David Liss - The Whiskey Rebel

Hamilton was well known for his long nights, so I was relieved when he emerged less than an hour later. I had a good view of him from across the street, and I was astonished by the look on his face-a kind of furtive, guilty, sneakish look I did not like.

I followed as he traveled away from the center of town and toward areas I knew to be most unlike those favored by fashionable gentlemen. Our Secretary of the Treasury, in short, was heading toward Southwark.

Before he reached the house, I had guessed his destination, for I had been to this neighborhood before, and in Hamilton’s wake too. This was Reynolds’s home, and it was here I expected to find answers. Philadelphia was, in general, a city of well-lit streets, but in these poor neighborhoods, a homeowner’s duties were often neglected, and I was easily able to ensconce myself in shadow mere feet from the stoop. I was no Lavien, who I suspected could glide above leaf and twig, but I moved silently enough and only men on their guard could have detected my approach.

I watched as Hamilton knocked on the door and waited to see Reynolds’s brutish face. Perhaps, I thought, I should confront the man, let him know he was exposed, that I was no longer fooled by his pretense of honor and rectitude.

Indeed, I had gone so far as to step forward when the door opened, and it was not the beastly James Reynolds who stood there but the lovely Maria.

She smiled at him and placed a hand upon his face.

He removed it. “I ought not to be here,” he said. “Your husband-”

“Did not my husband write you and beg you to visit me? He left Philadelphia this morning upon some mission for his master. Think nothing of my husband.”

“How can I think nothing of him?” Hamilton said. “He presses me for money because you and I have been together, and then, when I leave you alone, he begs me to return to you. Must I not believe that he will press me again?”

“Hush,” she said. “Come inside. We will discuss it.”

He followed her in and closed the door. As to whether or not they would do much discussing, I was in doubt, but there it was. Hamilton, with his children, his devoted wife, his staunch morals, had been drawn into a sordid affair with this woman. At once I understood this lady and her husband, she beautiful and he wretched. He’d told me his wife was a slut, and I could only presume the funds Hamilton paid Reynolds were a sort of compensation for the services she provided the Treasury Secretary. Did Hamilton not see that they both used him?

He did not see-or, rather, he saw and could not stop himself.

Hamilton had fallen victim to the pleasures of the flesh. I could hardly blame him for showing human frailty with a creature as lovely as Maria Reynolds, and I could hardly blame her, with her brute of a husband, for preferring a dalliance with one of the most powerful men in the nation. He traveled a dangerous course, however. I believed Washington, that Hamilton would never sacrifice the good of the nation to feed his own desire, but he might well destroy himself.

I would do what I could for him. He had proved he would do what he could for me, and it seemed only just. In the meantime, I would continue to pursue Cynthia and her husband. I had been unable to find anyone in the city who knew for certain where they had gone, and I needed to enlist someone who possessed connections I did not.

The next day, cloudy and dark and windy, I went to Southwark, where the bulk of the town’s Negroes made their home, and proceeded to ask directions, for I knew those streets indifferently well. Among the clusters of Negroes gathered by their market, hawking their roots and meats and bowls of pepper pot, white men such as myself are regarded with considerable suspicion, but I believe it is generally considered unwise to neglect their inquiries. Indeed, a few smiles and coins made it clear that I wished nothing but kindness, and within a few hours of beginning my project, I found the place for which I searched.

It was a neat little house of exceptional narrowness, but pleasing and well maintained. I knocked upon the door and was greeted quickly by a pretty Negress with large eyes and skin the color of drinking chocolate. She appeared momentarily alarmed, no doubt unused to white men on her stoop, but I smiled, removed my hat, and bowed. “You are Mrs.-” I stopped because I did not know Leonidas’s surname. It was customary for slaves to take the names of their masters, but I could not imagine Leonidas doing so. “You are married to Leonidas?”

She nodded. Then her face bunched in a spasm of fear. “Has something happened?”

“No need for alarm. I know nothing of him, good or ill. I had hoped to find him home, but I intuit from your words that he is not.”

Her concern melted away, and I admired again her attractive features, dignified in the Negro mold, and also her unmistakable strength of will. Leonidas had done well in marrying a woman who, I had no doubt, both appreciated and matched him.

“And who are you?” she asked. It was a rather strong way to talk to a white man she did not know, but I would not trouble myself over that.

“I do beg your pardon. I am Captain Ethan Saunders.” I bowed once more.

“You’re him?” she asked. She gazed upon my face. She looked me up and down the length of my body, like a side of beef presented for sale. And then she laughed in a way I did not like at all.

We sat in her neat little parlor, sipping tea. She told me her name was Pamela but seemed reluctant to present to me the surname Leonidas had chosen. It was no matter, for she treated me graciously, even though I suspected something else lay just beneath the surface. Mrs. Pamela served an agreeable tea and some sweet oat cakes with bits of raisin in them. They were quite tasty and wholesome.

“These are good cakes,” I said.

She nodded her thanks.

“The raisins-a nice touch. Raisins make everything better, I think. Some prefer plums, or even apricots, but when it comes to dried fruit, I shall always take raisins.”

She said nothing.

“Pamela.” I tried again. “I like the name Pamela. It is very pretty.”

This kind observation solicited no response.

I tried again. “From Spenser, I believe.”

She stared at me.

“He is an English poet.”

She scratched the bridge of her nose.

“He wrote The Faerie Queene, ” said I.

She blinked.

“It is,” I attempted, “a very long poem. Long and dull.”

More blinking.

I began to fear that I had misjudged blankness for determination and that my friend Leonidas had married a stupid woman. I supposed he knew best his own domestic felicity, but I feared Mrs. Pamela must make for dull company.

“My husband told me about you,” she said at last.

“And what did he say? Nothing too unflattering, I hope. Ha-ha!”

She took a sip of tea. “He told me you were a wastrel and a scoundrel, but that you have a sentimental heart for so selfish a creature.”

“Your husband has ever been an excellent judge of character,” I said, now feeling nostalgic for the Spenser discourse. And the raisins.

“He told me that you are, by nature, the sort of man who would despise the practice of slavery, but you held on to him for as long as you could because it was the only way you could conceive of to keep from spending your days alone. Is that true?”

“I cannot say,” I told her, suddenly feeling warm. “Mrs. Pamela, I did not come here to make you uneasy.”

“Then for what did you come? Why do you trouble us?”

“That is something I must discuss with your husband.”

This answer must have offered some offense, for the good woman did not trouble herself to respond. Thus we sat in silence for near the better part of an hour, though she was so good as to refill my teacup two times. By the time the front door of the house opened and closed and footsteps approached, I was quite ready for a chamber pot. Leonidas entered the room, still wearing his greatcoat, flakes of snow freshly melted upon it. He had removed his hat and still held it in his hand when he noticed me. I grinned at him. He looked at me, and never had I observed such a look of rage upon his face-and never on anyone’s face outside of warfare. His dark face twisted; his eyes widened and then narrowed.