All for One Read online

  Emma did, however, overhear Augustus Van Cortlandt, a fine-boned gentleman of sixty who never emerged from his chamber without his ascot knotted tight beneath his chin and his wig firmly in place, mutter under his breath: “Does the man have blood in his veins, or fish oil?”

  To Emma’s surprise, another week passed in silence. She had had a brief, concerned note from John, who seemed ready to abandon his studies to rush to his sister’s side, but he didn’t mention the whereabouts of his brother-in-law. Emma wrote back to say that his presence would likely do more harm than good, and he should pass along the same message to Alex. But though John wrote to say that he was ready to come at a moment’s notice, he once again failed to mention Alex in his letter.

  Another week passed, and another. Eliza awakened and began her painfully slow convalescence. Emma found herself lying to Eliza, telling her that she had heard from Alex on several occasions while Eliza was in her delirium, and that now, knowing his wife was out of danger, he was attending to matters of business that he had neglected out of worry before. She hated to lie to her friend and mistress, but Eliza was so weak that she did not dare say that no one had heard from Alex in over a month, lest the shock trigger a relapse. It was possible that Alex had been called away unexpectedly. Although he was not directly involved in the political sphere, he remained close to many of the senators in Philadelphia, and they continually turned to him for advice. For all she knew they had summoned him to Pennsylvania to attend to some urgent matter—a financial question, at which Alex was particularly adept, or maybe even a military one. Everyone knew England was far from content to lose its North American colonies and was scheming to get them back, and other European powers saw the fledging nation as ripe for the picking.

  But in her heart she couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong. Alex would have found a way to get a note to Eliza if he were well, even if it was just to say that he would be out of contact for some weeks. What a dark hour it would be if both Hamiltons were struck low at the same time, but fifteen miles apart! She was on the verge of leaving Eliza in the Van Cortlandts’ care and making the journey herself, when at last communication appeared, in the form of John Schuyler and Betty Van Rensselaer.

  They arrived in a golden brougham that Emma recognized immediately as the Beekmans’. The carriage, which was one of the finest in New York City, was known about town as the “Chariot of Apollo,” and Emma’s heart immediately lifted when she saw it. Such a magnificent conveyance could not possibly deliver anything other than good news. Which made the sense of horror she felt that much greater when John emerged from the opened door with a face that was at once distraught and, so it seemed to Emma, infuriated.

  “I need to see my sister,” he said by way of greeting.

  Emma quickly explained that Eliza’s condition remained fragile and he could not possibly approach her in such a dark humor. At this, the emotion in John’s face deepened—the sadness as well as the fury.

  “Has something befallen Mr. Hamilton?” Emma asked in a trembling voice.

  “That base scoundrel!” John hissed. “If Burr doesn’t kill him, I will!”

  * * *

  • • •

  A TERRIFIED EMMA was prevented from asking John what on earth he meant by the untimely arrival of Augustus Van Cortlandt, who had stepped down from the porch to greet his guests. John summoned all his Schuyler steel, acknowledging Mr. Van Cortlandt formally but briefly, then asking to be escorted to a private chamber. The visibly concerned old gentleman brought them to his own study on the first floor.

  “My dear boy,” he said. “What on earth is the matter?” By now his wife had joined them, and both stared at him expectantly.

  But John only shook his head. “No doubt all of New York will know the tragic tale soon, but for now, at least, I shall protect my sister’s reputation,” he said, pointedly shutting the door in Mr. and Mrs. Van Cortlandt’s faces.

  It was all Emma could do not to grab John’s hands in entreaty. “Mr. Schuyler, please,” Emma said. “You are frightening me.”

  “Be frightened now,” Betty answered in a tone of disgust, “because soon all you will feel is rage.”

  Emma whirled on Betty. “With respect, Miss Van Rensselaer, you are not helping. Would someone please tell me what is going on?”

  Just then there was a knock at the door.

  “Emma?” Drayton’s voice called, and Emma rushed to the door to let him in.

  “If you please, Emma,” John said, “this is not exactly news for servants’ ears.”

  “Drayton is my fiancé,” Emma said. “Anything you can say to me, you can say also to him.” She said it proudly, although their engagement had been marred by concern for her mistress. She didn’t find the heart to celebrate while Eliza was still so sick.

  “As you will,” John said. “I have not the energy to argue. And congratulations, by the way.”

  Drayton was allowed into the room, and the door shut up again. When everyone was seated, John began. “I cannot think of a way to say this delicately, so I shall just say it. My brother-in-law has contravened the bonds of his marriage.”

  Emma felt her head spin. She groped blindly for Drayton’s hand. “I—I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Schuyler.”

  “This Reynolds woman whose case he took on back in June. Apparently she is a regular Moll Flanders and seems to have used her wiles to seduce my sister’s husband.”

  “Oh, John, don’t,” Betty said in a peeved voice. “I told him,” she continued to Emma and Drayton, “it matters not who the woman is and what she did. The responsibility lies full with Alex. Even if she did attempt to seduce him, it is he who consented to stray. She didn’t force him.”

  “But this is quite unbelievable,” Drayton said. “Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton love each dearly. He could never—”

  “He could, and he did,” John said, waving Drayton silent. “This Mrs. Reynolds—yes, she is married, too, or at any rate partnered with a man—is housed in Ruston’s Inn on Water Street. It is a busy establishment in the heart of the city, and word has gotten out that Alex visited Mrs. Reynolds there and did not leave until near dawn the following morning.”

  “But . . . b-but . . . ,” Emma stuttered helplessly. “I cannot believe it. How do we know anything untoward happened? Perhaps he was just comforting her.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Betty snickered.

  “Betty, please,” John said. “This is no time for levity.” He turned to Emma sadly. “I, too, wanted to believe that it was merely a misunderstanding. But when I went to ask Alex about it, he refused to see me. He has been sleeping at his office. If these are not the actions of a guilty man, I don’t know what are.”

  “Oh, but this is horrible, horrible!” Emma moaned. “Mrs. Hamilton is still so weak. The shock of this news could kill her!”

  “Obviously we will not tell her until she is fully well,” John said. “By then the news may be even more grim, though that could turn out to be a kind of blessing.”

  “What do you mean?” Emma asked.

  “Do you know Aaron Burr? He is a lawyer and sometime opponent of Alex’s, as well as our neighbor on Wall Street.” Emma and Drayton nodded, and John continued: “Apparently the enmity between Mr. Burr and my brother-in-law has increased since Alex defeated him in court last year, to the point that Mr. Burr decided to chide Alex for his infidelity in open court. Alex was so incensed that he called him out.”

  “You mean . . . a duel?” Drayton asked incredulously.

  John started in Drayton’s direction, clearly unused to being asked questions by a servant, and unsure whether to answer. At length he turned back to Emma.

  “They are to meet this evening at midnight at Mount Pleasant. A rather ironic choice of venue, given the activity in which they engage, but James Beekman has accepted the role of second to my brother
-in-law, if only so that the ritual is performed properly.”

  Emma’s head spun. This was all so unbelievable, and yet so easy to believe. Hadn’t her own life been blissful one moment, then torn asunder the next? God had made humans frail creatures, and if men were the stronger in body, it was Emma’s experience that they were weaker in spirit. Only rarely was it the venality of corruption that undid them. It was momentary infatuation and gilded temptation—one good push at just the right time, and they were knocked from the straight and narrow forever. Hadn’t she seen it happen with her father?

  She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I must retire to my chamber.”

  “Of course,” Drayton said before John could answer (which caused the latter to glare at him in consternation). “Let me help you, my darling.”

  “Don’t worry, it is nothing undue. I will be but a moment.”

  She let herself out of the room and ignored the stares of the Van Cortlandts as she made her way upstairs. As she rounded the landing, however, her pace began to quicken, and by the time she reached the second floor she fairly flew down the hall. She raced to Eliza’s room, slipped inside, and locked the door behind her.

  * * *

  • • •

  ELIZA LOOKED UP from the pages of her book. She had asked the Van Cortlandts to bring her a copy of Moll Flanders, but she had once again failed to make it more than twenty pages into the novel, which rested open atop her white-sheeted, plump stomach, like a little hut at the top of a snowy hill. Eliza’s hands rested to either side of the book, and there was a rapturous smile on her face.

  “Come quickly,” she said, waving Emma over. “Philip is awake and moving about! It is as though he is running a foot race!”

  Emma could think of no way to refuse. She walked over the bed, where Eliza grabbed her hand and placed it on her stomach. There, indeed, were the shifts and thumps of a writhing form beneath the cotton, beneath the skin. She did her best to smile.

  “Oh, my darling, you look so distraught. Do not fear. He doesn’t hurt me.”

  Emma didn’t answer, just stepped back and pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat down. Eliza stared at her with a puzzled expression.

  “Is that the Beekmans’ carriage I heard outside?” she said when Emma did not speak. “Are James and Jane here?”

  Emma stirred herself from her reverie.

  “You can tell it is the Beekmans’ carriage by the sound of the wheels?” she said in a reproachful voice. “You have been up again, haven’t you, Mrs. Hamilton?”

  “Ugh, I am so bored!” Eliza wailed. “I know I am not yet at my full strength, but I do not understand why I must languish in bed like someone with plague. I long to be home!”

  Emma’s face went white as a sheet.

  “Emma! My dear, what is the matter? You look as though you have seen a ghost!” Suddenly Eliza’s heart jumped with a thrill of terror. “Have you heard from Alex? Is something wrong?”

  There was a knock at the door then, and the doorknob rattled.

  “Miss Trask? Are you in here?”

  “Is that John?” Eliza said, a confused half smile appearing on her face. “Emma, what on earth is going on? Why have you locked the door? And why do you look so frightened?”

  Emma gulped visibly. “I have something to tell you, Mrs. Hamilton. I hate to do it and I am terrified of the effect it may have on you, but Mr. Hamilton’s life hangs in the balance.”

  “What!”

  Another, louder knock at the door. “Miss Trask, I command you to let me into this room this instant!”

  “Go away, Mr. Schuyler,” Emma called in a quiet but determined tone. “You are disturbing your sister. If you do not leave immediately, I shall ask Drayton to remove you. I know he is there beside you.”

  There was a pause, followed by the low murmur of voices, and then John’s voice came again: “I am stepping away, but I beg of you: Do not do what I think you are doing.”

  Emma didn’t reply, and after a moment footsteps could be heard walking down the hall. Eliza stared at Emma in helpless terror. She had flung her book aside, and her hands clung to her womb as if to protect the child within.

  “Emma, please. Tell me what is going on.”

  Emma pulled her chair close to the bed and took Eliza’s hand in hers. Slowly, haltingly, she began to speak. She had not John’s bluntness, and it took her some minutes before she was able to communicate the gist of the situation. With each subsequent revelation Eliza’s face grew paler and more remote, as if she were shrinking inside her own skin. Finally Emma reached the news of Aaron Burr’s confrontation and the duel to be fought that evening.

  Eliza was silent for several minutes after Emma finished speaking. Her hand in Emma’s was as tiny and limp as a fledgling fallen from the nest.

  “Mrs. Hamilton? Are you—are you ill again?”

  Eliza’s silence persisted another moment, and then suddenly she roused herself as if awakening from a nightmare.

  “I have to go!” she said, sitting up suddenly and flinging the quilt from her legs. “Emma, help me dress!”

  “Mrs. Hamilton, no. The doctor says you are still too weak to travel!”

  “Listen to me, Emma!” Eliza said, grabbing Emma’s arm with taloned fingers that betrayed no hint of weakness. “I am going to Mount Pleasant to prevent this duel one way or another. If you or anyone attempts to prevent me, I swear I will bash my way out of here with a fire iron and throw myself atop the first horse, mule, or ass I see. Now help me change, or begone!”

  She started to strip her nightdress off, and after a confused moment, Emma began to help her. She fetched undergarments and a simple woolen dress and helped Eliza slip into them. The dress had laces so that it could be let out to accomodate Eliza’s pregnancy, and Emma left all but one undone, as Eliza was more than six months along now, and her belly had grown quite large. One time she tried to remonstrate with Eliza, but Eliza turned on her with such wild eyes that she fell silent. If something were going to stop Eliza, it would not be a single girl. And the truth was, she was not sure she wanted to stop her. She was furious at Alex for his betrayal, yet surely there was another answer besides death? And if anyone could stop this duel, Eliza could.

  When Eliza was dressed and shod, Emma opened the door. The hall was empty. Drayton must have taken John downstairs.

  “Take us out the back,” Eliza said. “We shall commandeer a carriage and driver in the barn.”

  They tiptoed down the hall to the servants’ stairs and made their way into the kitchen. But when Eliza pushed open the door and slipped into the room, she found Drayton standing there, clearly waiting for her.

  Before Eliza could tell him to get out of the way, Drayton spoke.

  “We’ll take the Beekmans’ chariot,” he said. “Quickly now. Mr. Schuyler is shut up with the Van Cortlandts, and we can be away before they realize. They have not a carriage harnessed, and the horses are all in the pasture. By the time they can ready one, we will be too far away for them to stop us.”

  “Thank you,” was all Eliza said, and the threesome hurried outside.

  Eliza’s mind was a whirl of images, yet somehow through the fog and fear, she felt the damp air on her face and in her weakened lungs, where it simultaneously burned and chilled her. It had been five weeks since she had been outside, five weeks since she had smelled naught but fire-warmed, smoky air, and the shock was as intoxicating as a glass of spirits. Her head swam.

  “Mrs. Hamilton, please,” Emma entreated. “You are still too weak.”

  Eliza merely shook her head and pressed on to the golden ball mounted on its four tall, spindly wheels.

  “I am fine,” she rasped.

  A moment later and the ladies were seated inside and Drayton had clambered into the box. There was a whipcrack, and the carriage lurched in
to motion.

  Eliza sank back into the plush leather cushions and let her eyes close. The short walk had taken every bit of her strength. As if from far away, she felt Emma adjusting the car rugs around her. They felt luxuriously soft and warm, and she opened her eyes.

  “Leave it to the Beekmans to furnish their car with sable,” she said in a weak voice. “Well, for once, I cannot chide them their extravagance.” She laughed wetly. “Is anyone following?”

  Emma lifted a shade and peered out. “We are already out of sight of the house,” she said after a moment. “But no one is on the road at least. We are safely away.”

  “If I know John, he will commandeer a horse and come after us. A saddled rider will be much faster than a carriage.” She paused for breath. “Well, never mind. He can shout at us, but he cannot stop us. Unless he brings a gun,” she added after a moment.

  “Mrs. Hamilton!”

  “Calm yourself, Emma. No one is getting shot today. No one,” she repeated in a firmer voice.

  * * *

  • • •

  THEY PASSED THE five-hour journey in virtual silence. To Eliza’s surprise, John didn’t appear. Perhaps he realized that he couldn’t stop his sister, or maybe he didn’t want to. Eliza was the only one who could compel Alex to call off his duel, after all, and however grave the charges against him, he must have understood that she wanted her child to enter this world with both parents still in it.

  Of the charges themselves, she didn’t allow herself to contemplate them. That was another matter, for later. She did not want to think about it. She couldn’t think about it without crying and she did not have time to cry.

  She had no idea what would happen after. If she thought she might forgive him, or if she would remain married to him but live forever apart from him like so many couples, or if she would force him to give her a divorce. She only knew that she could not allow him to die before she had had a chance to wring his neck. His son could not grow up without a father. She had seen what it had done to Alex, after all. She would not inflict that on her own child—she would not allow Alex to pass on his own misery.