Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(69)

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    IT WAS A clear blustery day in March when she headed to the prison for what she assumed would be the final sitting. The wet sea breeze was quite chilly, yet there was also a hint of freshness to it, a promise of a spring that, though still some weeks away, was definitely on the return. Eliza hurried through the Fields and in through the front entrance of the debtors’ prison, where O’Reilly looked up with a surprised expression.

“Why, Mrs. Hamilton! Funny seeing you again!”

Eliza thought this was a strange thing to say, but let it pass without comment.

“Good afternoon, Mr. O’Reilly. Is Mr. Earl prepared for me?”

O’Reilly looked confused. “I shouldn’t know, ma’am. He wasn’t here when I arrived this morning.”

“What? Did he”—Eliza had no idea why her mind went here—“escape?”

O’Reilly cracked a smile. “Depends what you think of lawyers’ work, I suppose.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Mr. Hamilton sent over papers yesterday directing that Mr. Earl be ‘released on recognizance,’ whatever that means.”

“But—” Eliza’s voice fell off. She had seen Alex for all of five minutes this morning, taking her tea in bed while he dressed, and had made a point of asking him to take down the mirror over the front parlor fireplace in preparation for Mr. Earl’s portrait, which she had told him she was picking up that day.

When she came downstairs, she had been a little hurt to discover that he had left without taking the mirror down, but now her ego was even more bruised. It seemed that not only did her husband not have any time for her these days, he didn’t even have space in his mind for her.

But none of this was O’Reilly’s concern.

“Oh, that’s right!” she said with forced brightness. “How stupid of me. It completely slipped my mind.” She had brought a basket of sandwiches and all but shoved them in O’Reilly’s hands. “Please,” she said. “For you and the less fortunate inmates.” The debtors’ prison didn’t provide food to those incarcerated there, who were dependent upon the attentions of friends and family or the benevolent societies.

“Don’t you want your basket?” O’Reilly called after her as she hurried from the building.

“Keep it,” Eliza said, escaping into the cold sunshine.



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HER MIND WAS awash with feelings as she walked home. Anger first, of course, at Alex’s thoughtlessness, followed by guilt. Because surely her own husband couldn’t be so careless of her time. Of her feelings. She racked her brain, trying to remember if he had said anything about Ralph’s release, but nothing came. As much as she wanted this to be her fault so she could let Alex off the hook, it appeared that he had simply forgotten to tell her.

She let herself into her house in a daze, which is why she didn’t hear the thrum of voices until after they stopped, leaving only the sound of a fussing baby.

Eliza stepped from her hallway into her parlor. Three figures sat there, each so unexpected that she almost didn’t believe her eyes. The first two were Angelica and John Church, while the third was—

“Mr. Earl?”

Before Earl could reply, Angelica had leapt from her chair and thrown her arms around Eliza.

“Oh, we’ve surprised you! I hope our presence is not too unwelcome,” said Angelica.

“No, no,” Eliza said, returning her sister’s embrace warmly. It was wonderful to see Angelica, but startling to see Ralph Earl in her home. “I mean, yes, I am surprised, but no, your presence is not unwelcome at all. And baby Philip,” she said, at last stirring herself to notice her nephew, who was fussing on his father’s lap.

“I presume that our letter didn’t reach Mr. Hamilton?” John said.

“You wrote Alex?” Eliza turned to Angelica.

“John did. He had business to conclude with him stemming from the war.”

John Church’s secret relationship with the Continental army had been revealed following the cessation of hostilities. John had not sought the glory, but Governor Clinton had been on the verge of seizing his property as a loyalist, and the order to reveal his role had come directly from General Washington. Other presumed loyalists had similarly been revealed to be patriots, including Hercules Mulligan, whom Alex had brushed shoulders with in the lead-up to the war in the seventies.

“The Continental Congress still hasn’t paid John what it promised.”

“Oh, all the best people are welching on their debts these days,” Earl said from his chair.

Eliza glanced at him, but she simply couldn’t process his presence in her front parlor yet, and turned back to her sister. “They haven’t paid Alex either. He says it’s because they lack the power to levy taxes—” Eliza shook her head. “But this is hardly the time to discuss fiscal policy. You say John wrote Alex?”

Angelica nodded.

“Perhaps he just neglected to pass along the news,” Ralph Earl said. “Judging from the look on Mrs. Hamilton’s face, I would say that my presence here is as much of a surprise as is yours.”

Earl’s words were slightly slurred, and Eliza noted the glass on the table beside him, as well as the nearly empty decanter of honey wine Stephen had brought down from Albany. It had been full when she left a little over an hour ago. Perhaps Angelica and John had had some. But glancing at their chairs, she saw no glasses.