Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(2)

But it was even more important that they married fast.

And so, Mrs. Schuyler resorted to a strategy that had served her own mother well in times of need.

She was throwing a ball.





1





Middle Child


The Schuyler Mansion

Albany, New York

November 1777

The mansion on the hill shone like a lighthouse.

Twenty windows stretched across the riverfront of the Pastures, each one ablaze from dozens of oil lamps and candlesticks. Shadows flitted behind the curtains as the household prepared for the party—servants busily rearranging the furniture to make room for dancing as well as laying out trays of preserves, candied nuts and cured meats. Inside the second-floor ballroom, hired musicians set up their instruments, ears tuned to their strings. Upstairs in their private quarters, family members stood before their looking glasses putting the final touches on their evening costumes. Hoops and panniers harnessed onto the women, jabots and lace cuffs fastened onto the men.

At least Eliza hoped it was just the household getting ready. Her mother would scold them mercilessly if she and her sisters were to walk into the house after the guests were already there.

“Has anyone arrived yet?” she asked her sisters as she caught her breath beneath the weight of her load. Each of them was holding heavy bolts of blue wool and white cotton that they had gathered from the well-heeled women of Albany to make uniforms for the Continental troops.

“I don’t think so,” Peggy, the youngest, said, panting from exertion. “It was just past four when we left the Van Broeks’ house, so it can’t be five yet. Mama’s invitation was for five o’clock.”

“And we know none of these Albany ladies likes to be the first to a party,” added Angelica knowingly.

Eliza bit her lip, doubtful. “Even so, we should go in through the back entrance. With any luck, Mama won’t see us come in.” She could practically feel the weight of their mother’s censorious gaze as the sisters labored up the hillside’s sixty-seven stone steps hauling four dozen reams of fabric. At the top of the hill, the threesome quickly skirted around the south side of the mansion and passed through one of the covered porticos that connected the main body of the mansion with its flanking wings. The wing on this side contained her father’s military office, and Eliza was surprised to see that it was as lit up as the rest of the house. Mama would be furious to find Papa still working so near to the ball’s starting time.

“Were Mama and Papa quarreling this morning?” she asked her sisters. “I’d hate to think that Papa won’t be attending the party because of some disagreement.”

“I hope not; things can be so dreary otherwise. What Mama allows the musicians to play are practically dirges. It’s positively funereal,” said Angelica with a sniff.

“Did Dot mention anything?” Eliza asked Peggy, who was close to their lady’s maid.

Some might find it strange that a servant was expected to know more than they did about the state of their parents’ union. But the Schuylers, as befit their station, were a formal family and a busy one, and although there were seven children in the house, it was normal for them not to see one another until they gathered for dinner. The servants, by contrast, were in constant congress, and maids and valets and field workers kept one another apprised of the goings-on in the house. Thus Dot was much more likely than the sisters to have the temperature of the current state of their parents’ marriage. Though solid and, in its own way, caring, the Schuyler union was conducted with as much diplomacy as Ambassador Franklin was even now using in Paris to persuade Louis XVI to bring the French into the revolution on the American side.

Peggy frowned. “Dot did mention that Rodger”—their father’s valet—“said that the general is looking forward to the party as much as the missus is.”

“But Mama will be quite cross with him for hiding in his office instead of helping her prepare,” said Angelica.

“Nonsense,” said Eliza. “Mama is probably happy to have him out of the way.”

Peggy continued, struggling to keep her head above the bulky cloth she carried. “At any rate, Rodger said that Papa was expecting a visit from an aide-de-camp to General Washington.”

“What!” the older sisters chorused. Eliza stopped so suddenly that Angelica crashed into her. “Is Papa being recommissioned?”

Since being relieved of duty after the loss of Fort Ticonderoga, General Schuyler had written innumerous letters asking for another command. The family felt his frustration keenly, and Heaven knows they could use the salary, but even Eliza, as patriotic as she was, was happy to have her father off the field of battle.

“Dot said Rodger didn’t say,” Peggy said, which was tantamount to saying that Rodger didn’t know—General Schuyler’s valet was an uncontrollable gossip, a trait the general himself was strangely ignorant of, and the rest of the family tolerated because it was how they got their news. “But he did mention . . .” Peggy let her voice trail off. A little smile played over her face.

“Yes?” Eliza demanded. She could tell from her sister’s expression that Peggy was savoring a juicy bit of gossip. “Tell us!”

“The aide coming to the party is Colonel Hamilton,” Peggy half squealed.