David Liss - The Whiskey Rebel

After dinner, once the women and children departed, Lavien poured more wine, and I inquired as to how he came to stand with the Maroons, and what he did with them, but he demurred, saying that he would tell me some other time; he did not like to speak of it, particularly not in his own home. Yet he did provide me with the most skeletal of explanations.

“I did things which I am now ashamed to own,” he said, “though I am not ashamed of the cause. I believe that all men, African, Indian, and European alike, are equal in the eyes of God and of nature. It is only in the eyes of one another that inequity lies. I grew up in the West Indies, upon the island of Nevis, and, pressed into the family business, I visited Surinam. There I was abducted by the Maroons, who thought to use me as a hostage, or perhaps they would have killed me out of vengeance. I convinced them, however, that I was of a different tribe, one as despised by their oppressors as their own, and through a series of circumstances I shall not now relate, I remained with them for two years, embracing their cause, though at the same time attempting to temper it.”

“It must have been trying to live among them,” I said.

“At times it was, but I did not live wholly among them. I would travel to white settlements, where my connection to the Maroons was unknown, and I would learn of the outside world. I became enchanted with what I read of your new country. After so long in the jungle, I knew I must live in a land founded upon the principle that all men are created equal. So I came to Philadelphia, for it has a large population of Jews, and here I met my wife.”

“How is it that you came to work for Hamilton?”

“Having done what I did with the Maroons, I did not wish to return to a life of trade, though that is how I first supported myself. Once the government moved to Philadelphia, upon a whim I presented myself to Hamilton. He has since found work for me serving the country, though this is the first time I have served him directly.”

“Why Hamilton?” I asked. “Why did you seek him out of all men? Is it the West Indian connection?” Everyone knew that Hamilton had been born a bastard on the island of Nevis. His mother had been a French strumpet, his father a penniless younger son of a Scots family of more puffed-up pretension than means.

“It was more than our geographical connection. Hamilton ’s mother’s first husband,” Lavien said, “was my uncle, Johan Lavien.”

This was a greater surprise than his past connection with the Maroons. “What? Hamilton has Jew kinsmen?”

Lavien shook his head. “They had no children. My uncle was a monster, and the lady was right to run from him. Hamilton has every reason to dislike me for my name-and my face, I suppose; I’m told I look a bit like my uncle. Yet Hamilton has been nothing but kind.”

I found this hard to believe but did not say so. “As Hamilton admires you so much,” I suggested, “perhaps you might come with me when I speak to him. You might try to persuade him to let me in on your secrets.”

He shook his head. “I do not like to visit Hamilton at Treasury. I prefer other venues.”

I smiled. “Of course. Hamilton was always uneasy about his lowly origins. It would not do to so remind the world, let alone to parade his Hebrew near-kinsman before subordinates.”

“He does not like to be reminded of his origins, it is true, but there are more complicated matters at work here.”

I sipped my wine. What could these more complicated matters be? My thoughts were clouded by drink, but even so I found the truth in the thicket of obscurity. “ Jefferson doesn’t know about you, does he? You do not visit Hamilton at Treasury because you do not want it known that you work for Hamilton or what sort of work you do. If the Jeffersonians were to put it about that the Jewish nephew of Hamilton ’s mother’s first husband was slinking about the city looking into the business of wealthy families, they would piss their pants with glee.”

“You see right to the heart of things,” he said. “It is no inconsiderable skill.”

“One you could use,” I said.

“If that is Colonel Hamilton’s will, then I think so.”

“You understand that Hamilton hates me, don’t you? It was he who exposed my supposed treachery to the world. He promised he would hold the accusations against me secret, but he could not spread the word fast enough.”

“Why do you say so? Have you evidence to prove it?”

“It is what I heard, and I believe it.”

“Did Colonel Hamilton tell you that he would protect your reputation?” Lavien asked me.

“Yes, and he lied.”

“If he said he would protect your reputation, then he did. Colonel Hamilton was not the one who maligned you, sir, and unless you have proof otherwise, I will not believe it. It is not something he would do.”

“I knew Jefferson had his worshipers, but I did not know Hamilton was also blessed.”

“I am not a worshiper, but I know the man, and I have too much respect for the truth to believe an obvious falsehood when I see one. If you like, I could use the resources my position offers to launch a full inquiry into what happened those years ago.”

Something uncomfortable twisted inside me. “I should very much prefer to keep the past where it belongs,” I said. “What is done cannot be undone.”

He nodded. “Then let us turn to the present. I wonder if I ought to send someone to look for Leonidas? You may fear to seek him out, but I see no reason why I may not do so.”

I sat up straight in my chair. “Why, I would be most grateful. Very decent of you.”

Lavien excused himself, and when he returned perhaps half an hour later, he said that he had sent a boy from a nearby coffeehouse with instructions to ask about Southwark for a man of Leonidas’s description, and that, should he be found, he would meet me the next morning at a nearby tavern.

After I’d had my fill of wine, I told him I wished to retire, and Lavien bade me good night, saying he had work yet to do that evening. I assured him I could find my own way to my room, and so, taking a candle, I ascended the stairs, steep and narrow as in a Dutchman’s house. When I reached the second-floor landing, Mrs. Lavien emerged from her children’s room.

“I heard Jonathan fussing,” she told me, as though some explanation were necessary. “I hope you find your room comfortable.”

“Oh, very,” I told her. “I never mind a garret, and it is made up quite elegantly for a room of that species. Yet, Mrs. Lavien, there is something of solitude I do not like, and I cannot but think how much brighter the room would be with your company.”

She glanced back and forth and then, to my delight, ascended the stairs to my room. I followed her, my single candle providing scant illumination, but enough to watch the delicious movement of her form under her pretty yellow gown. She had a commanding presence, a recklessness that reminded me of Cynthia Pearson as she had been all those years ago, when she was Cynthia Fleet.

Here, too, was a woman who craved excitement, who delighted in the pleasures of the illicit. Why should I not accommodate her? Yes, her husband had done me a kindness, but had she not done me a kindness too, and would it not be mean of me to demur from returning the favor? She had acted the proper wife all evening, devoted to children and husband, managing her home both with earnestness and good cheer, but what Lavien did not understand-it was quite apparent now-was that she was also a woman with complex desires.

We reached the top of the stairs, and though my sensations were fuzzy from all I had drunk that night, still I felt the excitement rising inside me. My heart pounded and my pulse beat in my neck. I closed the door behind me and set the light upon a small writing desk in the corner.