Whether because of my husband’s facts or not, the result of the election showed that the people did indeed possess a remarkably low opinion of the colonel. When the last votes were counted in April, he was shown to have been soundly beaten. His supporters placed the entire blame for the loss on my husband—which he happily accepted.
Nor was he done. At a small supper, Alexander and several old friends indulged in declaiming the colonel, the sort of conversation that gentlemen often have when the cloth is drawn and the bottle passed. But on this particular evening, one of the company was so exhilarated by what my husband had said that he repeated it to the editor of the New-York Evening Post. Soon all the city and most of the state had read that Alexander had called Colonel Burr “a dangerous man, and one not to be trusted with the reins of government,” and a good many other things besides. It was all things I’d heard him say a thousand times before, but to have those same words in print was an entirely different matter. Printed words could not easily be explained away, and the fact that they were reprinted again and again in other papers only increased their power.
All this I knew, and it worried me no end. I couldn’t imagine that the colonel would let such a slander pass unanswered. Disappointed in his career in Washington and his hopes of being the governor of New York crushed, I imagined him as a wounded animal, all the more dangerous on account of his injuries. Each day I pored over the various rebuttals and explanations in the newspapers, hunting in vain for word of his reaction. Even my aged father joined the fray on Alexander’s behalf, accusing the original statement of being a complete fabrication.
Yet through it all, my husband himself seemed curiously unperturbed. I was the one who worried.
“You’ve said yourself that Colonel Burr is a dangerous man,” I said, “and all his friends say he blames you for what has befallen him. This foolishness attributed to you must only confirm his darkest fears.”
He smiled, that same sweet but maddening smile that he’d always possessed. “I won’t deny it, Betsey,” he said easily. “I’ve told you that before. I did say everything that was printed, and a great deal more besides. I am not ashamed of any of it.”
“He could sue your for slander,” I fretted. “He’d win, too, with proof like that.”
“My dearest love,” he said. “Surely you know by now how these things go. It’s the way of politics. I’ve said far, far worse of him in my time, as I’m sure Burr himself has said far worse of me. By the end of the summer it will all be forgotten.”
I shook my head, unconvinced. It was not my husband’s way to be so blithe about personal insults, and I worried that the colonel would respond in print with something equally slanderous in regards to him.
“I cannot believe he hasn’t answered you,” I said uneasily.
“Perhaps he has simply realized that I spoke the truth.” Gently he pulled me across his lap, holding me steady against the crook of his arm. “It’s not worth your worry, Betsey. If this little incident serves to bring Burr’s career to a permanent conclusion and remove him from the chance of any further harm, then I will have done the greatest service possible to the country.”
I sighed again, and settled against his shoulder. I’d have to trust him, as I always had. What other choice did I have?
And in fact as the days passed, the entire affair did seem to dissipate, exactly as Alexander had predicted. The papers moved on to new scandals, new slanders, and even our closest friends seem to have wearied of the topic.
Snug in our home at The Grange, we often dined outside on the porch during the long days of summer, and as Alexander had once promised, we lazily watched the boats on the river while the younger children tried to catch fireflies on the grassy lawns below us. Each evening Alexander and I sat with our chairs close together and our hands loosely linked, and while the tragedies of our lives would never be forgotten, we were still able to find a contentment and peace, here in this place with the new moon shining on the river below us.
“My own dear Betsey,” he said softly, turning toward me in the moonlight. I could scarcely make out his features, but I knew from his voice that he smiled, and I smiled in return.
“My own dear Alexander,” I said. “How fortunate I am to have you as my husband, and my love.”
He raised my fingers to his lips, kissing them fondly. “My love,” he said. “The best of wives, the best of women.”
He sighed, and turned back toward the river.
“I will be staying in town tomorrow night,” he said. “I have an appointment early the next morning in New Jersey.”
“Then come back when you are done,” I said. “We’ll expect you for supper.”
“I will,” he said with unexpected tenderness. “I will.”
*
The weather changed late Tuesday night, and by Wednesday the morning dawned clear and almost cool for July. I opened all the windows high to let the breezes clear away yesterday’s stale air. I made sure that Angelica was dressed for the day and that the little pet parakeets (a gift from Mr. Pinckney from South Carolina) that were kept in her room to amuse her were fed and their cage swept. The younger children were already in the barn, occupied with a new litter of puppies, and I carried my tea outside to sit on one of the porches and enjoy the blessing of the new day.
I heard a carriage come racing up the road, and leaned over the railing to look. It was likely too early for Alexander to be returning home from his appointment; whoever it was, however, was driving his poor horses at a breakneck pace.
To my surprise, the carriage drew into our drive, and Judge Nathaniel Pendleton, an old friend of my husband’s, clambered from the seat and hurried up our steps. He looked uncharacteristically distraught, and his dark clothes appeared rumpled as well.
“Good day, Judge,” I said, greeting him myself. “Isn’t it a pleasant morning? I’m sorry to inform you, however, that General Hamilton is not at home, and if—”
“Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, holding his hat in his hands. “I regret to inform you that the general is, ah, unwell with, ah, spasms, and requests you come to him at once.”
I gasped with shock, immediately reminded of the messenger who had come for me after Philip had been shot. I glanced down, hiding my confusion and fear, and noticed that the judge’s dark stockings and the hem of his coat were stained with blood.
“Tell me, Judge,” I said, my voice trembling. “Has my husband been injured in a duel?”
He took a deep breath. “Yes, madam,” he said. “He has.”
“Who was the other party?”
Another deep breath. “Colonel Burr, madam.”
Of course it was. It couldn’t have been anyone else, not this summer. I remembered what Alexander had said, of how removing Burr from the opportunity to do further harm would be the greatest service possible to the country. But not like this, not at this cost.
Dear God in Heaven, never like this.