by Diana Rubino
Dizziness made me lightheaded. The glass slipt from my fingers. He caught it inches from the floor, whisky spilling all over the braided wool rug. I nearly gagged on the fumes.
“What makes you suspect them?” I yet refused to acknowledge it as fact.
“There's naught to suspect.” He placed my emptied glass on the table and held my gaze. “Hamilton was here often—very often. I practically caught them in friganté dilecto one eve.”
“In what?”
“You know—” He waved his hands about and cast his gaze downward. “Ah'm tryin' to be delicate here—”
“Oh.” I burned with embarrassment, wanting to crawl under the floorboards.
“But they didna hide it from me,” he continued. “Twas no secret in this house. I thought you knew, after all this time.”
I did not want to know how long “all this time” was. Annie Bates had been right. Following Maria around, directly to Alex. And I'd refused to believe her. I'd dreamed up every excuse why they'd been together. But should I believe the likes of James Reynolds?
My pride still held me back from believing either of them. But something else haunted me, and it was not eyewitness accounts—it was in writing. “I received some letters,” fell out of my mouth, but I needed to tell him. “I believed they came from a political enemy, using me to torment my husband. All I wanted to know was who wrote them. If I could find out, that would tell me if they spoke the truth. Because some sources are reliable, as you know, and some are not.”
He nodded, urging me on.
“I could use another drink, Mr. Reynolds.” I tried to wet my lips, my tongue dry and gritty.
He stood to fetch the bottle. “Yur wish is my command, dear lady. And I'm James to you. Or Jimmy if you like.” He poured me another drink which I gulped too quickly. “Care for some haggis? Twill soothe what ails you.”
Knowing what haggis was, from Alex's Scottish background, I fought back disgust. “God, no.”
“Then what said these letters?” He sat back down.
“They said Alex was seen with Maria, several times. At your house, at our house, here and there…” I drained the last drop of my drink.
“I canna say they're false, Elizabeth.” He pulled his chair forward, closer to me. “Whoever wrote them either has it in for yur husband and hoped you'd leave him, so the ensuing scandal would sell a heap of broadsheets. But obviously that didna happen.”
“No. Because I wanted to find out who wrote them first.” I stared into the empty glass. “That would tell me if they were true.”
“Tell you what. You show them to me, and mayhap I kin tell you who wrote them,” he offered.
“How would you know?” I looked into those deep brown eyes. “I've hired the best spy in the business to find out, and she hasn't a clue yet.”
“Spy? She? Annie Bates I take it?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
His lips tightened into a thin line as he shook his head. “Her specialty was espionage, sneaking into enemy camps, deciphering code. I doubt she kin do that kinda digging. You need the constabulary fur a probe of that sort.”
“Well, she's followed your wife right to my husband. More than once. But I—” A pang of sorrow engulfed me. “Oh, God help me, but I couldn't bring myself to believe her.”
“Mayhap you really didna want to know,” he spoke the truth.
“You're right.” Yes, the moment of truth. Something inside told me James had nothing to gain by lying to me about this. But part of me, that stubborn Dutch streak that reared its ugly head at the worst times, still refused to believe my husband had kissed, embraced, caressed and bedded Maria Reynolds.
“But I need to know now.” I gave a resolute nod. “If my husband is finding pleasure in another woman's bed, yes, I want to know. Then I shall act accordingly.”
“Then dinna take my word for it.” James spoke in an authoritative tone. “Let me see the letters. The authorship will furnish yur proof, since you won't take my word or Annie's word, which you paid fur.”
Could he dig up what a seasoned spy couldn't? I extracted the letter I kept back from Annie, in case the other got lost. I'd never taken it from my satchel since that day. I handed it to him. He unfolded it, his sharp eyes sweeping back and forth over each line.
I trembled, drained, a wreck by now. What to believe, what not to believe? Did the truth stare me in the eye and I still refused to accept it? My Alex—doing all the things we did in the intimacy of our marriage bed, with another woman? My mind showed me a scene—Alex embracing Maria, his lips capturing hers, his growing arousal, her legs wrapt round his back, whispering endearments—I shuddered to expel these sickening thoughts.
He handed the letter back to me before I could register any more emotions. “I'll tell you who wrote this, and not charge you a groat. Thom Callender, the reporter fur the Gazette, is the author, sure as the day is long.”
“Callender!” The letter slipt from my fingers and fluttered to the floor. “How do you know?”
“I know him since Glasgow days. I know him like a book.” He strode to his desk, opened a drawer and took a sheet of paper out. Sweeping my fallen letter off the floor, he held them both up to me. The ink color and penmanship matched exactly, down to every loop, curve and slant.
“But why? Why? Who spilt this to Callender?” I babbled, turning away. I couldn't bear to see or hear any more.
“Any of the cohorts. Monroe, Muhlenberg, Venable, they're all Republicans, anti-Federalists, Hamilton's sworn enemies,” James said. “I wouldna even put it past old Adams or Jefferson. And they all know about it, from the very lips of yur husband. He admitted it all to them, to protect his innocence of corruption by admitting his guilt of the affair.”
“But Callender?” I shook my head in disbelief. “How could he stoop so low as to send me these letters?”
“In hopes he'll create a scandal that will sell newspapers,” he explained, his tone calm. “He eyed yur husband cavorting with my wife a few times. He wrote to you about it, hoping you'd confront Hamilton over it and divorce him. That didna happen. But Thom's luck came back in spades when Hamilton admitted the affair to those office-holders. Thom's bin known to solicit information to fill his pages. But fur this, he didna need to seek out a story.”
He folded his letter and handed mine back to me. “As soon as Monroe and his sidekicks learnt of the events, one of 'em tipped Thom off in exchange fur a generous sum. Everyone's got his price. But scandal monger that he is, Thom does not make things up. Never has anyone bin able to file a libel suit against him—fur the simple reason, he does not print libel. He prints the truth. The man doesna lie, Elizabeth. And neither do I. The only liar here is yur husband,” he stated, another ugly truth. “And I daresay, in the blink of yur eye, this will be on Thom's pages and the talk of the nation. Tis a matter of time. The clock's a'ticking.”
My breath caught in my throat. I gulped air. I jumped to my feet, paced in circles, fists clenched. “What can I do, how can I save Alex—me—us—he betrayed me, our vows …” No longer able to talk, I broke down, racked with sobs.
His arms came round me. “You're strong, Elizabeth, you'll git throo this…” he soothed me with his rumbling burr.
My embrace tightened round his strong body as he let me shed tears all over his tailored shirt.
And so I stood, weeping on the shoulder of James Reynolds, when in walked his wife.
“James? What is this?” I heard her voice grow closer. “Who is—”
I pulled away from her husband and turned to face her. Through my blur of tears I saw her mouth fall open.
“Mrs. Hamilton! My God, what happened?” She rushed up to me and pressed a handkerchief into my palm. I swiped at the streaks of tears running down my face.
James took a step back, as if to let us ladies take over.
“I know all about it, Maria.” I steadied my voice as I struggled to breathe evenly. “All is out in the open now. You and Alex needn't hide fr
om me anymore. And within days the entire nation will know. My life as I know it is over.” I took a few ragged breaths, but no more tears came. I was all cried out.
Maria turned to her husband. He held up his hands as if in surrender. “James, you told her?”
“Not deliberately. Bloody hell, I couldna believe she didna know this.” He faced me and cupped my elbow. “Better you know now than read about it the Gazette, when it woulda hit you like a sack o'silver dimes.”
Now that the shock had worn off, I could think straight. “You're right, James. I wish I'd known sooner, but—” I faced Maria. She'd gone pale, her hands shook. “Maria, I should have known. All the signs stared me in the face, and I refused to acknowledge them. I turned a blind eye, like the fool I am—”
“No,” Maria cut in, “Don't say that. You're no fool. It just happened. It wasn't planned.”
“It never is.” I took in a long breath that helped calm me. “Part of me knew, but the other part refused to believe it.”
Maria stammered and sputtered, her hands fluttering at her throat. I continued, “You need not say more, Maria. I cannot change the past. But I trust you will use discretion in the future. Divorced or not.”
I glanced at James. He gave me a brief tight-lipped nod.
“Maggs is off, Maria. Ah'll show Mrs. Hamilton out.” He led me to the front door. I exited their house, not turning back to look at Maria, but sensing her discomfort. Wife and mistress both mortified, we needed go our separate ways and plan ahead. I knew what I needed to do.
“Ah'm sorry for all the pain this has caused.” James stood in the open doorway as I gathered my shawl about me. “I am truly sorry.”
“Why you, James?” I looked into his eyes, now downcast, his shoulders slumped. “You're not the husband who should be apologizing to me.”
“Twas my idea to flee here from New York. I ducked out of a duel, the only reason we're here. Twas I who set yur husband up. I had no idea Maria would—that all this would happen. Ah'm ashamed of myself. Now two marriages are over. I made a right ballocks of everything.” He ran his hand over his hair, shaking his head.
“You're not to blame, not at all,” I assured him. “You did not set my husband up. Fate did. He and Maria were destined to meet. Kindred souls like theirs always are. And nothing can keep them apart. But I daresay we helped them along. Without even knowing it, I drove my husband farther into her arms. Now what Alex and I once had is gone forever. You have a new life ahead of you as a free man. As for me—I have six children to raise.” I lifted my hand to bid him adieu and he clasped it.
“God be with you, Elizabeth.” He kissed my fingers. “And remember: marriages may die, but love never does.”
I descended the steps, back to my home, my hearth, and my children—what remained of my shattered world.
Maria
I stood in the middle of the room, shivering as if I'd been doused with ice water. My biggest fear had been Mrs. Hamilton finding out—because that meant the end of Alex and me. As long as she remained blissfully ignorant, we could blissfully rendezvous. I loved him so much, I cherished what shreds of hope I clung to.
James came back in, avoiding my gaze, giving me wide berth as he headed for his whisky supply.
He poured himself a generous splash and took a long pull before finally facing me. “Care to partake?”
“No.” I remained standing, hugging my arms to myself.
I stood and he drank. The silence engulfed us.
“All right, Maria,” he finally spoke. “Git it off yur chest. Tell me you hate me fur shooting off my gob to Elizabeth Hamilton about something I was sure she knew fur ages. Hell's bells, I knew she was dumb, but not deaf and blind, too.”
I raised my hands and let them fall to my sides as I slumped on the sofa. “Oh, never mind, James. I do not blame you. This was bound to happen. Especially since those congressmen got the letters, confronted us and Alex, and ran to the president—”
“I wouldna even blame them alone.” He sat beside me. “Mrs. Hamilton showed me some anonymous letters she received.”
The letters. I remembered Alex mentioning that she'd gotten some unsigned letters he'd brushed off as lies, but I knew they bothered him. He abhorred tittle-tattle, even if it was true. “And what about them? The writer reveal himself?”
He shook his head, draining his drink. “Didna need to. Thom Callender wrote them. I knew as soon as I lay my eyes upon the letter she showed me. Proved it to her with a letter I have from his very same pen. Then she fell apart all over me. Then you walked in.”
Despair engulfed me. “Callender. That dirty rotten scoundrel.” I ground my teeth and clenched my fists. “I could crush Callender's throat.”
James leant forward and squeezed my knee. “Maria, dinna fret. There's naught to do but look forward. Looking back is torture.”
Sage as his advice was, I refused to take it. I would not give up Alex. We meant too much to each other to throw it all away. I now knew my next mission: I had to convince Alex that our love was stronger than anything or anyone—and that included his wife. In turn, he'd have to make her accept our love—or end their marriage, as I was doing. My heart lightened in the renewed hope of becoming the second Mrs. Hamilton.
At that moment my desire to see Alex drove me stronger than the need to breathe. I stood so fast, I nearly fell over. Dizzy, I clutched the sofa arm. James caught my elbows.
“You need to sit, Maria, or at least eat something. You're gooing nowhere like this.”
As he sat me back down I assured myself I'd see Alex today. Even if I had to trawl every street in town to find him. I vowed to spend tonight in his arms.
James fetched me a turkey drumstick and some boiled carrots with a glass of cider. I ate and drank, realizing I'd skipped the midday meal.
“Now calm down. All will be fine,” he assured me, over and over.
“How?” I wondered. My special secret, my clandestine love, would soon be headlines blasted all over the nation. I couldn't imagine Alex and me continuing like this. He had to leave his wife and marry me. No other way was possible!
I heard James speaking to me in the distance, but my plotting and planning tuned out his voice. Finally he pinched my arm and I jumped to attention.
“What is it?” I looked up. “I was not listening.”
“Not listening?” He walked up to me and leaned into my ear. “You're not even present.”
I stood and wandered over to the cabinet that held our wine and spirits. I poured myself a goblet of claret and headed back to him. “I'm sorry, I'm only trying to take your advice and look forward. But that seems as torturous as looking back. Because I know not where it will lead.”
“At least we took the first step,” he said. “Most couples havena the pluck to get divorced when tis the best thing.”
“You have no argument from me there,” I conceded. “Staying married would be a step backward.”
“Which is what I asked when you were lost in space—did you call on Aaron Burr?” he asked.
“Yes.” I sipped my claret. “He believes he can finalize the divorce in a few months.”
“Grand.” He nodded. “I kin wait. If you kin.”
“We have no choice.” I went over my meeting with Aaron Burr in my mind. “We haven't seen each other since his soirée when I played violin. He greeted me warmly but became all business when discussing the divorce. I couldn't remain as professional as he,” I admitted, feeling the need to share this with him. “When Aaron asked me to reconsider our marriage, I burst into tears. He said he's morally obligated to ask a client before proceeding with a divorce. But I told him we're—” I sighed heavily. “We're beyond reconsidering. I told him the truth—we no longer feel about each other as husband and wife should.” That was my way of telling James I'd always love him—it simply was not enough to remain husband and wife.
“Did he laugh?” James fiddled with the ribbons of his queue.
“Not at all. I believe he a
dmires us for taking this drastic step. Who dares divorce? Even with affairs or absence of love that grows into disgust and loathing, couples remain married. Out of fear, I dare guess.”
“Shows how wise you are, lass.” He gave me an admiring smile. “I admit I'd stay married—I'm doin' this cuz you made me see what I couldna see right before me own eyes here. I kin live with yur lover and my lover coming and going—but you are far more wise than I, striving to make the best of this one brief life we have here.”
“I appreciate your flattery.” Yet it made me wonder—how wise was I really? Leaving my marriage in hopes that my married lover would do the same? Aaron Burr hadn't attempted to talk me out of it after his “moral obligation” to ask me. He simply drafted up a document and quoted me his fee. “My life hasn't been all that bad so far, James. I had a happy childhood. We married for love. But for the future, I believe we'll be happier apart.”
“You're right, love.” He gave a resolute nod. “The woman always sees far past what the man wants to see. We never look past the length of our willies.”
I looked straight into his eyes. “Well, I'm glad to hear one of you finally admit it. If that could go into the Constitution, our nation would advance at least two hundred years.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Eliza
Fryday, March 10th
I did not speak to Alex last eve. He arrived home late, and I pretended to be asleep when he came to bed. At breakfast I busied myself with the little ones. We spoke four words: “Good morning” and “Good-bye.”
To-day I called on Annie. Altho I no longer needed her services, I needed another woman to confide in. She gave me a snifter of brandy without asking and I gratefully took it. We sat upon her sofa, a needlework project spread out between us.
“Truth be told, Elizabeth, you look as if you've been run over by a team of oxen.” She snapped open a snuff tin and pinched some up with two fingers. She inhaled deeply and whistled out. “Pardon my dippin.' I've been tryin'a surrender the noxious weed, but it beckons me. Now. Do tell what's on your mind before you erupt.”