The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr

City of New York
State of New York
September 1789

The long line of carriages crept along Cherry Street, along the East River shimmering in the early-evening sun. To pass the time, the idle passengers in those carriages could calculate their progress in several ways. The easiest was to count each cross street as it was passed: Roosevelt, James, Oliver, Catherine, George. Another was to spot the various wharves that jutted into the river, much like water-bound streets themselves: Beekman’s, Rutger’s, Bedloe’s, Ackerley’s, with each shipowner’s distinctive pennant fluttering from the masts of his vessels. For those who had no patience with such man-made markers, however, the setting sun offered the truest measure, slipping slowly downward toward the green hills to the west as the day’s end approached, and with it the single goal for every one of the carriages.

Lady Washington’s Friday night levee began promptly at seven o’clock. Only ladies were invited to these levees, the acquaintances, friends, and would-be friends of the new president’s wife, and no lady wished to be early, and made to dawdle and wait in her carriage until the appointed hour. Nor did any wish to be caught so far toward the end of the line of carriages that they arrived late, and were perceived as uncaring, or even disrespectful.

Tonight Mistress’s arrival would be safely in the middle. I could tell from the set of his feathered hat that Jem, Mistress’s driver, was pleased with our place in the line. It reflected honorably on Mistress, and therefore on him, too. I suppose I could claim my share of the credit as well for having Mistress dressed and ready at the precise moment that Jem had drawn up before the front door. The more successful the Colonel became, the more effort it took by me and the others to present that success to the world.

For now, however, I was simply thankful to be sitting where I was. Louisa was cutting teeth, and we’d both spent several miserable, sleepless nights because of it. But where she could sleep during the day, I’d no choice but to work as usual, and I welcomed this rare chance to sit and do nothing. I rode high on the box beside Jem, where we’d enjoy the breezes from the river at the end of this warm September day, while Mistress likely sweltered below in her splendid closed solitude. The sleek little chaise and the two horses that drew it had been one of the Colonel’s latest purchases, for while he was content to travel about the state on his business by way of public stages and sloops, he wanted his wife to be driven about the city in the most elegant style.

At last our turn came to stop before the President’s House, a stately brick house three stories tall and five windows wide. Swiftly I clambered down from the box as the footman opened Mistress’s door and handed her down. She paused expectantly, waiting for me to step behind her to adjust her peacock-blue silk skirts so they trailed behind her in the short train that had become the fashion. Then she glided up the white marble steps and into the house while I followed at a proper distance.

To most eyes, I was no more than another sign of the Colonel’s prosperity, like the chaise or the jewels around Mistress’s throat. My very person was an enviable luxury. When the Washingtons had brought a dozen or so of their slaves with them from Mount Vernon to New York as house and body servants, they’d set one more fashion in the new capital. Now when I accompanied Mistress, I also wore a silk gown, chestnut brown and plainly cut much like the dress worn by Lady Washington’s girl, who was also light skinned. It was our form of the livery worn by the men, calculated to impress others rather than to flatter us.

Only I knew that my presence was much more than that.

Even in Lady Washington’s large drawing room I remained close to Mistress like a respectful shadow. I handed her her fan when she grew too warm, and I fetched her tea prepared as she preferred, with an abundance of sugar. I saw that her cup was kept filled, and though I knew she’d no taste for the ice cream that was served later, I brought her the smallest possible serving so that she could pretend to have enjoyed the indulgent treat along with the other ladies.

But I also watched her closely for any sign that she might be faltering, or that the crush of the crowded room was too much for her. As long as I’d served her, she’d suffered from bouts of random illnesses, and her spirit had always been stronger than her mortal body. But since Miss Sally’s death last autumn, these various maladies had increased. Sometimes it was a pain in her breast and side, and on another day it might be an unbearable gripping of her bowels and belly. She tried to brush it all aside as nothing, jesting that her ailments derived only from the trial of living in a city filled with Federalists.

But the Colonel’s concern grew, and one physician after another was called to tend to her. None could find a reason for her complaints, let alone a cure. Though no one in the household would dare say it aloud, her condition seemed a painful echo of Miss Sally’s final affliction, and the Colonel instructed us all to do whatever we could to ease her every discomfort, and coax her toward recovering her strength.

We all obeyed. It was Mistress herself who refused to take any additional care, especially when the Colonel was away from town. I’d only to watch her here tonight to see the proof.

The weekly levees at the President’s House were one of the ways that she sought to help forward the Colonel’s political aspirations. When General Washington had been sworn in as president and the offices, positions, and other favors for the new government were distributed, the Colonel had been optimistic. Given his military record, his legal accomplishments and other merits, and his ever-growing political standing, there seemed few other men in the country who would be more useful or more deserving.

Yet when all the plum posts had been announced, the Colonel was left with nothing. He had not seemed surprised, and professed to be untroubled by it. I knew he cared, but hid his disappointment well, even as I silently recalled all the times he’d spoken disdainfully of the new president. Only Mistress was openly outraged, convinced that the Colonel’s enemies had succeeded in denying what should have been his.

That outrage gave her the strength to engage however she could on her husband’s behalf. The Colonel respected her efforts as he did her judgment; he always had. While he was away at court, she held small gatherings and dinners to help smooth over misconceptions and win him more support among those in power. She never missed services on Sundays (something the Colonel himself could not claim), since all the most influential families also belonged to Trinity Church’s congregation. Even when she was confined to her bed by illness, she still wrote letter after letter, many to her husband that were, I suspected, filled with observations and advice based on what she’d seen while he was away.

Most noticeable of all, she attended these levees at the President’s House. She understood the power of petticoat politics, as she wryly called them, and did her best to coax and charm Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Livingston, Mrs. Adams, and all the other wives whose husbands she suspected of undermining the Colonel. Most of all she tried to woo Lady Washington, an older lady with a cloud of white-powdered hair, a plump chin, and a gracious manner. She was much admired among the white populace. Among us servants, however, it was said that she was an unkind owner with a sharp tongue and an overseer who believed in whipping. I’d heard the Washingtons also forbid their people the simple privilege of reading and writing, and it was little wonder that they were closely watched from the constant fear they’d run.

Mistress was as skillful at this kind of diplomacy as anyone, and as I watched her I thought of how fortunate the Colonel was to have her toiling on his behalf, and not against him. But all that smiling and scraping and clever conversation was hard work, and by nine o’clock I saw that Mistress was tiring, her shoulders sagging and her cheeks pale.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” I whispered, coming beside her. “Should I send for the carriage?”

Without turning, she nodded quickly. Within a quarter hour she’d made a final curtsey to Lady Washington, said her other farewells, and been bundled back into her chaise. Yet as I undressed her for the night, she unburdened herself, too.

“I cannot believe what a pack of deceitful old cats those women are,” she said. “Smile and nod, smile and nod, as if I don’t know their husbands were quick enough to call my Aaron a traitor to their ridiculous Federalist cause!”

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” I murmured, too tired to do more than half-listen as I eased the pins from her hair. In the past year she’d begun to turn gray, the white hairs stark against her dark, and she’d continued to powder her head to help mask them.

“It’s an out-and-out disgrace, Mary, and an appalling betrayal as well,” she said, her voice taut with irritation. “The president and his toadies expect complete obeisance. To them a man who thinks for himself is a hazard, not a prize. How readily they can turn even the tiniest whisper into a scandal!”

As weary as I was, I heard that word “scandal” and my heart quickened with uneasiness. It was a word that white people used to hide all kinds of unpleasantness, all kinds of things they’d been forced to see against their wishes. I would be considered a scandal, and so would my daughter.

“It’s all because my husband took poor Greenleaf’s civil suit over their ridiculous procession last summer,” she continued, talking to my reflection over her shoulder in her looking glass. “My Aaron did what was right, but what he did pricked the puffed-up pride of Hamilton and Livingston, who went crying to Washington. Oh, it’s clear enough, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. This was old news, and had nothing to do with me or my daughter. For now we were safe.

Besides, none of what Mistress was saying seemed to me to be much of a scandal at all. Soon after the Federalist-sponsored parade in support of the Constitution that I’d attended along with both the Colonel and Miss Burr, the editor of an Anti-Federalist newspaper had dared to print a satire mocking the procession. I’d recalled reading it myself, just as I recalled the Colonel remarking that the piece had only said what needed saying about the infernal procession, anyway.

But Federalists in the city had taken grave offense, and had stormed the newspaper’s office and destroyed the press. The leader of the attack had been no drunken apprentice, but the parade’s own grand marshal, Colonel William Smith Livingston, an old acquaintance of Colonel Burr’s from the war and from the College of New Jersey. When the editor filed suit for damages, Colonel Burr had chosen to represent the editor as being in the right, not his Federalist friend who wasn’t, and the fact that he’d been successful in court had only increased the insult in Federalist eyes.

I’d now witnessed enough to understand that mixing politics and lawyers seemed always to lead to heated tempers, empty accusations, and wounded manly pride. The patriotic good humor that had followed President Washington’s inauguration had all but vanished in the city, replaced instead by a constant display of acrimony and accusations between Federalists and Anti-Federalists. The Federalists seemed the more prone to declaring they were absolutely, even violently, in the right, and I recalled how Colonel Burr had wisely explained to his daughter at the parade that emotional displays and politics should never be mixed.

I also thought of how, while all this was occurring, Colonel and Mrs. Hamilton had ceased to accept Mistress’s invitations to dine. Clearly there were different lessons being taught in the Hamiltons’ house than in the Burrs’.

Even Miss Burr was aware of the change. The Washingtons’ grandchildren, Miss Nelly Custis, who was ten, and her brother, Master George Custis, who was eight, lived in the President’s House. Small gatherings with dancing were arranged for them with other suitable children, and Miss Burr was invited. I was often her companion when her mother was unwell, and I could see for myself how much more accomplished and well-spoken Miss Burr was at age six than the other, older girls. Doubtless this was on account of her father’s insistence on rigorous education, but I suspected it was also in large part because she spent much more time among adults than children her own age.

For her own part, Miss Burr was unimpressed by the young Virginians.

“I don’t know why Mama says I must attend them, Mary,” she said after one such gathering. Because of her youth, I was sent to ride with her in her father’s chaise. She sat beside me in her white linen dress with a wide salmon-colored silk sash and a matching pelisse. Her feet in red slippers didn’t reach the carriage floor, and instead swung back and forth with the motion of the carriage.

“Nelly Custis is a perfect fool,” she continued. “Her entire conversation is about her wardrobe, and nothing else. She says she’s just now begun lessons on the harpsichord, and that practicing makes her cry. If that is what she has learned at Mrs. Graham’s school, then I’m most grateful that Papa insists I have tutors instead.”

“Colonel Burr does what he believes is best for you, Miss Burr,” I said mildly, though I knew that, in her heart, she would like nothing better than to be with the other girls at Mrs. Graham’s. “He and your mama both take special care with everything you learn.”

“Yes, they do.” She smiled and slanted her gaze up toward me, exactly as her father did. “Do you know that the girls at Mrs. Graham’s are taught filigree, fancywork embroidery, and japanning? Papa will laugh aloud when I tell him. Could there be more idle occupations than that, fitting them for nothing of usefulness? I read Herodotus, while they learn japanning.”

“I’m sure that’s what their parents wish for them, miss,” I said. Doubtless those other parents would be equally horrified by Miss Burr’s curriculum, which the Colonel had proudly designed to be identical to a boy’s.

“That’s because they are all Federalists, unable to think for themselves,” she said, “which makes them as idle and foolish as their daughters.”

I raised my brows. “I do not believe your parents would wish you to speak so plainly of your friends, miss.”

“Oh, indeed not,” she said promptly, sniffling and rubbing at her nose. “Papa says a person of breeding must always strive to be agreeable and at ease, and ignore what others might say or do to vex them.”

I handed her a fresh handkerchief to replace the one she had inevitably mislaid at the President’s House. “That is wise advice, miss.”

She blew her nose with noisy exuberance that betrayed her age rather than her breeding.

“That’s because my papa is a wise man,” she said with a final sniff, rolling the handkerchief into a tight little ball in her palm. “I think he’s the wisest in all New York. Mama says so, too. That is why I hate it when those girls call him names, and say he’s two-faced and false, and other things besides.”

“They are mistaken, miss,” I said firmly. “You know they are. Politics brings out the worst in people, miss, and makes them say all kinds of foolishness, even about people like your father who do not deserve it.”

She nodded solemnly. “That’s what Papa says, too. He says I must ignore them, and be better than they are.”

But though she tried to be resolute, as the Colonel would surely have expected of her, I couldn’t help but see how she seemed to droop beneath those same expectations. I placed my arm lightly across her shoulders, and at once she slid across the bench. With a little sigh, she snugged close to my side, silently seeking relief from the adult foolishness of politics.

She was still a child, and there were many grown women and men who wilted before the slanders and sharp tongues of others. Surely the Colonel understood the power of words, and the damage they could do as well, especially to those he loved most.

It was a thought that I often considered over the next days, worrying and fussing at it like a dog with a bone. I’d every reason, too, and I was still afire by the time the Colonel returned home a fortnight later, after a lengthy court case in Poughkeepsie.

Mistress had gone out in the carriage, and had carried her daughter with her. I was taking advantage of their absence and Louisa’s napping to finish some mending. Earlier in the day, Miss Burr had caught her heel in the hem of one of her dresses, and with Mistress away I’d dared to sit on the cushioned window seat here at the top of the stairs, where the sunlight would be brightest for stitching the delicate white linen.

I started when I heard the front door open in the hall below; I hadn’t expected Mistress to return so soon. Quickly I bundled away my sewing, and rose before I could be caught where I didn’t belong. But it wasn’t Mistress and Miss Burr who’d returned. It was the Colonel, already at the foot of the stairs.

“Good day, Mary,” he said, his smile wide and warm as he climbed the steps to join me. “I’m glad to see you. Where are my wife and daughter? I’d expected more of a welcome home.”

“Good day, sir,” I said, dropping a curtsey to him with my mending in my hands. I wondered why Carlos had not appeared to take his hat and coat, and carry his bags to his room; I’d have to speak to him about that. “They’ve taken the carriage to drive along the river, sir. Mistress wished for a change of air.”

“Ah.” He paused on the stair, drumming his fingers lightly on the banister. Whenever the Colonel had been away, his return always took me by surprise, as if I were seeing him for the first time. I don’t mean his mere arrival, either. Somehow while we were apart, I forgot the intensity of his very presence, and how it affected me. It was a condition, almost an affliction, that is not easy to describe without sounding foolish. Yet every time he came back, it was like this for me: how the air is charged and changed before a rising storm, with rumbling dark clouds that race across the sky, fair crackling with both anticipation and dread of what was to come.

“How long have they been gone?” he asked.

“They’ve only just left, sir,” I said as evenly as I could. “I do not expect them back for some time.”

He nodded, and resumed climbing the stairs. “Then you shall be the one to welcome me home, Mary. Come with me.”

I waited until he’d passed me on the landing, then followed him.

“It appears the weather has improved in New York while I was away,” he said, shrugging his arms free of his coat as he entered his bedchamber. “Poughkeepsie was a veritable swamp of rain and flies.”

“Here the skies have been fair, sir,” I said, from habit taking his coat and folding it. “Forgive me, sir, but we must speak.”

“Yes, Mary, we must, though from pleasure, not obligation.” He turned to face me and reclaimed his coat, tossing it carelessly over a chair. Gently he took me by the shoulders to draw me closer. “You know how I miss you when we’re apart. Tell me how our little Louisa does.”

“She flourishes, sir,” I said, smiling a little at the mention of my daughter as I always did. “But it is for Miss Burr that I worry.”

Instantly his bantering manner vanished. “Is she ill? I’d a letter two days ago from my wife, and she said nothing of any mishap.”

“She’s perfectly well, sir,” I said quickly. “You needn’t worry for that.”

“Thank God for that,” he said fervently. Poor man, he’d already had so much stolen from him that even the hint of losing this cherished daughter must have been unbearable, and I placed my hand lightly on his chest.

“It’s a different kind of distress that plagues her, sir,” I said softly. “When she attends gatherings with other children, for dancing and such, she has begun to hear gossip that they repeat from their parents.”

“That’s easily resolved,” he said, his hands sliding back and forth across my shoulders and slipping beneath my kerchief to find my bare skin. “She shall remain here at home, where she won’t be distracted by the prattling of other children.”

“Forgive me, sir, but that is not the answer,” I said. “She needs friends.”

“They’re hardly friends if they’re unkind to her,” he reasoned. “They won’t be missed. Besides, Theodosia scarcely has time for her lessons as it is.”

I shook my head. It was a strange coincidence that Miss Burr, with love and luxury lavished upon her, was in much the same lonely predicament that I had suffered at her age so long ago in Madame’s Pondicherry household: locked away from other children and set to tasks that seemed endless, with only adults for company.

“You cannot keep her apart from the world, sir,” I said, wanting to forget my old memories of loneliness. “She will hear the gossip when she attends church or the playhouse. Everyone in New York speaks of politics.”

He sighed, more resigned than impatient. He traced his finger along the side of my throat to touch the tip of my earlobe beneath the edge of my cap. “You’re not wearing the earrings I gave you.”

“Forgive me, sir,” I said, prepared to tell him a half-truth, or perhaps it was a half lie. “But they’re too grand for me.”

“Nothing is too grand for you, Mary,” he said, his voice low.

It was an empty compliment, yet still I smiled, tipping my chin a fraction toward him.

“I don’t know what Theodosia has told you to gain your sympathy, the little minx.” He now stood so close to me that I smelled the scent of the oiled leather reins and the horse that he’d ridden still clinging to him, and mingled with his sweat on his linen and the hint of the lemon soap he preferred for shaving. “But she understands the difference between Federalists and Anti-Federalists, and why her papa didn’t receive an appointment in the new government. I’ve explained it all to her.”

“You explained it to her too well, sir.” If he wished to continue this conversation like this, then I would, too. There was a strange allure to discussing Federalists and Anti-Federalists even while his hand was upon my breast. I also knew from experience that he’d be more likely to agree to whatever I asked of him now, more so than if I spoke in other circumstances. “She knows your ambitions, sir. When others speak ill of you, she fears your hopes will be denied, and shares your unhappiness. Mistress does as well, though she hides it better.”

He chuckled, and nipped his teeth at my lower lip. “Words alone can’t hurt me, unless I let them.”

“They will, sir, if the scandal is sufficient.” I drew back, forcing him to meet my eye. “What Mistress calls a scandal is petty and small, like you taking Mr. Greenleaf’s case against the wish of your rivals. But a true scandal could ruin you.”

He was irritated that I’d pulled away from him; he never liked to be denied in anything. This was exactly my argument, if he’d only listen.

But perhaps I’d pushed him too far. I slipped my hands around the back of his waist and leaned my body into his. Even through our clothing, we fit together with a sensual tidiness, both of a size to please the other. He always claimed I tempted him, but he tempted me as well, tempting and tempting until I gave way.

He knew it, too, the curve of a smile flickering upon his lips.

“I worry for you, sir,” I said, more sadly than I’d intended. “If your Federalist enemies were to—”

“They are not my enemies, Mary,” he said with maddening logic. “How many times must I tell you?”

“I know you don’t believe that, sir, no matter how many times you say it aloud,” I countered. “Everyone has enemies.”

“Mary, please,” he said. “I refuse to view my life like some ancient vengeance-mad tragedy. I’ll leave the histrionics to Hamilton and Livingston and the rest. Some Federalists are my friends, and some Anti-Federalists are not. Some hold beliefs that I share, and others will always be in disagreement with me. None of that will make them my enemies.”

“But they think otherwise, sir,” I insisted. “What if they sought to ruin your honor and good name? What if they were to learn of me and Louisa, and tried to use that knowledge to discredit you?”

His frown returned, a deep furrow across his brow. “We have spoken of this before, Mary. So long as we are discreet, no one will know of our friendship. It is between us alone, and the world shall not learn of it.”

I shook my head. “I am not so convinced, sir,” I said, my words now coming in a desperate rush. “I fear that one day someone will see me with my daughter, and note a resemblance to you.”

“You trouble yourself over nothing, Mary,” he said, as if simply by speaking the words firmly he would make them true. “I have certain aspirations, yes, but I am far more devoted to those who live beneath my roof than I am to any reckless fantasy of power. Anyone who gazes into Louisa’s face shall only see her sweetness, her beauty, and unless they are told otherwise they’ll see nothing more.”

He paused, his expression turning oddly fixed.

“Unless you yourself were to tell someone, Mary,” he said slowly, his fingers tightening ever so slightly into my shoulders. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? Turn Judas, and spin a sordid tale of lies to a newspaper or pamphlet writer in exchange for a handful of silver?”

I gasped, shocked he’d think me capable of such a disgraceful act.

“No, sir, never!” I blurted out. “Surely you must know that I could never betray you like that, not when—not when—”

My words stumbled, with me unsure of where they would go next.

“When you care for me as you do?” he said, smoothly finishing my sentence for me. “That’s what you meant to say, isn’t it? That your heart is too tender for such an unwomanly action?”

I looked away in confusion. Was that in fact what I’d begun to say? That I’d come to feel a genuine tenderness for the man who’d forced his child upon me, whose wife owned me as her property, who had used me as the Colonel had done for years?

With a tenderness of his own that I hadn’t expected, he turned my face back toward his and kissed me.

“My own dear Mary,” he whispered, his voice low and confidential and seductively sweet. “You know of my considerable affection for you, and the joy I find in your company. That you would worry so about my happiness, my honor, pleases me beyond measure.”

I wanted to explain that I’d no choice but worry for his happiness, because his prosperity and success were bound so tightly with my own. But he kissed me again before I could, and took me to lie upon his bed, and then it was too late for me to speak, as it so often was.

But not for him. “Since you have shown such concern for me, Mary, you shall be the first in New York to hear my news,” he said afterward as he rebuttoned his breeches. “Governor Clinton has asked me to be the new Attorney General of the State of New York.”

“Governor Clinton?” I asked, more surprised by the governor’s name than the appointment itself. “He has rewarded you, even though you publicly supported Mr. Yates against him in the last election?”

“But you see how little that matters, Mary, exactly as I told you earlier,” he said with a confidence that was very close to smugness as he poured himself a glass of wine. “Clinton chose me for my knowledge of the law and my connections, not because I’m a Federalist or Anti-Federalist or any other nonsense.”

“Congratulations, sir,” I said as I retied my apron more tightly about my waist. I glanced from the window to the street, thinking I’d heard the carriage. I was uneasy about Mistress’s return, even if he didn’t seem to be, and I went to restore the mussed coverlet on the bed. “It sounds to be a very grand position for you.”

“What it sounds to be is a damnable amount of trouble and work, and endless nights in bad inns and country taverns with wretched meals,” he said with far more good humor than his words merited. “The salary is an absolute embarrassment to a gentleman, as it is for all state posts. I’d earn more as a wandering tinker, peddling pans and pots. I’ll also have to contend with that rough old rogue Clinton. But I shall do some good in the state, and that makes it a worthy endeavor.”

I paused, my hands resting at my hips. I knew him far too well to let that bit of foolishness pass unchallenged.

“This post is but a means to an end, sir, isn’t it?” I asked suspiciously. “You’ll only linger long enough to make yourself known throughout the state in all those country taverns. Then you’ll jump to something better, won’t you?”

He laughed, and set down the now-empty glass.

“Mary, my Mary,” he said, hooking his arm around my waist to dance me in a small circle. “Could there be a more clever woman in all this city?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling, but I also followed his steps through the little dance that he was humming, my petticoats swinging about my ankles and me smiling in spite of myself.

And later, of course, I realized that once again he hadn’t answered what I’d asked.

* * *

The Colonel’s prediction of how the attorney generalship would be a thankless post proved correct. He was in fact paid next to nothing, or at least that was how Mistress described the four hundred pounds he received each year, a fraction of what he ordinarily earned through his private practice. His hours were long, his work tedious, and I suspect his fellows were often dull and provincial. He was away from his New York home and from us for weeks at a time: in court, speaking before the State Assembly, serving on commissions, and in those bad inns and country taverns.

He wrote almost daily to Mistress and Miss Burr, and to his Prevost stepsons as well. His letters were greeted with great fanfare and arranged along the mantel when they arrived until they were read aloud after supper. Whenever these readings took place, I tried to linger in the parlor on some pretext or another—clearing away the cloth after the meal, trimming the candles on the table, sweeping up the crumbs that had fallen—so that I, too, might hear news of the Colonel, and what he was achieving, or not.

His letters were like he was himself, filled with witty observations and descriptions of the people he met in the course of his days. Knowing the letters would be shared within his family, he clearly wrote for his audience, and I do believe that, had he wished it, he might have pursued another career as a writer of tales and fancies. He could wring amusement from even the driest of courtroom debates, nor was he above turning his pen against himself, either, and wryly making himself a hapless character in the comedy that Albany law and politics seemed to be.

Now I understood why the Colonel could not write directly to me, nor I to him. Like any good lawyer, he was by training loath to put anything into writing that could be misconstrued or maliciously used by others. I understood that I was not his wife. Still I yearned to hear from him myself, a reassurance that Louisa and I had not been forgotten, and that we’d still a place in his thoughts. I wished for a letter, however brief, that was meant only for me.

I knew he wrote them to Mistress. It was clear enough when she’d come to the parts of his letters that were intended for her eyes alone. She’d break off into silence, and smile fondly as she continued reading to herself. Often she’d trace the letters he’d penned with her fingertips, as if by touching the dried ink she could likewise touch their author.

When the Colonel did at last return to the house on Broadway, he was greeted like a hero, and swept away not only into his family, but also by friends and other acquaintances eager for political news and gossip. To the howling displeasure of most New Yorkers, Colonel Hamilton and Mr. Jefferson, the Secretary of State, had made a devil’s bargain to move the federal capital from the City of New York to Philadelphia for the span of ten years, and then to a new capital city to be constructed to the south on the Potomac River. While it appeared that much of the political excitement had departed with President Washington, Congress, and the rest of the federal government, New York’s state and city politics once again surged upward to supply their own peculiar drama.

As attorney general, the Colonel was positioned to know most everyone and everything in the state, and there was rarely a night when he was not out in a tavern with other politically minded men, sharing information and favors. Unlike most Federalists, he didn’t keep the exclusive company of gentlemen like himself, but mingled freely with mechanics, lower merchants, tradesmen, and old soldiers who were veterans of the war. He held the then-unpopular belief that these men had as much a right to be heard within government as did the city’s fine gentlemen, and in many quarters the Colonel’s name and popularity grew. Now whenever I was sent to the market or a shop, I saw that as soon as it was known I’d come from Colonel Burr’s house I received a better cut of beef and an extra dozen eggs, and wide smiles with it.

But with so much to occupy his attentions, there was little time left for the Colonel to spend on me. Our assignations were few and infrequent, most usually long past midnight. He’d come to my little room from one of his public house meetings, smelling of tobacco and liquor. Without lighting a candle, he’d slip into my bed in the dark, and often not even bothering to undress more than halfway. Sometimes he woke Louisa, but most nights she slept through his visits, and when I awoke again in the morning I often wondered if I’d dreamed them myself.

If during this time the Colonel had simply ceased coming to me, I believe I could have forgotten him, and even found myself another man who cared for me as I deserved. I’d my opportunities, too. I was only thirty, and still sufficiently handsome that men were drawn to me whenever I went in public. I might even have found another man I liked well enough to wed.

But the Colonel’s hold remained too strong for me to shake. I do not know why this was so, nor could I explain the reason for it. When he was with me, he was as eager and passionate as ever, and as full of compliments and promises, too, more than enough to fill my thoughts until the next time he appeared.

Did I wish for more of his time and companionship? Did I wish he could be a true father to my daughter, as he was to Miss Burr? Did I wish that he did not have a wife, and that I was a free woman, with the power of choice? Of course; I would not be a woman with a beating heart if it were otherwise. But I tried not to think of what I was missing, and thought instead only of what I did have from him, and nothing beyond that.

Then, finally, after two years of serving dutifully as attorney general, the Colonel received the reward that he’d been seeking all along.

In those days, the senators sent to represent each state in Congress were not elected directly by the people, but were chosen by each state’s assembly and senate. This was perhaps an efficient system, given how difficult a general election was to conduct; nearly four months had been required to tally the votes for President Washington’s election. But it was also a system that was ripe for corruption and manipulation, and Governor Clinton was well experienced in both.

As the Colonel later explained to me, the governor and the rest of his supporters had had enough of Colonel Hamilton’s arrogance. The governor determined that Colonel Burr would be elected as the next senator from New York, replacing the current senator, General Philip Schuyler, who happened to be Colonel Hamilton’s father-in-law. The Colonel won handily over the General, and Mistress held a succession of celebrations in honor of the newest senator from New York.

By all reports, Colonel Hamilton and General Schuyler both were livid. Colonel Burr did not gloat or glory in his triumph, but simply noted that there would be certain persons who would find his election displeasing. In the autumn of 1791, he headed south to Philadelphia to become part of the Second Congress. There he secured lodgings in a respectable house run by a Quaker widow, and cast himself into his new employment. Once again, the women of his life—Mistress, Miss Burr, me, and Louisa—were left behind in New York.

As always, he wrote letters home, describing the splendid city of Philadelphia in great detail, as well as his less-than-splendid fellow senators and the speeches he’d already had to endure. He jeered at the wealthy Federalist hostesses who wished to emulate the royal courts of Europe with their showy displays of silver, jewels, rich dress, and exaggerated manners. He listed the invitations he’d had to dine, and claimed he’d decline them all for lack of the properly opulent clothing.

But there was an undercurrent to these letters that hadn’t been in the ones he’d written while he’d been the attorney general. To me it was clear that while he was a man of importance in New York, he was scarcely noticed in the larger city. He’d few old friends in Philadelphia that he trusted. He resolved to balance the time spent in the Senate chambers with more activity, and went skating upon the river, on which he fell, and thanked the hardness of his head for its preservation. His lodgings were lacking, and he could not sleep. He missed his home and his family.

He was, in short, homesick.

Nor was I the only one who realized it.

“It appears your father is lacking agreeable company, Theodosia,” Mistress announced one evening in March, crisply refolding his latest letter. “I believe he’d be pleased by a visit from us.”

Miss Burr’s eyes widened with delight. “When, Mama? When might we leave?”

“As soon as it can be arranged, pet,” Mistress said, smiling. “True, it’s not the most agreeable season of the year for a journey, but a passage by water should take only a few days at the most. Mary, you will come with us.”

“I, Mistress?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, yes,” Mistress said. “You can tend both Theodosia and me. From what the Colonel says, his quarters are too confined for me to bring more than a single servant. The others here can look after the house perfectly well.”

“But my daughter, Mistress,” I said plaintively, though I already knew the answer. Louisa was now three, a lively, quick, and beautiful little girl, and my dearest joy. We’d never been parted since her birth.

“Peg can mind her while you’re away,” Mistress said. When I didn’t answer, she glanced back at me, her brows raised incredulously. “Come now, Mary. You didn’t believe you could bring your child with us, did you?”

“No, Mistress,” I said softly, already dreading the separation that Louisa would not understand. “I shall begin our preparations tomorrow.”

And yet it was for the best that I would see the Colonel again in person. I’d news for him that could not wait, and that I didn’t dare write to him, from fear my letter might fall into malicious hands. When he’d left New York in the fall, he’d also left me again in an unfortunate condition. I’d taken care to count the weeks until I was sure, but my body had told me long before my reckoning did. It had been the same with Louisa. My breasts were full, my waist was thickening, and I was so weary that I could scarcely complete my tasks each day.

Yet I did, because I’d no choice, and I didn’t complain, either. It wouldn’t be long before I’d have to contrive and confess another passing indiscretion to Mistress. I already knew that, whatever story I told her, she would not be happy with my news.

I was less certain of what the Colonel’s reaction might be.

I’d no doubt that he loved Louisa, and that he’d keep his word to see that she’d never be in want. I hoped he’d feel that way about this babe, too. But a second child would only be more difficult to explain, not just to Mistress, but to anyone else who might be too inquisitive. A trail of mulatto bastards would not be a benefit to a United States senator, and an easy target for his enemies.

Within the week, I found myself in Philadelphia, a place I’d never before visited. Unlike New York, Philadelphia had not suffered much during the war, and its streets were lined with imposing brick houses, churches, and public buildings. Also unlike New York, whose streets wandered willy-nilly from following the shape of the island as well as old Dutch boundaries, Philadelphia had been planned by Quakers in a straight and orderly fashion that made it both pleasant and convenient, a modern city in every sense.

That convenience, however, did not include the Colonel’s lodgings. He wryly called it his Spartan quarters, a half-hearted jest with too much truth. All the congressmen in the city were suffering from the same plight, with a great many gentlemen and not enough rooms. The Colonel had only a small room that faced an alley, with a disagreeable privy in the yard outside. A low field bed with a blue-checked canopy, a washstand, a ladder-back chair of pine, and a table for writing were the sum of the furnishings. He and Mistress would share the bed, while Theodosia and I would have pallets on the bare floor. She thought it a great adventure, but I found it a grim reminder of where I’d been, and where I and my daughter could easily find ourselves again if circumstances turned against me.

I also doubted that I would be alone with the Colonel for any time during our stay. He and Mistress attended as many of the gaudy dinners and balls as they could, even though they ridiculed them and their hostesses’ pretensions afterward. On several afternoons, Mistress also instructed me to take Miss Burr to walk along High Street to a confectioner’s shop, and to show no haste returning. She’d been almost giddy, her cheeks pink with anticipation, while the Colonel pretended to attend to business at his makeshift desk. I didn’t want to think of what they did together while I was banished to the confectioner’s shop.

The days of our visit slipped by and dwindled in number. I’d tried to tell the Colonel I needed to speak with him alone, but there’d never been a proper time, and my desperation grew. Finally, three days before Mistress was to sail on the packet back to New York, the Colonel asked me to come out with him under some pretext or another while Mistress was resting and their daughter was at her lessons.

At first we didn’t speak at all, with me following a half step behind him, as was to be expected. The air was sharp and crisp, yet the sun was warm enough on my face that I pushed the hood of my cloak back against my shoulders. I stole a glance at the Colonel, his black cocked hat pulled low over his brow as he stared steadfastly ahead. There were many people on Chestnut Street on so bright a day, and often he’d touch the front of his hat and smile in greeting to someone we passed.

I knew we were playing our usual roles of Colonel Burr and his wife’s girl. I knew that was what the world must see, and yet I longed to be able to reach out and slip my fingers into his, even if only for a moment. I wanted him to look directly at me and smile, and call me his own Mary. Most of all I wanted to tell him the secret I carried within my belly.

“Please, sir,” I said at last as we paused at a cross street for a wagon to pass. “I must speak to you.”

“Soon,” he said curtly, as a master would. “I haven’t forgotten.”

He walked on without looking at me, and I lowered my head and followed, taking no comfort in his brusqueness. There was a small hole on the back of his left stocking, large enough that the pale skin of his calf showed through it. I’d have to mend that, I thought absently, or at least see that he had a proper new stocking. It wasn’t right for the senator from New York to be so shabby.

“This way, Mary,” he said, and we turned down a narrow street that was lined on either side by tall brick walls that hid the gardens and yards behind them. There were no other people in this street, and at last he slowed his pace to match mine, so we were side by side.

“Mary Emmons,” he said softly. “I’ve missed you. You wished to speak, and here we are. How is our Louisa?”

“Oh, she is very well, sir,” I said, breathless not from walking, but from being in his company. “When I left, she’d just discovered how to run, back and forth as fast as can be along the path in the backyard, like a tiny pony. And her smile, sir . . . she’s so many teeth now, as white as little pearls, and when she smiles, she shows a dimple in each cheek, and she’s—”

I barely caught myself before I erred. I was going to say that her smile was exactly like Miss Burr’s had been at the same age. Like her, too, my daughter had her father’s eyes, large and dark and full of life. But I’d learned that such remarks made the Colonel uneasy. He might love my daughter, but he still wouldn’t think it proper to liken her to Miss Burr.

“She’s a beautiful child, sir,” I said instead. “Happy and beautiful.”

“How I wish you’d brought her with you,” he said impulsively. “I miss her merry little face.”

“I couldn’t, sir,” I said sadly. “I had to leave her behind with Peg and the others to look after her. Mistress wouldn’t—”

“Oh, I know, it wasn’t possible,” he said, “and with good reason, too.”

The only good reason was that Mistress didn’t wish to be troubled by my daughter on our journey, or to have less than all my constant care for herself. To me, neither were acceptable reasons to separate a mother from her child. But I also knew better than to say that to the Colonel.

And now I must tell him that he’d fathered a second child with me.

“How do you like Congress, sir?” I asked, stalling. “I overhear what you write when Mistress and Miss Burr read your letters aloud, but you make so many jests for their amusement that I cannot tell for certain. Is being a senator all you wished?”

He smiled wryly. “Nothing is all that I wish,” he said. “But while the company is often fatuous, the actual labor of the Congress is not. The most useful of my committees addresses the woes of the widows and orphans left destitute by men who served in the war. Their petitions would break the hardest heart, and I am glad to help ease their suffering.”

“That is most admirable, sir.” How curious the twists of life could be, that he’d be called to this particular task on behalf of soldier’s widows, when his own wife had stolen this same benefit from me.

“It is,” he said. “But there is so much else that is discussed and addressed. The violent troubles in France, the unrest among the native peoples along the western frontiers, new laws and regulations and tariffs at every corner: little wonder that each day brings its own challenges and satisfactions with it.”

“How fine it must be to do such good work, sir,” I said absently, paying little heed to his words. “Does Congress ever speak of abolition?”

He grunted. “You would ask me that, Mary.”

“I would, sir,” I said, “because it affects my life and that of my daughter far more than what the French will do with their king and queen.”

“Then I regret to tell you that abolition is not discussed as a federal issue, and likely never will be,” he said frankly. “Too much of the wealth and economy of the southern states are bound to the labor of slaves for them to abandon it. When the country’s Virginian president and his wife hold over a hundred slaves of their own—”

“You and Mistress own slaves, too, sir,” I said with more sorrow than anger.

He pretended not to have heard me, exactly as I’d expected.

“It’s as I’ve always believed,” he said. “Abolition will eventually come through the states, in a manner that suits the people and economy of each particular place.”

It was what he always said, a convenient explanation and a ready excuse, though I’d never been able to tell whether or not he truly believed it.

Perhaps that was what made me say what I did. “I’ve heard from other servants, sir, that if Mistress kept me here in Philadelphia for six months, I’d become a free woman by the laws of this city.”

He stopped walking, and I stopped, too. He scowled down at me, his eyes as penetrating as a hawk’s, and though my cheeks grew warm beneath his gaze, I did not retreat.

“Is that truly the law, sir?” I asked, though I already knew it was: a tantalizing possibility, there for the taking. “I ask, because you of all gentlemen would know if it was so.”

“It is,” he said at last. “Any slave that resides in Philadelphia for a period of six months can claim his freedom without fear of retribution, and also without any financial recompense made to his owner for the loss of his property. But this does not pertain to you, because my wife has no intention of remaining here for such a considerable length of time.”

“But if Mistress did, sir, then—”

“You would not abandon our daughter,” he said bluntly.

I gasped with shock, reeling from it. “You would keep Louisa from me?”

“You and she are both my wife’s property,” he said. “You seem to know the law as well as I.”

“But, sir,” I said. “You would make a hostage of Louisa? You would use my child like that?”

“Would you leave me?”

I had no words for an answer, at least none that he’d wish to hear.

“I’m with child again, sir,” I said.

He went very still. “So that is why you asked about the laws of this place,” he said slowly. “You’d abandon one child in New York to assure the freedom of the second here in Philadelphia.”

“No, sir, never!” I exclaimed, stunned he’d consider me capable of such a coldhearted action. “But I would be dishonest if I said I didn’t want this child born into freedom, just as I’d wanted for Louisa.”

“What is your reckoning?”

I still could not judge his reaction. “Summer,” I said. “July.”

He nodded, the first sign of possible acceptance. “You’ve said nothing to my wife?”

“No, sir,” I said. “I thought it best to tell you first.”

He glanced down from my face, judging my figure. “There is no need to tell her yet.”

“I won’t, sir,” I said, disappointed in spite of myself. He’d been so kind, even playful to me earlier, and now he’d become cold and hard and unfeeling.

“You’ll return to New York this week, and give birth there,” he said brusquely. “I’ll be in New York by then on recess. But remember, Mary. If you ever try to run from me with our children, I will hunt you down, and find you, and bring you back. Remember, and do not forget.”

I was fighting tears as I edged away from him. Nothing I could say would make any of this right.

Words were not what he wanted. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me roughly, there in the street, and heedless now of who might see. I struggled at first, and then did not, my hands hanging limp inside my cloak. Possession, not passion: with him I’d learned to understand the difference.

Two days later, I sailed from Philadelphia for New York in the company of Mistress and Miss Burr. Over those two days, I do not believe the Colonel spoke directly to me again. He’d no need to, for there was nothing left to say. I thought often of the beckoning temptation of freedom that the laws of Philadelphia had so briefly offered to me, and the child I carried in my belly.

But in the end, it had been a mirage, shimmering and unattainable, and gone as swiftly as it had appeared.