Sharing Hamilton

by Diana Rubino

  “You're the one doing me the favor,” I corrected him.

  “Believe me, the pleasure will be all mine,” he countered, with a dazzling smile. I hadn't realized how straight and white his teeth were. They looked like he cleaned them thrice a day. He certainly was meticulous about his appearance. But I couldn't hold him up to Alex. Next to my golden god, everyone else paled as mere mortal.

  “Fine. Then I shall write to Mrs. Hamilton and accept her invitation. She's due back from Albany any day now.” I tried to keep the lilt in my voice but simply couldn't, not knowing when I'd see Alex again. “I'll return to the jail to post James's bail.” I stood. “So I'll be on my way. I need to get him out of there.”

  Jacob followed me into the hall. “Until such time, good evening, Maria,” he said at the door. Then, before I knew what hit me, he swept me into his arms, dipped me, and fixed his lips upon mine. Too surprised to pull away, I was upright again. I should have given him a good what-for. But we both knew what was happening here. He knew my marriage was less than perfect. And I'm sure he suspected my affair with Alex, hence my efforts to quell the rumors. I bustled out of there before he kissed me again—or before I kissed him.

  When I arrived at the jail, the guard told me James had been released. I stumbled backwards in surprise. “Do you know where he went?” God above, who had he conned for bail money?

  “No, ma'am,” the guard replied.

  I had to know. “Who posted his bail?”

  “No bail, ma'am. Two congressmen called on him, they conversed with him, and ordered his release.”

  I stumbled out in a daze. Congressmen? Ordered his release? Had he bribed them? My head spun with bafflement. Stunned, I stood on the street, looking both ways. Where on earth had he gone to? I headed for his favorite tavern, The Grog.

  As I stepped into the crowded room, the odors of smoke and stale sweat assaulted me. Women weren't allowed in taverns, but James frequented this place so often, I was not confined to the snug.

  I found him alone at a side table, quaffing from a tankard. “James! How did you get out of jail?”

  He slammed the tankard down, swept the foam from his lips and grinned. “You're looking at a free man, my bonny lass. Care for a spot of mead?” He stood and pulled out a chair for me.

  “No, I don't want any mead.” I sat. “Tell me how all this leaked out, to senators and congressmen, no less.”

  In the brightest spirits I'd seen him in for ages, he whistled a sprightly tune. But he smelt rancid.

  “You need a bath, James.” I wrinkled my nose.

  “I need another bevvy.” He looked round for a bar maid.

  “James, who were these congressmen who ordered your release? Tell me!” I demanded.

  “Two congressmen and a senator,” he corrected me, still searching for a server. “The congressmen were Fred Muhlenberg and Abe Venable, and the senator was James Monroe.”

  I pressed my palms on the scarred table and leant forward. “Why on earth did they release you?”

  “Because ah'm a charmin' persuasive gent, why else?” He winked and continued, “Because someone, the congressmen wouldn't divulge who—but I know who—told Muhlenberg that I had it in my power to injure treasury members, including Hamilton, also deeply concerned in ventures using public funds for private gain—” He paused and smirked. “He'd frequently advanced money to me—and other insinuations of an improper nature. Unable to keep his gob shut, Muhlenberg repeated the story to his cronies Venable and Monroe, both anti-Federalists and anti-Hamiltons, I maeght add. Then Muhlenberg had the culls to call me a rascal. But I detected a grudging respect in his tone when he called me that.” He brandished his practiced smirk that always accompanied a swagger.

  “Who could've told Muhlenberg about this? I can't come up with anyone. No one knew aught about this.” Surely it couldn't have been Mrs. Platz.

  “My former friend who seems to have just grown another face, Jacob Clingman.” He grabbed a passing bar maid's arm. “Another ale here and a mead for the lady, if you please.”

  “Jacob?” I slumped against the chair back, stunned. “I left him not an hour ago! Lord above, he gave me your bail money!” I hadn't even a chance to tell James about my plan to parade Jacob as my beau for Mrs. Hamilton. “Why would he do something like this?”

  “He once served as Fred Muhlenberg's clerk.” James drained his tankard and covered a belch with his hand. “He went to Fred for help in this mess Hamilton got us into. But he no doubt wants to git back at me for dragooning him into our fraudulent scheme. He only wanted to save his own arse. And if he thinks ah'm going to pay back that bail money, he's pissin' up the wrong rope.”

  I clutched the table edge, too stunned to feel betrayed. “Lord's sake, what now?”

  The maid plunked down my mead and a full tankard, foamy liquid running down the sides. James guzzled nearly half of his in one gulp. I didn't touch mine.

  “I didna deny their allegations. I told them, 'Fine. Jacob is correct. I do possess valuable information. Ah'll turn state's evidence. But on one condition. That you order my release. Now.' So release me they did. Twenty minutes ago.”

  “What is state's evidence?” I circled my fingers round the glass but didn't lift it.

  “A legal term invented last year.” He took a long pull of his ale. “Meaning an accomplice or a defendant in a crime, who becomes a voluntary witness against other defendants.”

  “Hell's bells, you should've been a barrister.” I couldn't help but smile. “You missed out on several callings. You misuse the brains God gave you. Rather, you do use them, but for the wrong things.”

  “I abhor bloody barristers—and all lawyers.” He took another swig of ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “If I'd gone to trial, I'd have defended myself. Anyhoo, I had the congressmen by the culls. Hence, I told them everything they wanted to know about the Treasury Department speculators, their names, when and where they made their speculative investments, and the amounts involved. And for proof of Hamilton's offenses, I have letters he wrote to me, which I granted the congressmen access to.” His lips curled. “Ah'll not let a hoose fall on my head. If Ham wants to play it this way, he's bringin' a butter knife to a gunfight.”

  “You told them Alex was embezzling public funds?” I stiffened. My heart stilled. “Oh, no, James. This has gone too far.”

  “Ballocks.” He flipped his hand. “Ah'll not let him dick me round. He had me jailed for a minor infraction, for hell's sakes.”

  “Yes. For committing fraud!” Of course I had no power to stop him. If this became public, and of course it would, I would never see my Alex again.

  He drained his tankard and slammed it down. “The congressmen considered it minor enough, or they wouldn't have freed me just on information. Fraud for a soldier's back pay of four hundred dollars is rabbit shite compared to Treasury Department members—and the secretary, no less—using treasury funds for personal profit.”

  My mind whirred. How could I save Alex from ruin? I had to act fast—before Mrs. Hamilton started believing those blasted letters she'd gotten.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eliza

  Feb'y 22nd

  Ah, home at last! I breathed in the familiar beeswax aroma of my hallway, swept off my shoes and wiggled my toes in the parlour carpet. After bathing myself and the children, I supervised a splendid meal of roast beef and potatoes. When Alex came home, I flirted with him as a young and pretty coquette. But later, in bed, he claimed “I'm limp with fatigue,” and I understood.

  Tucking the covers round him, I soothed, “You've been working too hard.”

  I daren't mention my visit to Robert Troup, or the name of Ann Bates. I was still intent on finding out the truth behind those letters. But as Alex fell into slumber, I brimmed with confidence—no other woman could hold his interest.

  I'd read in yesterday's papers that James Reynolds had been released from jail. I suppose his wife is relieved, I thought next morn as I entered our
parlour and halted. Who did I find engaged in lively conversation with Alex? None other than the newly freed fraud himself!

  Dressed in tailored velvet finery, his hair shining, Mr. Reynolds stood to greet me with a gentlemanly bow. “Best morn to you, Mrs. Hamilton.” I bade him good morn and left them alone.

  I called on Mrs. Bates, bringing the cursed letters with me.

  Mrs. Bates had earned quite a reputation as a spy during the war. She was famous or infamous, loved or hated, depending on which side one asked. Having read of her brazen spying activities in the papers, I grew to admire her for her bravery and raw spunk.

  On this crisp sunny day, I walked to her Mulberry Street house, three doors from Mrs. Betsy Ross. I bowed my head to the American flag hanging above Mrs. Ross's front door.

  I approached a plump matron in a pink shawl, sweeping Mrs. Bates's porch. Taking her for a servant, I asked, “Is Mrs. Bates in residence, please?”

  To my surprise, she balanced the broom on her shoulder like a musket and held out her right hand to clasp mine. “Mrs. Bates at your service, ma'am. And who may you be?” Her melodic bell-like voice rang out.

  “I am Mrs. Alexander Hamilton.”

  Her eyes, as blue as today's cloudless sky, brightened as she relinquished my hand and dipped in a practiced curtsey. “Lady Hamilton! To what do I owe this honor, ma'am?”

  As she regained her erect posture, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Mrs. Bates, I am not royalty. I am Elizabeth to you. And this bowing and fawning always embarrasses me to the point of cringing.” But for some reason Alex enjoyed it.

  She leant the broom against the porch rail and swung her door open, ushering me into her house.

  “Tea, coffee, brandy, mead, ale, name your poison,” she offered as she threw off the shawl, pushed up her sleeves and carried an overstuffed wing chair to the hearth. Her arm muscles bulging, she handled the heavy item as if a feather pillow.

  “Cider would be nice if you have it.”

  As she bustled out, I glanced round her sitting room. Oil paintings and sketches covered three walls. The largest portrait, gilt-framed and centered over the mantel, displayed George Washington—as the Major General of the Continental Army—in military regalia.

  On the fourth wall, a collection of muskets and pistols hung in a circle resembling a sunburst. I'd wager she could shoot the beak off a flying duck while standing backwards.

  She returned with two crystal goblets on a silver tray and handed one to me.

  “I sacked my servants last week.” She sat across from me on her settee and hiked up her skirts to mid-calf, revealing mud-stained boots. I surmised she'd worn those storming through Valley Forge. “Caught them pilfering. Nothing major, coin and such, but I tolerate no insubordination.”

  I nodded my understanding. “We've had to dismiss our share of servants for the same reason.”

  As I sipped my cider, she downed her drink, throwing back her head. I then realized she hadn't joined me in my spot of cider—her poison had been whisky.

  Mrs. Bates smacked her lips and displayed a bright but gap-toothed smile. “Now, Lady Ha…er, Elizabeth, of what service may I be to you?”

  I retrieved the letters from my drawstring satchel and handed them to her. “Someone has been writing these anonymous letters. I need to know who. And I shall allow you to employ whatever tactics—er, methods you deem necessary. But I much prefer you follow the female mentioned here, rather than the male, who happens to be my husband.”

  She slid on a pair of half-specs hanging about her neck on a chain and read each letter. I sat dead silent as not to disturb her concentration.

  Mrs. Bates removed the specs and her skirt hem fell back to her ankles as she stood. “'Scuse me a moment, ma'am.” She went to her writing desk, dipped a bright red quill pen, and jotted down some notes.

  She turned to face me. “You are right, I do not feel comfortable following the Treasury Secretary about town. I can, however, investigate the comings and goings of this Mrs. Reynolds. It would yield the same results, if these letters are true.”

  “I cannot believe they're true,” I insisted, watching her for some reaction, a clue to what her spying mind was thinking. But she showed none. “I cannot believe my husband would step out. What I really need to know is who wrote them, so that I may confront him and sully his name in return. I have a few suspects, and was hoping you could look into that.”

  “Suspects?” She cocked her head to one side. “Such as?”

  “The top three. Thomas Jefferson, John Adams and Aaron Burr, in that order,” I declared the obvious.

  She cringed. “I couldn't ascertain who wrote these for certain. I could compare handwriting—”

  “This was what I was hoping you could do, Mrs. Bates.”

  “Please. Call me Annie.” She flashed another smile but grew serious once more. “I can try, ma'am. But it could be anyone. Some loyalist blacksmith who disagrees with your husband's policies. Some lunatic with nothing better to do. The possibilities are endless.”

  “Can you start with Jefferson, Adams and Burr then?” I urged.

  She nodded. “But I highly doubt they'd write their own letters.”

  “They write to newspapers,” I countered. “Can you get those letters and compare? If it's their secretaries' penmanship, that will narrow it down.”

  “Very clever, Elizabeth.” She nodded. “That would be one of my methods. I also can determine where they purchased the stationery and possibly the ink. I loathe to bring this up at this time, but this might cost a considerable amount, depending on the duration and labor involved.”

  “Of course.” I expected the business part of this. “I know. I'm fully able to compensate you. Do not doubt my ability to pay your fee.”

  “I wasn't saying that, I—” She cleared her throat and continued. “I require a deposit of half, to cover expenses.”

  I reached down my bodice and retrieved fifty dollars. “Will this do for now?”

  “Tis more than adequate.” She slid the money between her own bosoms and held up the letters. “May I keep one of these for the time being?” She folded one and handed me back the other.

  “Of course.” I took the letter from her and slid it into my satchel. “Tis better if I keep one of them, so they'll be in separate locations. I'll call again to learn of any progress. It wouldn't be wise to call at my residence.”

  “During the war I was known as The Concealed Crony. And I did my bit for my country, Elizabeth.” Pride filled her voice as she glanced up at the portrait of Washington and gave a little salute.

  “I know you did. And I applaud you. You're a true patriotess.” We bade each other good day. I returned home and tried to put it out of my mind.

  I knocked on the door to Alex's study and he admitted me. “I came to ask if you'd like tea. But I need to know something else.”

  He looked up from his work. “I still can't afford a houseful of new furniture.”

  “Tis not that,” I retorted. “What was James Reynolds doing here?”

  “I advised him to leave town,” came his reply with no hesitation. “Not out of friendship, but on account of his earlier threat that he could reveal information that in his words 'would make some of the heads of departments tremble.' Congressman Muhlenberg told me that James had information about some Treasury Department members, my having used treasury funds for personal gain, I'd frequently advanced money to James, and other allegations.” Alex's voice cracked with fatigue as he massaged his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “James told Muhlenberg and Senator Monroe he'd divulge proof of my offense if they released him. So they did. He drives a hard bargain.”

  “What proof? Tis not true!” I threw my hands up and they fell to my sides with a slap. “You committed no offense!”

  “James Reynolds claims he has letters from me saying I did.” A weak smile curved his lips. “But he did me a favor when he exposed those other Treasury Department members. This information, I found useful.
Now I have evidence of thieves, thanks to Jacob Clingman and James Reynolds.”

  The words “advanced money to James” stuck in my mind. Those two huge withdrawals from our account book appeared in my mind's eye. Was Alex paying Mr. Reynolds some kind of blackmail? I wouldn't put it past Mr. Reynolds, the scoundrel.

  “I can maintain my innocence,” Alex insisted, his tone firm and lawyerly. “I know what to tell those congressmen if they question me.”

  “What will you tell them?” I asked.

  “That I never used public funds for private gain!” His voice boomed throughout the room. “Not a penny. James Reynolds is the thief. His offense was heinous. Fraud—against the treasury!” He scowled. “That was horrid enough. But as for these alleged letters I had written him, claiming I was using public funds for private gain—I politely and gentlemanly told him that if he dares accuse me of this again, I shall face him on the dueling field.”

  My heart leapt to my throat. “Oh, no, Alex.” I staggered backwards and crashed into the wall. “No. I don't want you dueling anyone. Please promise me you won't.”

  “It is up to him.” He glanced out the window. “If he keeps his gob shut hereafter, it won't be necessary. But he's a coward through and through. The only reason he resides here in Philadelphia is because he fled that challenge from Jon Dayton in New York. He's as yellow as bile—and reeks twice as much. The best thing James Reynolds can do for himself is to grow a pair.”

  “A pair of what?”

  His eyes lit up in amusement. “A pair of what every man needs to be a man.”

  I'd already forgotten what I'd come in here for. All I could think about was James Reynolds trying to wreak revenge on Alex because Alex did what was right and lawful—had the man arrested for a Federal offense. Then I thought of those letters accusing Alex of having an affair with Maria Reynolds. It was all a jumble in my mind. I much feared that all these strands were somehow connected.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Maria

  My hand shook as I wrote to Mrs. Hamilton. I apologise for not accepting your invitation sooner. To make amends, please join me at my home for tea Fryday next.