by Diana Rubino
Then she would see me and my “lover” Jacob cozy up together.
As I sealed the letter, James slunk in and headed for his whisky bottle atop the cabinet. He looked haggard. Brown smudges hung under his eyes.
“What is it, James?” I readied my pen for my invitation to Jacob. “You're downright surly.”
He took a swig straight from the bottle. “I just come from Hamilton's house.”
My heart lurched at the sound of his name. Oh, no…
“He told me tis in my best interests, in light of these most recent events, to leave town. Then he brought up the possibility of a duel, if I dare further besmirch his sterling reputation. I think he reads too many o'those Shakespeare melodramas. He fancies himself Richard the bloody Third or something. A duel. Bah!” He loped over to the fire and spat into it. “Sod that.”
I almost fell out of the chair. James and Alex dueling? I couldn't imagine it in my wildest nightmares. “No, that cannot happen! Let us end this chapter. I've invited Mrs. Hamilton here as well as Jacob, to make it appear we're lovers, to quell suspicion of me and Alex. Then I expect things will calm down again.” I was never calm with Alex; he still made my heart thump and my knees tremble. But I hoped that this incident was over with and we could resume our affair.
“You and Clingman?” He eyed me with a mixture of confusion and mistrust. “Why him, of all people?”
“Because it will be believable.” I pressed the seal into the wax on the letter. “Mrs. Hamilton knows his status, as does everyone. He's a wealthy widower, he's handsome, and affable, and—in light of everything that's happened, since I'm supposed to be separated from you, tis natural that I would seek him out for solace. Not that I would…” I fluttered my hands, flustered. “I mean, if we were really separated.”
He threw his hands in the air. “But Clingman? That sod bloody well helped get me arrested and shot off his fat gob to a congressman about me, in case it slipped yur mind.”
“I know that, but truth be told, James, you really were guilty,” I reminded him. “It would have come out in the end. That 'dead' Massachusetts soldier, very alive, pressed charges. You weren't going to come out of this unscathed. Frankly, I can't blame Jacob for trying to save his hide. You were the instigator in that scheme, as usual.”
He scowled into his whisky bottle, tipped it back and drained it. “Have fun spooning with Clingman in front of Mrs. Hamilton. Mayhap you can show her how to put a spark into her own philandering husband.”
“Another episode you instigated,” I couldn't resist throwing out.
“And I dinna see you out-stigating it.” He cocked a brow and tilted his head in challenge.
I did not want to discuss Alex with him any further. “James, are you really going to leave town?”
He smirked. “Not a chance. Bugger him. If he wants to duel me, ah'll oblige him. With another hole to his arse. Afore he takes his ten paces and turns! Har!” He finished his whisky, pulled his jacket off the tree stand and shrugged into it. “I've a meetin' at the Bunch of Grapes. I shan't be too late, no moore than an hour past closing. Ah'll fetch supper out.”
Murmuring a “good eve” to him, I began my note to Jacob. As I wrote, I tried to keep my mixed emotions at bay. I was disappointed in him for telling that congressman about James's knowledge of treasury embezzlers, which now involved Alex. However, I felt James deserved to get caught this time. He'd dragged Jacob and poor cousin Sim into the fray.
In a way, I felt that justice had been served. James had cooled his heels in a jail cell, and Alex would emerge looking even more the picture of integrity and honor. I couldn't in good conscience stand behind James and condone what he did—using a soldier to defraud the government—although his schemes did keep us out of poverty. I could not support myself giving violin lessons. Financially, I still needed him. I didn't like it, but those were the facts. Did I still love my husband? Yes. But not the same way I loved Alex. If only James hadn't lost that bid for the Continental Congress. Our lives would be so different…
I sealed his note and gave them both to Maggie, with meal money, as these deliveries would keep her out till late. She wasn't gone a minute when the door knocked again. Thinking it was her having forgotten something, I opened it. To my surprise, two well-dressed gentlemen stood there. One of them I recognized as Senator James Monroe.
“Mrs. Reynolds.” He removed his hat and gave me a slight nod.
“Y—yes—yes, gentlemen?” I stammered, stepping back, feeling the color drain from my face.
“Is Mr. Reynolds in residence?” Monroe asked.
“No, sir,” I was quite relieved to say.
“May we speak with you, then?” The other man asked. About to tell them James had left town, I stepped aside and let them enter.
“I am Senator Monroe, this is Congressman Muhlenberg.” Although I'd met Monroe at gatherings and had been formally introduced, he now acted as if he'd never set eyes on me.
“Please, do come in.” My head whirred. What could I tell them that they didn't already know? God in heaven, would they ask me about Alex? I shivered despite the blazing fire in the hearth.
I offered them sherry. They refused. They also refused a seat. Thus I hoped they would state their business and depart.
“Mrs. Reynolds, your husband possesses letters Secretary Hamilton wrote to him. Are you aware of the existence of these letters?” Muhlenberg asked, with the trace of an accent I couldn't place.
I certainly was, but did I dare show them to these men? What would happen to Alex if I did? James always stashed them in a slot in his writing-desk. I kept my own cherished letters from Alex, my prized possessions, under the bedroom rug.
I looked Monroe directly in the eye, then Muhlenberg. “I know of no letters from Secretary Hamilton,” I avowed. “I do not pry into my husband's personal business.”
“We know for a fact that the letters exist,” Muhlenberg insisted. “A former clerk of mine, Jacob Clingman, told me about these letters. Your husband verified Clingman's claim when we questioned him. In fact, tis one of the reasons your husband was freed from jail.”
“I still know not where he keeps them.” I stood my ground. God forbid, if these men found out about Alex's and my affair, it would be all over for us. His wife would find out, then the world. I'd never see him again.
“My husband has left town, on the advice of Secretary Hamilton. As you may well know.” I held my head high and stood straight and tall—taller than Monroe.
They glanced at each other, as if they doubted my sincerity. Perhaps it showed in my eyes. “No, we did not may well know,” Monroe replied in an acerbic tone.
If James walked in the door this minute, I could claim that he'd lied about leaving. That was hardly out of character for my husband. I just wanted these men out of here.
“Mrs. Reynolds, if you are aware of their whereabouts but fail to reveal them to us, you can be charged as an accessory. You don't want that, do you?” Muhlenberg shook his head as if chiding a child. All he needed do was 'tsk tsk' and wag his finger at me.
I let that sink in but knew I couldn't tarry. I didn't want to spend my best years in jail for something James did. My blood boiled hotter by the minute. How could he do this to me—and to Alex?
“We can order the premises searched, Mrs. Reynolds,” Monroe threatened, keeping his tone calm. He began to sound like his wife, with that false French lilt.
“Very well, then search it. I still know not where these alleged letters are.” I silently cursed James for letting this happen. With regard to my knowing where the letters were, it was my word against theirs if they found them. But the possible contents of those letters sent shivers down my spine. I trembled with fear.
Monroe turned to his crony. “Frederick, go to Judge Gilbert. I shall wait here for your return with the warrant.” Muhlenberg nodded and turned to leave.
“Wait!” I held up my hands as if in surrender.
They regarded me with expectant looks. “I s
hall look.” I sidestepped over to James's writing desk. “He—he sometimes keeps correspondence in there.” I did not want a judge ordering a search of my house, which would turn up the letters—including my hidden letters from Alex. Moreover, I hardly wished to entertain James Monroe till then.
I leant over the desk, pretending to rummage through it. I pulled out the paquet, bound with string, and handed it to Muhlenberg. Glancing at the top letter, he nodded at Alex's penmanship. “We commend your cooperation, Mrs. Reynolds. It is wise and prudent of you.”
I knew the meaning behind his words: Dread the consequences if you do not cooperate. “Gentlemen, why do you want these letters?” I had to ask. “Is it not enough that James revealed names of treasury embezzlers, whom you can now question and arrest?”
“We have questioned the men whose names your husband gave us.” Monroe tucked the letters into his inside coat pocket. “They've confessed to their crimes and they've been arrested. But there is one man we haven't yet questioned. And that is Secretary Hamilton. We doubt evidence exists in the treasury's books or his books. He would not be so careless as to leave a trail that would implicate him, as the others had. Therefore, these letters…” He patted his jacket. “…are the written evidence we need in order to arrest him.”
Arrest Alex! “No, that cannot happen,” I blurted. “I know for a fact he would never use treasury funds for private gain. And you men, you know him a million times better than I do!” Realizing I'd protested too much, I calmed my tone. “I hardly know him—I've—I've only met him once or twice. But everyone knows how honorable he is.” I clenched a fist on my hip. “How dare you accuse the Treasury Secretary of taking treasury money for speculation or—or aught else?”
They exchanged another furtive look. I knew my outburst was a mistake. They fixed their beady eyes on me, filled with suspicion. And with good reason—why would the wife of the man who'd turned state's evidence defend the Treasury Secretary?
As I feared, Monroe asked me just that. “Why are you protecting Secretary Hamilton, Mrs. Reynolds? Shouldn't it be your husband whose name you want to defend?”
I had to think fast. “Because he is our Treasury Secretary. I respect him and I respect President Washington. My husband already confessed to his crime. It was fraud, involving the pay of a dead soldier who inconveniently came to life. James's crime involved a paltry four hundred dollars. But he saved the treasury thousands by revealing the names of those who'd embezzled. I daresay James is entitled to a reward for exposing thieves who so criminally swindled the treasury.” I used the slang term “swindled”' that I'd learnt from James, who'd learnt it from soldiers during the Revolution.
“Swindled?” Amusement curled Muhlenberg's thin lips.
“Yes, a term from the war, in reference to the British imposing those many unfair taxes upon us,” I informed him. “If you'd served your country as my husband had, you'd have heard of it.” I raised my chin in defiance. I was an equal match to these two, who certainly hadn't been elected on their intellects.
Monroe paced the room, head down, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped and nodded, looking out the window. “Mayhap a reward is in order.” He faced me. “If your husband ever returns. Did he state his destination?”
That was all James had to hear. Even if he'd sailed to China, he'd grow wings and fly back if a reward was involved. “I believe he went to New York.” They had no way of knowing that was where he'd fled from, ducking out of a duel. Desperate to change the subject of my having defended Alex so staunchly, I said, “I trust James will contact me. I shall keep you gentlemen apprised of the situation. Now if you don't mind, I've chores to do. My servant is not here at present to show you out.”
Muhlenberg headed for the door—he would probably bolt for the nearest tavern. But Monroe wasn't quite finished. “How well do you know Secretary Hamilton, Mrs. Reynolds?”
I would not let him trap me. No one knew I possessed any letters from Alex. I'd even told James I'd burnt them.
“Hardly at all. We've only met once or twice, as I said before.” I looked him in the eye, unblinking, my voice steady. Even I believed it.
“Where was this?” he probed.
Why all this questioning? He would not trick me to implicate Alex in any wrongdoing. I was not about to mention that Alex had given James money. He'd find out whilst prowling through the letters.
“At parties, gatherings—we occasionally travel in the same social circles.” I tried to keep my voice casual, but I quaked inside. I licked my dry lips. I hoped he hadn't noticed.
Monroe cast me a stern eye. “I heard in casual conversation, I recall not when or where, you were seen about his neighborhood—possibly calling at his residence.” Was Monroe a lawyer? I tried to remember. This certainly sounded like a cross examination.
“Of course. Mrs. Hamilton and I have had tea together,” I defended myself. “Why do you ask?”
“If I recall correctly, you were seen going to tea—” and he drew out the 'eeee' in 'tea' “—when Mrs. Hamilton was in Albany.”
“Seen by whom?” I clenched both fists. “If you're about to accuse me of anything untoward, you'd better produce proof.”
“I do not recall.” He shook his head. “Never mind, Mrs. Reynolds, tis neither here nor there.” He headed for the door. “We bid you good day.” They saw themselves out. Shivering, I made my way to the fire, knelt and rubbed my frozen hands together.
I wondered—should I add Monroe to the list of suspects in the writing of those anonymous letters to Mrs. Hamilton?
Eliza
To-day I received an invitation from Mrs. Reynolds—tea on Fryday. Her husband must have left town. My heart went out to the lonely woman. I marked the appointment in my date book, unable to blame her for what James had done to that poor soldier he'd claimed was dead—and what he'd done to my husband. “You're well rid of him, honey-bun,” I spoke aloud. I knew the pretty young thing would find a husband worthy of her.
The thought of Alex in a duel made me tremble with fear. Stumbling to the settee, I called on Ruth, our nurse. “Bring me the smelling salts, please.”
“Lord above, Missuz Hamilton, you ain't with child again?” she sputtered, dashing out the door.
“Lord above, I hope not,” I prayed out loud. No…I couldn't be!
I tried to dismiss the possibility of Alex dueling as my fear haunted me. Alex would never survive a duel. If he ever did agree to such madness, that would be a fatal decision. No, it won't happen, I silently vowed. We'll both live to our nineties—we'll see our children's children grow up, well into the next century.
Alex collected foes, as did all statesmen and politicians. It was a miracle Jefferson never met his end on the field of honor.
I hadn't a clue what to talk about with Mrs. Reynolds. I knew she played violin, and we'd briefly discussed books. Why not let her do the talking? I burned with curiosity about her background and lineage. I'd be happy to introduce her to some suitable bachelors—after she divorced that cur, of course. Aaron Burr could file her divorce. I preferred Alex take the case, but I know he couldn't add a divorce suit to his workload. Besides, he liked James Reynolds. He'd be biased in James's favor. So I kept Burr in mind for legal counsel.
Should I show her the anonymous letters I'd gotten? I hadn't received another one, unless Alex was hiding them. Ever since I saw that huge withdrawal in the ledger, I now prowled through his personal files—but didn't see any more letters addressed to me. I chalked it up to a prank, likely old John Adams, bored after harvesting his turnips.
I sniffed the smelling salts and wondered if the arrival of another child would bring Alex and me closer.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Maria
Eager to banter with Alex about Henry VIII, I opened my Shakespeare book, but the flowery prose blurred before my eyes. I drifted away in reverie as memories of our last visit filled my mind and my heart…how his blue velvet accented his copper hair, how I begged him to ravish me,
his bare body against mine. Now that Alex's business with James was Congress's latest gossip fodder and I got caught at the top of Alex's stairs, I feared he'd end our affair. I put Shakespeare aside and fetched paper and pen.
O, I am distressed more than I can tell. My heart is ready to burst and my tears wich once could flow with ease are now denied me.
I blotted, folded, addressed it, and hid it under my stash of letters from him. They piled up, wrinkled and creased from my reading them, over and over. God forbid if some congressman confiscated them! The thought nauseated me. As darkness crept through the room I slid them back under the rug.
James breezed in next morn as I sat reading the newspaper. The rich aroma of coffee floated from the kitchen as Maggie brewed a pot.
“Greetin's, turtle dove. I need a good scrub more'n I need coffee at present. Maggs!” He called into the kitchen. “Fetch me some scaldin' water, a cake o'soap and a cloth, and ready y'rself to scrub me down.”
He turned to me. “Unless you'd rathurr do the honors.” He flashed me a wink, hung his keys on the peg and pulled off his boots.
I displayed a sly smile. “I wouldn't give you a bath for twice what you're paying her. How was your eve, James?” I preferred to build up to the news of Monroe's and Muhlenberg's visit rather than dump it on him.
“It was a belter. I scored big at an all-night dice game.” He pulled a wad of notes from his britches and tossed them onto the table. A clattering of coins followed as he emptied his pockets.
“Will you take some of your winnings and purchase a haircut?” I reached up and tugged his unruly locks.
“I only just bin to the barber.” He pulled the ribbon out of his queue and ran his hand over his chestnut mane.
“Yes, when there were still thirteen states. Have a shave while you're at it.” At times I let him skip a few days between shaves because I found the stubble enhanced his sensuality. But his appearance now bordered on untidy.