22

Burning the Candle at Both Ends

Hamilton Law Office

New York, New York

March 1784

Alex didn’t realize how late it was until his lamp sputtered out and he was plunged into darkness. One minute his pen was scratching across a sheet of paper, the next he was engulfed in inky blackness, with only the faint smell of smoke letting him know that he hadn’t been whisked out of this world completely. Still, he was so disoriented that he found himself frozen in his chair, half afraid to move, as if a gap might have opened up in the floor, ready to swallow him up.

I have been working too hard, he said to himself. I need a good night’s sleep.

At length, he reached for his desk drawer, pulled it open, and rooted around inside until his fingers brushed against a box of spills. He was lucky to light it from the fireplace, then used its light to find the candlestick that sat on one of his bookshelves. He lit it, and a thin glow filled the center of the room, though the corners of the small room remained steeped in darkness. He opened another drawer reflexively and pulled out a bottle of lamp oil, reached for the empty lamp, then paused. He retrieved his watch from his pocket and squinted at the tiny hands.

Could it really be 11:08 p.m.? The last time he remembered looking at his watch it was just after 6:00. He thought of Eliza, all alone at home. She would be asleep by the time he got there. She never said anything, of course, his stalwart angel, but he knew she missed him, and he did miss her. So much.

A survey of his desktop told him his watch wasn’t lying. Stacks of paper were everywhere, inches high. He must have answered a hundred letters today. One prince, three ambassadors, two governors, five lieutenant governors, and fourteen congressmen numbered among his correspondents, along with dozens of current and former servicemen and twice their number of bankers and lawyers. Some of the notes were only a few lines long, but others ran to three or four tightly scrawled pages. Everything from condolence letters to tariff negotiations to banking proposals, the bulk of it ancillary to his legal work, but necessary if he was to secure the kind of well-connected, well-heeled clients he wanted in the long term. Necessary, too, if his point of view was to be heard in the formation of the new government, and the new country.

But the workload was taking its toll. This morning as he combed his hair he noticed his brush was littered with broken strands, and the dark circles under his eyes looked as if Ralph Earl had painted them on. But most unnerving were the effects on memory. He would get so focused on whatever was in front of him that he would forget about everything else. Even now, as he packed up his office, he found himself nagged by the feeling that he was neglecting something important. Something to do with Eliza, which made it even worse.

Eliza . . .

As he stepped out into the chilly evening, his mind filled with a picture of his wife. After a frenetic winter season of party after party, in which the young couple had found themselves embraced by both the best families and the most powerful politicians and businessmen in New York, life had quieted down, at least on the social front. But even as their party calendar emptied, Alex’s workload grew. His first court dates for the Childress case came and went, largely procedural affairs, although Aaron Burr made it clear that the state would show no quarter. Given Caroline’s precarious financial state, Alex had thought it might be best, for her sake, to try for a settlement. If he were to push the case to trial, he could set a legal precedent that would score a victory for all of his former loyalist clients—sixteen now and counting—in one fell swoop. But a trial could take months, even years to secure, given the backed-up state of Governor Clinton’s courts. Indeed, Burr, sensing the plaintiff’s desperation, had already begun filing delays in an attempt to bleed her dry. It was a clear stalling tactic, but just because it was obvious didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. The law was very open-minded that way. It didn’t care if your strategy was sophisticated or sloppy. It only cared about results.

Alex shook his head. Here he had meant to focus on his wife, and once again his work had taken over. Caroline’s demands on his attention had grown as the weeks passed. At the beginning, her talk was of her dead husband and her dire financial situation, but as time went by, she spoke about her loneliness, about her future and children’s. Though she had never said or done anything improper after he had made it clear her advances were unwelcome, she found excuses to clasp his hand or arm or knee, to confess her absolute, utter dependence upon him, not just for her family’s security, but for her future happiness.

Alex wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. Which is to say, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what she wanted from him, she had made it all too clear during their meetings. The sooner the case was settled, the better. He was a married man, with a beloved and much-missed wife at home, and he made it clear to his client that, while he was sensitive to her plight and her children’s, his heart was loyal to his own, and what she was intimating was impossible.

But enough of business. Alex was going home to said darling wife, and though he may have (once again) missed the chance to dine with her at a civilized hour, they could hopefully spend a pleasant hour or two together before bedtime. Then there would be a quiet weekend, just the two of them. He would lose the keys to his office and devote all his attention to Eliza.

But even before he entered his house, he sensed that his plans were not going to come to fruition. As he walked up Wall Street, he saw that the windows of the front parlor were blazing with light, as if a dozen lamps were burning within. So bright was the glow that for a moment Alex was afraid the house was on fire, but the gleam was steady rather than wavering, and the only smoke he smelled was the regular tang of the neighborhood chimneys. The lower shutters were drawn, though, so he couldn’t see in to find out why all the lights had been lit.

As he pushed the door open, a din of voices greeted his ears.

“No, no, closer together. Mrs. Hamilton, do please try to look as if your brother-in-law had not had an unfortunate encounter with a skunk. That’s better!”

Brother-in-law? Had Stephen and Peggy returned to the city? Funny that they hadn’t written to announce their arrival.

Alex poked his head around the corner. Clustered on the sofa sat Eliza and Angelica, with John Church sitting between them. The sisters were attired in elegant if loosely fastened gowns, uncorsetted and unlaced, and bedecked haphazardly with gaudy costume jewelry and wigs that sat on their heads as if they had fallen there off a tree branch. John was wearing a jacket that, besides being a rather shocking shade of gold, was also far too large for him. It was as though they had gotten dressed in the dark, or after they’d had several drinks.

Well, it certainly wasn’t dark.

“Alex!” Eliza called out gaily. “Look who’s home!” She lurched off the sofa unsteadily, and her wig fell in John’s lap.

“Alex!” another voice sang out. “Just in time!”

Alex turned, and suddenly everything fell into place. Ralph Earl stood at an easel. He was jacketless, his white shirt stained with sweat and his face flushed with drink. There was a paintbrush in one hand. With the other he snatched up a bright heap of gold fabric and came toward Alex with it.

“Here, here, put this on! You must join the picture!”

“Mr. Earl, I—”

“No, no,” Eliza said, coming up behind him. “Mr. Earl wants you in the picture, so into the picture you go!” She took what turned out to be a twin to the jacket John was wearing and, pulling at the buttons of his overcoat, began simultaneously trying to slip the new garment on him before the first was even off. Alex could smell the sweet scent of honey wine on her breath, and her uncovered locks were in a state of shocking, if humorous, disarray.

“Eliza, darling, please, I haven’t even—”

But Eliza continued to pull on his overcoat. She had it open now, and was sliding it off him, but since she’d also slipped the gold jacket over it, the latter garment now fell to the floor.

“Hello?” she said in confusion. “How did that happen?”

On the sofa John Church was stroking Eliza’s fallen wig as though it were a sleeping cat. Angelica, on the other hand, seemed to be asleep, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder, her wig threatening to join her sister’s in John’s lap.

Eliza retrieved the fallen gold jacket, meanwhile, and was once again attempting to slip it on Alex, who was still wearing the gray jacket he’d gone to work in.

“Darling, please.” Alex caught the jacket and took a step back. “What in the world is going on?”

Eliza smiled at him a little crookedly. “Why, whatever do you mean, darling?” There was just the slightest stress on the word darling, but Alex didn’t heed the warning.

“I mean all this.” He waved a hand at the chaotic parlor. “Houseguests and pantomime and what seems to have been a significant consumption of alcohol.”

“But, darling,” Eliza said, laying still more stress on the word, “surely you know all about it, since you arranged for Mr. Earl to come stay with us after his release from prison, and you received John’s letter announcing his and Angelica’s arrival. As for the rest, well.” Eliza shrugged. “Since we have a houseful of guests, we might as well have some fun.”

Alex shook his head in confusion. “In the first place, I never received any such communication from John, or I would have told you about it. And in the second, it seems to me that it is you who forgot that Mr. Earl was coming to stay with us.”

“Forgot!” Eliza said, real heat coming into her voice. “How could I forget something I was never told?”

Alex racked his brain. He was sure he had told Eliza about Earl’s stay. He had arranged for it nearly two weeks ago. But he couldn’t remember a specific conversation.

“But I mean, surely, I must have—”

“And as for Angelica and John, I know you received the letter, because I found it open on your desk in your study.”

“In my study? Were you snooping on me?”

“No, Alex, I wasn’t snooping. I was preparing the room to sleep my sister and her husband, since you had promised the other to Mr. Earl.”

“But there isn’t even a couch in there. Surely you’re not going to put them on the floor.”

“Of course I’m not going to put them on the floor. I borrowed a bedstead and mattress from our neighbors.”

“Borrowed a—from who? Whom?”

“Theodosia.”

“Theo—you mean Theodosia Burr?”

“Is there another on this block?”

Alex could barely believe his ears. “I’m not sure I appreciate your tone, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Oh, really, Mr. Hamilton? Well, I’m not sure I appreciate being saddled with a houseful of guests with no advance warning. But guess what? We’re going to make the best of it. You’re going to put this gold jacket on and join us on the sofa, and Mr. Earl’s going to paint a fabulous picture of us.”

“You’re going to have to wake him up first,” John said from the sofa.

Alex glanced over and saw that Earl had wandered to the dining room, where he pulled three chairs out from the table and laid himself across them. Wet snores bubbled out of his mouth, which was slick with spittle.

“Nope!” Eliza called. “Mr. Earl! Up!”

Earl ignored her, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in his hands.

Suddenly a faint crying came from up the stairs.

Angelica sat up as if a shot had gone off. Her wig went flying over the back of the sofa.

“The baby!” she said, her voice less panicked than automatic. She lurched up and headed for the stairs, her half-tied dress sagging around her waist, revealing the lace of her chemise.

John smiled at them wanly. “It looks like our party is over. I’ll, uh, just give Angie a hand.” And setting Eliza’s wig delicately on the sofa, he set off after his wife.

Alex waited till his brother-in-law was gone before turning back to Eliza. “My darling, I—”

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me, Alexander Hamilton.” Eliza’s tone was quiet but firm. The alcohol was gone from her voice, and Alex now wondered if it had been there in the first place.

“Eliza, please. I’m so sorry. I’ve been running in so many different directions lately. I—I must have lost track of things.”

“Well, I know one direction you haven’t been running in. To me.” And now a little hurt crept into her voice.

Alex felt his knees quiver. “It’s true. I’m so, so sorry.” He put his arms around her. “Let me make it up to you?” he said, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips.

Eliza let her lips linger on his. “Don’t think you can kiss your way out of this, Mr. Hamilton.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alex said, kissing her again. “Mrs. Hamilton.”

Another kiss, and then he took her hand and turned for the stairs.

“What say we continue our fight in the morning?”

Eliza just shook her head at him. “I might find you irresistible, Mr. Hamilton,” she said. “But I believe you are overestimating your powers of persuasion.”

She headed up the stairs alone, leaving Alex’s jaw hanging open. From the dining room came the throaty rumble of Ralph Earl’s snores.