Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(83)

“Are you jesting, Mr. Burr? My sisters and I left because the British captured Manhattan. With a father and three brothers in the Continental army, my mother and sisters and I feared for our safety, and fled across the river.”

“Your brothers also served in the army?” Burr said, as if he didn’t know.

“Yes, sir. Pierre died defending Manhattan from the British invasion, and Louis died at Monmouth with my father. Only Jean made it back, though he left one of his legs at Yorktown.”

Another wince from Alex. The ties between himself and the witness were too close for comfort.

She turned to Judge Smithson. “He’d have been here, Your Honor, but he has yet to learn to get around well on his crutches. And the expense, well, was something we couldn’t spare.”

Judge Smithson nodded sympathetically. After his earlier boredom, he now seemed rapt by Antoinette’s story.

“Did the British offer you any compensation for your property?”

“Compensation? They told us we were lucky we were not imprisoned for aiding the enemy! My sisters and I feared for our virtue on more than one occasion. That we escaped unstained is the only silver lining in this whole sad affair.”

“And how have you lived since you left New York?”

“Hand to mouth, as my dress probably indicates. Our entire livelihood was tied up with the Baxter Street building. My father ran a very successful dry goods shop out of the first floor. Virtually all our stores were seized with the building, as well as most of the furniture, too. And with our menfolk away, there has been little besides cutwork and service for us girls. I once had dreams of marrying well and living in a fine house close to my parents. Now I hope to find work as a lady’s maid, so that at least I will live in a warm house, even if it’s not mine. Unless that is”—she looked at Mrs. Childress for the first time since she had entered the courtroom—“I can get back what is rightly my family’s.”

Again Caroline startled.

Again Alex tried to reassure her. “Remember,” he whispered. “You did not take her property, nor do you have it now. You have not transgressed against this girl.”

Yet all eyes in the courtroom were on Caroline, as if she had turned the girl out with a broom.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Burr said.

“Mr. Hamilton?” Judge Smithson prompted.

“Your Honor, the defense would like to thank Miss Le Beau for traveling to the court today. We have no questions for her at this time.”

Miss Le Beau was dismissed and led from the courtroom. Burr waited until she was gone. Then, looking at Alex smugly, he said,

“The State rests, Your Honor.”

Judge Smithson turned to Alex again. “Would you like to call your first witness, Mr. Hamilton?”

Alex looked down at the witness list in front of him, a litany of names of people who would speak as glowingly of Caroline Childress as Burr’s witnesses had been scathing. But they would tell Judge Smithson nothing he didn’t already know: that Caroline had survived the occupation like thousands of other New Yorkers, anyway she could. On top of that, he couldn’t stop thinking of Angelica’s party, which was, of course, really Eliza’s party. Tonight was the night. Guests would be arriving in a matter of hours. He could not show up in his lawyer’s black robes, looking like a mourner at a medieval funeral.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Judge Smithson said again.

Alex looked at the judge. “Your Honor, the plaintiff rests.”

Judge Smithson looked confused. He blinked once, twice, a third time, so vigorously that his chin fat wiggled above his jabot. Finally, he nodded.

“Very well then. The court will take a half-hour recess for tea, and then reconvene at five o’clock for closing arguments.”

“But, Your Honor,” Alex said, taken aback. “Given the hour, oughtn’t we to wait until morning?”

“Oh no, young man. You seem to want to get this over with in a hurry. Well, let’s get it over with.”

Without another word, the judge gaveled once, then squeezed himself out of the courtroom by the rear door.

As Alex filed out of the main entrance, he saw that Governor Clinton was still sitting in his bench while the court cleared. The governor’s face was calmer than it had been earlier, which is to say that anger had given way to mere contempt.

“I do not know what your ploy is, Mr. Hamilton, but I assure you that you won’t take in a judge as perspicacious as Lewis Smithson.”

“Perspicacious?” Alex said. “I didn’t notice him sweating at all.”

With those parting words, he marched out of the room.





27





Queen of Manhattan


   Hamilton Town House


    New York, New York


   April 1784


Everything was perfect.

The silver was polished to a reflective sheen, bouncing the lights of a score of candles around the softly papered walls and giving the front and middle parlors the feeling of underwater caverns. The table linens and napkins were crisply laundered and bright as snow. Beautiful silk tulips, lilies, and roses, as delicate as the real thing but ten times more vibrant, were set out in six Delft vases that competed with their bouquets for vividness of color. The crowning touch, though, was Ralph Earl’s completed portrait of Eliza, which hung over the fireplace in the front parlor, and elicited gasps from each arriving guest.