I had a single servant—my ever-capable Rose—with me to help, but still we were forced to stop much more frequently than I ordinarily would have, making the trip stretch out over more days. I do believe we paused at every respectable tavern and inn between here and Albany in addition to the houses of friends and distant family, all for the sake of letting Philip weary himself in the hopes he’d sleep in my lap during the next leg of the journey.
As arranged, Alexander met us at a tavern in New Jersey, and as parents who have been separated and one left with a restless child, I’d never been so glad to see him. With less snow on the ground in New Jersey than there had been in New York, we switched from the sleigh to a hired carriage, and rode to Philadelphia together as a family, with Philip snug and content in his father’s arms. I understood, for after two months apart, I was mightily content to be with his father as well.
Philadelphia was much as I recalled it from my visit with my father nearly three years before, save without the uncertainty. For a city that had been occupied by the enemy, it appeared to me to be remarkably unscathed. I do not know if it was on account of the Quakers, who were much in evidence, or some other civic force, but the city was also more tidily kept than most, with the steps before the houses well swept and the streets free of rubbish. With the war largely over, there also appeared to be more building, more new houses, more ships tied at the waterfront docks, and in general a greater show of wealth and prosperity. The women we passed on the streets were much more richly dressed than in Albany, with extravagant hats and muffs, and fur edging their cloaks as they strolled along the streets.
“I don’t recall Philadelphia being such a place of fashion,” I said as we passed a particularly stylish lady climbing into her carriage, her liveried servants waiting upon her as if she were a duchess. “I hope I’ll not shame you too much as a country cousin.”
“Not at all,” Alexander declared with gratifying certainty. “You will always shine in any company, my dearest. I’ll grant that there are handsome women in Philadelphia, but a great many of them are in keeping to merchants who lavish every folly upon them, like oriental pashas with their harem-favorites. I’d much rather my wife cloaked herself in virtue and honor.”
“As I should, being the wife of an esteemed delegate from New York.” I looked after the woman with the carriage with new interest. “That woman, then—was she a rich man’s mistress?”
He shrugged expansively, his eyes twinkling. “I do not tell tales, Betsey, nor whisper idle gossip or tattered scandal.”
“Then she was,” I said, and laughed happily. I knew he was teasing me from fondness, and it made me realize all over again how sorely I’d missed him. He might be but a humble junior delegate from New York with his son curled asleep against his shoulder, but it was evident that he’d patronized the tailors and barbers here in Philadelphia: his suit was new, plainly cut but of a rich, plum-colored woolen, as was his dark blue greatcoat with cape collar and silver buttons, and his hair had obviously been dressed by a Frenchman familiar with combs and pomatum. Nor did he looked peaked or overworked, as I’d feared, but sleek and handsome, so handsome that I proudly tucked my hand a little more tightly into the crook of his arm.
“Humble we may be, sweet wife,” he said, “but I promised you I’d squeeze a few coins from our purse for you to visit a mantua-maker here.”
“You needn’t do that,” I said quickly, but he held up his hand to quiet me.
“I don’t need to do it, no, but I’d like it if you’d please yourself,” he said. “You’ve such a generous soul toward others, Betsey. Spend a bit on yourself while you’re here.”
I nodded, and smiled at his kind indulgence. I hadn’t had anything new since we’d been wed, refusing every offer of assistance from my parents and from Angelica, too. I’d kept my promise to Alexander to be a frugal wife, but if he said we could afford it, then I’d believe him.
But when we finally arrived at a small brick house and climbed the stairs to our lodgings, I wondered that we could afford much of anything.
We’d only two small rooms for our use, rented from the widow who lived below. There was a parlor and a bedchamber, each with a single window that overlooked the noisy street. The furnishings were sparse and well-worn: a bedstead with a trundle beneath for Philip, a small table for washing below a tiny looking glass, and an earthenware chamber pot in the bedchamber; and a table (which from the number of papers and books upon it, was clearly being used by Alexander as a desk), a bench, two chairs, and a chest in the parlor. A pair of fly-specked prints showing Juno and Jupiter were pinned to the wall, and that was that.
Alexander must have realized my misgivings from my expression.
“Lodgings are very dear in this town,” he said apologetically, taking Philip to the window to show him the street. “I’m fortunate to have found this, and our landlady Mrs. Williamson provides our dinner, too.”
“It will serve us well enough,” I said, trying to be cheerful. “What about Rose?”
He glanced back over his shoulder at Rose, standing uncertainly with two of my boxes from the carriage.
“There’s a space for servants in the attic,” he said. “That’s where my man is staying. Or we can arrange a pallet for her here at night.”
“I’d rather Rose stayed here with us,” I said, not wanting to imagine the servants’ quarters that accompanied lodgings such as these. The driver was bringing the rest of my trunks upstairs; I was grateful that I’d heeded Alexander’s warning, and not brought much with me.
But clearly he’d other concerns, holding Philip out and away from his splendid new greatcoat.
“Rose,” he said with a sniff. “I believe the young gentleman needs his clout changed.”
It wasn’t until much later, when he and I were in bed together, that we were finally able to talk with any frankness. After a long separation, most women would not consider politics to be romantically alluring conversation, but for Alexander and me it was, and always had been. It was all part of the warm familiarity of him beside me in our bed.
“Nothing is ever accomplished,” Alexander said with unabashed disgust, propping his head on his elbow to gaze down at me while we conversed. “There are too many committees, too many debates, too many adjournments and postponements and delays. Nor do many of the appointed delegates feel any obligations whatsoever to appear, making quorums impossible. I’ve yet to meet three of our party from New York, who haven’t deigned to show their faces in Philadelphia once this season.”