Not so far from where I stood, Cynthia’s radiant face showed no sign that she had wept. Indeed, she now laughed most heartily in a small circle of people, including her brute of a husband. He hung upon Cynthia’s arm-no signs of cruelty now-and smiled at this comment or that, occasionally dared a rasping laugh that sounded like dry leaves rubbing against one another.
I saw no sign of Lavien-or Hamilton, for that matter-which was just as well. I strode about the room, trying hard not to take another glass of wine. I think I would have surrendered to temptation, but I looked up and saw a familiar-looking man, plump and red-faced, and knew him at once, though I could not say how. I continued to study him, his little eyes and blunt nose-all so porcine-and perhaps would still not have known him if it had not been for the girl next to him. She was equally porcine, though younger and less plump, and with a mass of yellow hair. She was the girl in my stolen timepiece and he the owner.
I walked over to him, bowed, and held out the watch. “Sir,” I said, “I believe I saw you drop this in the street several days ago. I attempted to run after you to return it, but my way was blocked. I have carried it upon my person ever since in the hope of finding its owner.”
He took the watch from me, his fat fingers moving with surprising gentleness. “Why, I never thought to see it again. I must ask your name, sir, that I may know who to thank.”
I bowed again. “Ethan Saunders, at your service.”
“What? The traitor?” He must have regretted his words, for his red complexion now purpled.
I bowed again. “I am not he. That man and I merely share the same name.”
He wished to make more conversation, but I demurred and excused myself to wander more. There, standing by himself, looking morosely at a portrait upon the wall, was Jacob Pearson. With little to lose, I approached him, probably with more boldness than clarity.
“Why, ’tis Jacob Pearson!” I cried. “Good heavens, man, it has been years.”
He turned to me and smiled reflexively. In an instant his smile faded and then returned, this time quite false. “Sir, I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You look to me familiar, but I cannot place your name.”
It was a well-executed lie, I will grant him that. “It is Ethan Saunders. We knew each other during the war.”
Pearson glanced across the room until he found Cynthia, locked in conversation with her friend, Mrs. Bingham, and another woman, also quite striking, whom I did not know. They did a passable job, I thought, of pretending not to observe me and Pearson together.
“Yes, of course.” He let go of my hand. “I heard you were dead. Or was it disgraced?”
“Disgraced,” I said. “But enough of my ignominy. Tell me, Mr. Pearson, where have you been this last week?”
“Why does everyone wish to know? Not ten minutes ago Hamilton himself was troubling me with his questions. I see not why it is the world’s concern. You do not like my saying so? It is rather bad for you, then, for it is my custom to speak as I like. For what does a man rise to consequence if he must guard his own tongue?”
“I can think of no reason.”
“And why are you here at all? Can it be a man like you has been invited here? I must ask Mr. Bingham what he means.”
I saw no need to answer this implied threat. If he wished to issue a challenge, I could certainly answer it. “There’s been considerable speculation about your absence,” I said. “Some have talked about your properties in Southwark, and others of your interest in the Million Bank. Surely you can shed some light upon the subject?”
“I suppose my wife has been talking. Let me tell you something.” He put one of his enormous hands upon my shoulder. I did not like the feel of it. “There’s more to wish for in a wife than beauty. That is my advice to you.”
My stomach clenched at this mention of his wife. I could not let it go unanswered. “You have strangely large hands,” I said. “It’s as though they’ve been flattened by a great stone. You’ll forgive me for talking freely, but I also like to say what I feel. What is the advantage of being disgraced if a man cannot speak his mind?”
He studied me, looking me up and down, his sharp nose bobbing like a blade. “I think this conversation has taxed me long enough. Now I must away to look for Mr. Duer.”
Pearson wandered off, and it occurred to me that I had not seen Duer since our conversation. Could it be, I wondered, that he did not want to see Pearson? Duer appeared to have no interest in or respect for Pearson, yet Pearson spoke of seeking out the speculator the way one speaks of seeking out a friend. Those answers would have to wait, for here and now I could pass the time in gazing openly upon Cynthia.
I watched her now speaking with Mrs. Adams, the Vice President’s wife. My brief conversation had only confirmed to me how hateful was Pearson and how unhappy Cynthia must be in her life with him. She was right, of course, that I could not simply take her away, but neither could I leave her. I would have to conceive of some alternative, and I would have to do so soon, because each day she spent with him would be a torment to me.
“You appear lost in thought, sir.”
I looked up, and there was the woman I had seen with Cynthia and Anne Bingham. She wore a much simpler gown than did Cynthia, looser, longer arms, higher neck. The material was of a plain pale red, but it looked marvelous well upon her. She was a brown-haired beauty with large eyes, penetrating in their gray intensity, like clouds threatening snow.
She stood next to a man of my own age who, though not very tall or very distinguished, with his receding hair, yet held himself in an ad-mirable manner. Here was a man the ladies enjoyed, and who enjoyed the ladies. He had something of a swagger I could not help but approve.
“Captain Ethan Saunders, at your service,” I said to them both.
“A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” said the man. “Colonel Aaron Burr, though now I suppose I am to be addressed as senator.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “Senator Burr. I have read much of you in the papers. You have made quite an enemy of our Secretary Hamilton in New York.”
He laughed. “Hamilton and I are friends from many years back, but he is every inch the Federalist, and New York is increasingly republican and anti-Federalist in its outlook. Nevertheless, I like to think that men might be opposed politically and friends socially.”
“I do love an optimist,” I said. “And is this lady Mrs. Burr?”
“Mrs. Burr is not here at present. I am afraid I only just met this delightful lady, yet I will take the liberty of introducing you to Mrs. Joan Maycott.”
I bowed.
“Now that you are in good hands,” the senator said to the lady, “I must beg your leave to speak to some of my brothers of the Senate. I hope I shall see you more, Mrs. Maycott.”
He took his leave and left me with the woman, and I could not say I was displeased. She had that vivacious look that suggested she should be good company. There was more to her too. She had a command in her physical presence, a kind of authority that, in her own feminine way, reminded me of the most accomplished and successful of military men. Strange though it might be to say, I had never met anyone, man or woman, who so immediately put me in mind of Washington himself.
“You did look lost in thought, you know,” she said to me.
“I am a thoughtful man,” I said.
“Was it something to do with Mr. Pearson? You will forgive me for asking, but I saw you in conversation with him. Is he a particular friend of yours?”
“I know him from many years ago,” I said. “Is he a friend of yours?”