First of all, he painted a picture of having discovered Alexander walking in a disheveled and witless state in the street—which anyone who knew my fastidious husband realized would never be the case—babbling that he would soon be forced to resign. Then, Mr. Jefferson, having invited him to dine from purest pity and inviting Mr. Madison besides, next portrayed Alexander as scheming and duplicitous as he arranged the compromise. In his telling, Mr. Jefferson made himself out to be a complete innocent, a polite host without any notion of the political wickedness that he claimed rose up over his dining table.
His tale was utterly self-serving and entirely false, save for the fact that the three men had dined together at his lodgings. It changed my initial good opinion of Mr. Jefferson for the worse, as it did for Alexander, too. Behind a pleasant fa?ade of agreeable manners and taste, the secretary of state had revealed himself to be a conniving man, not to be trusted, as well as a man jealous of my husband’s greater power, accomplishment, and good favor with the president.
Despite the ultimate success of the Residence Act and the acceptance of assumption, Alexander now had not a new friend in the cabinet, but an envious rival. And although I hadn’t the grasp of history that my husband possessed, even I knew that without caution and care, a rival could all too easily turn to an enemy.
*
Congress met for the last time in Federal Hall in New York City in August 1790, and even before then, Alexander had already leased new offices for his department in Philadelphia, and made arrangements for his staff to remove there as well. Although the Residence Act did not require the government to relocate to Philadelphia until December, he saw no reason to linger, and before long he had his department running at its usual energetic yet efficient pace that matched his own.
To avoid the unhealthy heat of late summer, I closed up our house on Wall Street and retreated with our children to Albany while Alexander arranged his new offices and lived in temporary lodgings in an inn. As can be imagined with the entire capital removing to Philadelphia, houses for rent were at a premium, and Alexander was unable to find one suitable for us and for our means until October, when at last we joined him there.
“Will it suit?” he asked after we’d walked through the still-empty rooms of the new house. The children had already run ahead out into the walled backyard, and Alexander and I stood together in the front hall, the first time we’d been alone since I’d arrived with the children earlier in the day.
“I know it’s not our old house,” he continued, “but will it do well enough for now?”
“It will suit us admirably,” I said firmly, wanting to reassure him. The house wasn’t perfect: there were sooty places above the fireplaces that made me suspect the chimneys might smoke, the stairs were steep, and the windows were smaller and the rooms darker than I liked. But on the whole, the square brick house was sturdy and solid and large enough for our five children and servants, and a good cleaning from the attic to the cellar would cure a great many of its ills. “The best part is that we’ll be here together.”
He smiled with relief. He glanced past me and through the open back door to see where the children were, then circled his arms around my waist and kissed me: not the dutiful kiss with which he’d greeted me when our coach had arrived, but a lasting lover’s kiss to remind me of how much he’d missed me. Left breathless, I smiled up at him, and slipped my hands familiarly inside his coat and around his waist, the way I always did.
“You were away too long,” he whispered. “I was a lonely man without you.”
I chuckled softly, and wondered how I’d forgotten exactly how fine a man he was. He did look tired, though, with new lines of overwork around his eyes and a leanness to his waist that he could ill afford. But just as I’d soon refurbish the house to my liking, I intended to look after my husband as well, to compensate for all the late nights at his desk and too many meals that he’d eaten in a tavern while we’d been apart.
“You won’t be lonely now,” I teased, glancing back at the children. “I’ve brought you plenty of company.”
“They’ve all grown since I’ve seen you last,” he said wistfully, following my glance. “Philip in particular. He’ll be taller than I before long.”
I smiled with pride. Philip was almost nine now, so handsome a boy with his father’s strong jaw and my dark hair and eyes that strangers paused to remark upon him. He might well have inherited his grandfather’s height—he likely would be taller than Alexander before he was done growing—but there was already no doubt that he’d a good share of his father’s brilliance, and excelled at his lessons.
“Philip couldn’t have grown that much,” I said. “Not since July.”
“Still, we must think of sending him to a proper boys’ school soon,” Alexander said. “One that will prepare him for college.”
“He’s only eight,” I protested, unwilling yet to see my firstborn sent away to board. “There’s time enough.”
“There’s never enough time for everything,” he said almost mournfully, and looked back to me. “Consider how I’ve become old and weary—”
“Thirty-five is scarcely old!”
“There are days when I feel as ancient as Methuselah himself,” he said. “But you, however, never change, but remain the same black-eyed girl who scolded me and stole my heart.”
“And you’re the same undersized, earnest aide-de-camp who stole mine, too,” I said softly, swaying closer to him. “At least in all the ways that matter most.”
Behind us came the clatter of children’s footsteps on the bare floorboards.
“Oh, no, Fanny,” said Angelica with open disgust. “We can’t go in here, because Mamma and Papa are kissing.”
We laughed, and stepped apart, though Alexander continued to keep his hand at my waist as if fearing to let me go.
“I told you, Betsey, there’s never enough time for everything,” he said ruefully. “Never enough time at all.”
CHAPTER 18
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
January 1791
One of the advantages of the house on Third Street was its close proximity to Alexander’s offices at the Treasury. It was but a short walk for him from one to the other, and as a result I could often coax him to put aside his labors, however briefly, and come home to dine with us at midday. But the nearness of the office also meant that the siren song of his work was even more difficult to resist.