Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(50)
Alex struggled to keep his face impassive. “It cannot,” he concurred. “So, tell me: Is the issue something to do with your late husband’s estate?”
A short laugh erupted from Mrs. Childress’s mouth. “Issue? Yes, that’s what it is, all right.” She sighed as if she could not believe what she was about to say. “Though it has almost nothing to do with my husband’s affairs, and everything to do with mine. It would seem that the Baxter Street building I purchased had been owned by a patriot of the name Le Beau, who was away at war when General Howe drove General Washington from Manhattan Island in 1777, though I only learned his name much later. Fearing retribution, the remaining Le Beaus fled the city. They had been gone for some three years when I purchased the property, and, as I said, I knew none of this. The transaction was handled by a British colonel by the name of Lewiston, and the sale and deeds were reviewed and approved by a military tribunal. I had no reason to believe that this was in any way unusual, let alone illegal.
“Nevertheless, when the British left the city and the Americans entered, my building was seized from me by the Continental army, who promptly ransacked it, draining and destroying every last cask on the premises, and removing every piece of distillery equipment to who knows where. The building itself was returned to the heirs of Mr. Le Beau, who, like my husband, met his end in the war. I say ‘returned,’ though that is not quite accurate, for Mr. Le Beau’s family had relocated to a small village in Pennsylvania called Harrisburg and have shown no desire to return to New York.
“I sank all of my family’s fortunes in the purchase and outfitting of the property, Mr. Hamilton, and now find myself deprived not only of my investment but of the means to make my living. Even the original inn on Water Street that my husband received from his employer threatens to be taken from me, as it was collateral on the loan with which I purchased the Baxter Street property. Unless some redress is done to me, my children and I are ruined. My creditors shall turn us out of our house, and likely throw me into debtors’ prison to boot. In short,” she said, turning to Alex with the first trace of emotion in her voice, “I am penniless, unless you can save me.”
As she’d spoken, Alex’s mind had turned over all the new laws he’d reviewed in the past weeks. As he understood them, the sale of Le Beaus’ building to Mrs. Childress fell into a gray area. If it had been directly seized from them by the British, any subsequent sale would have been invalidated. But since the Le Beaus appeared to have voluntarily abandoned their property, the British, as the government of good standing, had simply disposed of the building as they saw fit. No doubt George Clinton’s courts would take a skeptical view of such an interpretation, however, and Alex knew there was very little chance he would be able to recover the property for Mrs. Childress.
But if the court ruled the sale invalid, then by their own logic, Mrs. Childress’s loan would also be rendered null and void, which would at least clear her of her debts. And if he could recover the costs of the stolen ale and distillery equipment, he might be able to put a little cash into her pocket, which might enable her to keep her business solvent—and out of prison. But getting the Continental army to pay a loyalist what amounted to war reparations was a tall order indeed, and one that seemed likely to lose Alex more friends than it would gain him. It was not exactly the ideal first case for a young lawyer.
He peered down at Mrs. Childress, who was looking up at him with anxious eyes. He opened his mouth to respond, but she spoke over him.
“I know that you fought on the opposite side of the war from my husband,” she said. “I know that you served with General Washington himself, and that you distinguished yourself at the Battle at Monmouth, where my Jonathan fell, and at Yorktown as well. But I’ve also heard that you have argued eloquently and passionately for reconciliation, and even gone so far as to challenge some of the laws that penalize those of us who supported the losing side. I am not wise in the ways of the world, but I know that only a man like you—a known patriot and hero—has any hope of convincing an American jury that a wrong has been done to me. But honesty compels me to tell you that I cannot pay unless you are victorious in your suit.” Another small smile cracked her sad face, offering a glimpse of the vibrant woman she must have been before war ripped her life asunder. “I can, however, give you all the beer you can drink.”
Alex wondered if he were making a mistake even as he replied. “As it happens,” he said with a grin, “I have quite a taste for beer.”
15
Bonds of Sisterhood, Part One
The Hamilton Town House
New York, New York
January 1784
Meanwhile, a week or two after Alex got his first client, one afternoon, Eliza found herself in the middle of her dining room, pensively studying the silver serving dishes displayed on the walnut cabinet. The four-legged covered platter with its intricate repoussé lid—large enough to hold four chickens, two geese, or a whole turkey—occupied center stage on the eye-level shelf, flanked by a pair of four-pronged candelabra that had been made by Paul Revere himself. On the next shelf down was a large oval salver stood upright on a carved ivory stand to better show off the illustration intricately etched into its base, which showed the Pastures in all its glory and remarkable detail, right down to the panes of the windows and the mortar between each brick.