looked away again. “I am not sure anyone else would want this job.”

  “Did not President Washington have others in mind?”

  He splayed his fingers. “I have no way of knowing. He never told me if he did. He's not much of a talker. He gets down to business and doesn't tarry. I'm honored he chose me but doubt I'm the supreme being.”

  “Alex, you do not think enough of yourself. You must leave your beginnings
behind and look to where you are now. You are the most brilliant visionary our nation has. I would be honored to have you as my president.” It came out sounding as if I were in a position to give him that appointment. But I meant it.

  His lips tightened and his cheeks flushed. He pulled his hand away. “I could never fill Washington's shoes. I don't want to live to see another president. No one could ever replace him.”

  “Vice-President Adams would make a good president.” I knew that would get a rise out of him.

  “Anyone but Jefferson.” He gave an ironic snicker. “But I haven't considered the presidency. After my public service ends, I prefer to resume my law practice in my old age.”

  Now that we'd touched on the topic of the future, I dared to be bold. “And does that old age include—us?” I waited for his answer with baited breath.

  His eyes softened and he smiled. “God willing.”

  This was the first time he'd ever mentioned God. I had no idea how religious he was, if at all, or of what faith. But I did not want to press him any further on the subject. If we were to be married someday, it did not have to be in church. We had plenty of time for wedding plans.

  The vision of Alex as my husband filled me with warm romantic feelings. My ardent desire for him gave me the urge to initiate our lovemaking, to be the seductress, to render him helpless under my touch. I came right out and propositioned him: “Shall we retire to a bedroom?”

  The servants had cleared the table and vanished. The house sat in tomb silence. We were all alone. “Yes, yes, of course,” as if he'd forgotten why I was there.

  He didn't sweep me into his arms and whisk me up the stairs like last night. “Follow me,” he offered politely and led me up to the back bedroom. He lit a fire and turned to me. “Take off your clothes, then.” Hardly romantic. But I obeyed. I still wanted him. I would get his mind back in the bedroom where it belonged.

  As we slipped naked between the sheets, moonlight streamed through the window. The firelight flickered over his hair and his fine features. I kissed him. Our tongues mingled. His muscles relaxed under my attentive hands. But something else won out.

  He flopped onto his back. “It's not going to happen tonight,” he murmured. “I'm too done in. What with work, everything on my mind…” His chest rose and fell as he released a deep breath.

  “Tis all right, Alex.” My voice dragged with the letdown but I couldn't push him. Nothing is less responsive than a tired—and overfed—man. I only hoped my talk of the presidency and God and our future had not turned him away. My hands slid up his body and massaged his neck. “Don't worry, we'll try again in the morning.”

  But in the morning I woke in an empty bed.

  I found a note on his pillow. Pls remove yourself soon as you awake as not to arouse suspicion. I obeyed. But of course I planned to come back tonight. First I had to find bail money for James.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Eliza

  Feb'y 17th, the Tudor Inn.

  Very clean. No bedbugs. Empty chamber pots. We stopped here on the way from Albany. I wished Alex were here with me, as I rocked John in the cradle Robert was kind enough to give me.

  I was reluctant to hire Mrs. Bates, but desperate to know if those anonymous letters were authentic. Her services would be expensive, so I'd asked dear Papa for some assistance. I could cut back on household expenses and repay him. Alex need never discover my scheme. But I thought of a safer—rather, sneakier way: have Mrs. Bates follow Mrs. Reynolds, not Alex. If her and my husband's paths never crossed, I'd rest easy. But I wondered if Mrs. Bates could find out who wrote those letters to me. That was who I really wanted followed. This heartless instigator intent on ruining our lives. I planned to show the letters to Mrs. Bates and have her compare the penmanship first to Mr. Jefferson, then to Mr. Adams, then to Mr. Burr, then whoever else I thought of. And prayed I needn't borrow more money for it.

  Maria

  I told Mrs. Platz I could not afford violin lessons for a while. I would put the money towards James's bail until I raised enough.

  At first, she accused me wordlessly, brows drawn, eyes beady. “Maria, we both know I saw you at the top of Herr Hamilton's stairs. You did not hide very well. You're lucky no one else saw you.” Her lips tightened into a thin line, as if chiding a child. And like a child, I froze.

  But I elected to play the innocent. “Herr who?”

  Her hostile glare told me she wasn't believing any of it. So I admitted the truth. “Yes, it was I. Please—don't tell a soul. It was just that once. Nothing happened. We were simply talking. Mr. Hamilton has done business with James. But now he's in jail and I—”

  “Stop it right there.” She held up a callused hand. “I admire Herr Hamilton. But I confess I rather mislike his wife. She patronizes me, as if she's my better. She's a Schuyler, we all know that. And I'm a peasant from Vienna. But in the end, we all rot in the same dirt. Whatever liaisons you and Herr Hamilton have, it is none of my business. So I shant tell anyone. As for your husband, I wish I could help further, but I haven't the extra funds to advance you for his bail.” She pointed at the chair before her. “Sit down. We'll have the lesson anyway free of charge.”

  I wiped away tears of relief.

  She brought me a spare violin, and the free lesson took my mind off my troubles.

  Until I went to visit James in jail.

  “Did you raise the bail money yet?” came his greeting. “I asked Hamilton for a hundred dolls t'other day. So far tis no forthcoming.”

  I recoiled. “He won't give you a lump of coal after all this,” I retorted as the “codlings of an ox” phrase entered my mind. “You violated what he considers sacred, the treasury.”

  “Did you tell him what I told you to say?” He eyed me questioningly, chewing the bread and cheese I'd brought him.

  “Of course,” I huffed. “But he's going to look into it regardless. He wouldn't trust his own wife with the treasury, much less me.”

  James wiped his hands on his shirt. “He guards the bloody treasury with his life, yet he romps behind his wife's back. Well, mayhap tis high time she found out.”

  I gasped. “No. James, no, don't even think of telling her. I'll get more money from him, I promise.”

  “Aye, so will I. With my next letter, mentioning the possibility of letting Mrs. Hamilton in on this cozy threesome.” He shoved another piece of bread into his gob and chewed with gusto.

  “Please don't, James.” I clutched the cold iron bars till my fingers cramped. “I'll see him tonight. One way or another, I'll get you out of here.”

  “That's my girl.” He reached through the bars and we clasped hands. My heart ached for him. He wasn't a hardened criminal. Just someone trying to make a living. But going about it the wrong way at times.

  As I scurried out of the jail, my hands and feet frozen, I shivered—from fear of Mrs. Hamilton hearing about me and Alex. Then an idea hit me—I could parade someone in front of her as my lover. This was a desperate act, and an act it would be, but desperate I was. And I knew just the man to play the part of my lover—Jacob Clingman. The reigning king of the theater, David Garrick, couldn't play this role any better!

  At nightfall, I dressed, powdered and perfumed myself to spend another night with Alex. I knocked at his door, but the servant told me he wasn't in residence. She knew not when he'd return. I dared not ask where he was. Disappointment dragging my feet, I returned to the carriage. “Take me to number Three Hundred Spruce Street,” I instructed the driver.

  I hadn't visited Jacob Clingman's stately home since his wife was alive, nigh on two years. It was the largest brick mansion on Spruce Street, three storeys high with a wing on either side. The entire structure measured at least one hundred feet wide. It stood back from the street, a high brick wall surrounding it, ensuring privacy. Behind the house sprawled a garden, orchard, and an assortment of outbuildings.

  The carriage rolled to a stop at the entrance. The driver lowered the carriage steps and helpe
d me alight. A female servant with a daring low neckline answered my knock. Before she could escort me to a sitting room, Jacob appeared and greeted me. “I'm so sorry, Maria, I would have helped James with his bail, but I'm low on ready cash.” Yet his eyes twinkled as he took my hand and kissed it.

  “I shall raise the money somehow.” I gave the servant my shawl. “If I skip the rent this month, I'll have enough to bail him out. But there's something else I need discuss.”

  He led me down the marble-floored hallway into a tastefully furnished parlour. We sat on a French settee with a plush velvet seat and caned back. “Someone is accusing me of having an affair with Alexander Hamilton and sending his wife scandalous letters.” Then I blurted, “Mrs. Hamilton invited me for tea, but I haven't yet accepted. I thought it courteous to invite her to call on me. Will you also attend and—” I cleared my throat, cringing with trepidation. “Pretend, just pretend, that we are courting? We can act—cozy, familiar with each other. We'll make it clear to her I have no interest in her husband. This will surely quell her suspicions.”

  His response came as an amused grin, exactly what I'd expected. I needn't twist his arm. “Pray tell me the time and the place, and I shall be there.” Then he excused himself and returned with one hundred dollars in bank notes. “Here. Bail James out with this. Spend the remainder on yourself. Pay me back when you can.”

  “Twenty minutes ago you were cash-strapped.” I took the proffered notes, folded them, and slid them down the front of my bodice. “But thank you for sharing your golden goose with me.” We exchanged smiles.

  “My winnings from a card game, which I planned to gamble straight back, but James has helped me in the past. Besides, how else could I repay you for such an enchanting experience as courting you—for Mrs. Hamilton's sake, that is?” His twinkling eyes wouldn't leave me, whether I looked down, up, or across the room.