I, Eliza Hamilton. Susan Holloway Scott
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a gaudy parrot in my bright clothes. I also felt acutely female in the midst of so many men, and though I held my head high and pretended to take no notice, I sensed every eye upon me as I stood there on the whitewashed steps, my skirts swaying in the breeze and the bright ribbons of my hat dancing around my face. I might be short, but no one was overlooking me now.
The sentry recognized my aunt, and mercifully we were soon ushered inside the house. But the wide hallway was likewise filled with men as well as the same bustle, with a scattering of tradesmen and waiters hurrying among them. The Washingtons’ personal servants stood out among the others, for they were all Negroes, and wore the red and white livery of Mount Vernon, His Excellency’s mansion in Virginia. Yet every man, white and black, stepped aside to open a path for my aunt and me to pass, bowing and lifting their hats to us as well. It was respectful, I suppose, especially since I was sure that the word had moved swiftly among them that I was General Schuyler’s daughter, but I was still happy to be ushered up the stairs to the door of the single room that formed the Washingtons’ private quarters.
A neatly dressed black woman in a linen cap (doubtless another of the Washingtons’ servants, who had traveled north with them) told us Lady Washington would receive us in a moment. My aunt sat on the bench beneath the hall window, but I preferred to stand, glancing into the room across the hall. Once another bedchamber for the Ford family, it now appeared to be an officers’ barracks with a half dozen small camp beds, each with its own low-arched linen canopy, and the owner’s belongings stacked neatly beneath. To me it looked more like a children’s nursery than a room for grown gentlemen, and I craned my neck a bit farther from curiosity, amusing myself by imagining the men all tucked snug beneath their coverlets for the night.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
It had been over two years, but I recognized that voice immediately. Startled, I turned about, and there before me was Colonel Hamilton.
He stood with a sheaf of papers beneath his arm, doubtless important orders and letters from His Excellency’s desk, and tucked into the top buttonhole of his coat was a gray and black pen cut from a turkey’s quill. He’d aged since I’d seen him last, more manly, his blue uniform more neatly tailored and his boots polished and gleaming. His hair was sleeked back in a tidy queue that couldn’t quite contain its fiery red-gold, and his gaze was keen with the intelligence—and the warmth—that I remembered. To me he looked like a man who carried great responsibility and trust with ease and confidence, exactly the sort of man a commander-in-chief would rely upon. But then, I’d sensed that when we’d met before, an intangible quality that made me long to trust him as well.
I cannot say how long it took me to make this studied appraisal, for it seemed as if time itself had ceased to matter as I stood before him. Yet somehow I managed to recover my wits, and dipped a quick but graceful curtsey to him even as he bowed to me, and to Aunt Gertrude as well.
“Good day, Colonel Hamilton,” I murmured. “I trust you are well.”
“Very well, Miss Elizabeth, very well indeed,” he said, and I realized he’d been studying me just as I’d been doing with him. “And you?”
“Quite well,” I said, smiling, “and grateful that my journey here is done.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that,” he said. “Travel is never easy at this time of the year. But changes of scenery and diversion afforded by travel must agree with you, Miss Elizabeth. If I might be permitted, I’d say that you are looking not only quite well, but even more beautiful than I recall.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” I said, not objecting at all. The bright colors of my attire had done what I’d hoped, and I pointed playfully at the pen in his buttonhole. “I admire your turkey-standard.”
He frowned, not understanding at first, and then sheepishly pulled the pen from the buttonhole. “I fear that it’s the standard of my lowly position here as a clerk,” he said ruefully, twisting the quill between his fingers. “Hardly the field of glory, is it?”
Too late I recalled how much he’d longed for battle, and chafed beneath his current duties for the general.
“The fields are all covered in snow at present, Colonel,” I said softly, repairing my unfortunate jest as best I could. “It’s hardly the season for glory, and I am sure that the work you do here for His Excellency is of great importance. Spring will come soon enough, and opportunities with it.”
“You are kind, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. His gaze locked with mine, the warmth of it wonderfully intense, and I thought this the finest compliment I’d ever received from a gentleman.
To our right, the door to Lady Washington’s room opened, and her servant reappeared to usher us inside.
“Excuse us, Colonel,” said my aunt as she rose and came to stand beside me, “but as you can see, Lady Washington expects us.”
“Of course, Mrs. Cochran,” he said, stepping back to let her pass, yet still looking at me.
My aunt smiled broadly. “My niece is residing with me at Dr. Campfield’s house, Colonel, between here and the town.”
“I know it well, Mrs. Cochran,” he said with a small bow to her while still not looking away from me.
“If His Excellency can part with you, Colonel, we would welcome you for a dish of tea,” my aunt said with what I thought was remarkable boldness. “In the evening, perhaps, after Dr. Cochran and Dr. Campfield have finished their final rounds. I’m sure they would welcome your conversation.”
I’ll credit my aunt for discretion, for that was neatly done, and I glanced quickly at my aunt in gratitude.
Colonel Hamilton smiled, and from the amusement in his eyes it was clear he, too, realized how deftly my aunt had put a gloss of respectability on her invitation. I’d be there, of course, and the colonel knew it, too, but this way none of us could be accused of being too forward.
“I shall be honored to join the gentlemen, Mrs. Cochran,” he said, bowing. “I shall do my best to attend this evening, if my duties permit.”
My aunt nodded in acquiescence and looped her arm into mine to draw me away with her. “We shall hope to see you then, Colonel Hamilton.”
“Good day, Colonel Hamilton,” I said, sorry to be leaving but realizing it was necessary.
“Good day, Mrs. Cochran, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing. “And perhaps Miss Elizabeth would enjoy the conversation of the medical gentlemen as well?”
I smiled over my shoulder as we entered the room. “Perhaps, Colonel,” I said. “Perhaps.”
CHAPTER 3
I’d thought that Aunt Gertrude had been speaking lightly when she’d invited Colonel Hamilton to call upon us to converse upon the health of the army with Uncle John and Dr. Campfield. I thought it was more polite subterfuge, for the convenience of all parties. I thought it was understood that the colonel would be calling upon me, not the surgeons, and from the colonel’s parting words to me at headquarters that afternoon I was certain he believed the same.
If he did, then we both were sadly, even woefully, mistaken.
Before the evening had fair begun, I learned to my dismay that Aunt Gertrude expected me to receive the colonel in the parlor, a small room made even smaller with the presence of Dr. and Mrs. Campfield as well as my aunt and uncle, all seated in a half circle of chairs before the fire. There was a chair reserved for me at one end of the row, and another for the colonel at the opposite end, with the two of us separated as far as was possible in the small room.
Nor would I have an opportunity to play or sing to display my talents, for Mrs. Campfield possessed neither a pianoforte nor a harpsichord. Instead Aunt Gertrude handed me a skein of rough-spun wool and a set of knitting pins with the suggestion—a suggestion I’d no choice but to obey—that I begin making Monmouth caps for the poor soldiers who had none against the cold. I told myself it was the proper thing to do, that such caps