I told my sister the news, then shook my head. “Mrs. Washington must be frantic. I should like to visit her to offer comfort or assistance.”
“I’ll go with you,” Angelica said.
But I wondered if a visit with the president’s lady was truly possible. Because Mrs. Washington’s position meant that things had changed between us. At her receptions, I always found the president’s lady seated atop a dais, her round face smiling benevolently down upon us from beneath a modest powdered coiffure and lace veil. And there she regally received each lady in turn.
The first time I’d seen her that way, I realized, with a start, that Martha Washington and I might never again be easy and familiar together. She was the closest thing we had to royalty. There must be a distance now, I thought, almost sadly. And as I made my way to the dais to present myself, I’d been acutely aware that I’d never attended a royal court. I hadn’t known how low to drop or how long I ought to hold the curtsy. In the end, I’d grasped my skirts and endeavored to a posture between obsequiousness and mere respect, hoping, quite sincerely, that I wouldn’t somehow teeter off my embroidered silk shoes.
Much to my relief, when I rose, Mrs. Washington’s smile had widened. Almost a secret message just for me, as if to reassure me that a friendship remained. But that friendship would never be the same because she was now, more than ever, a public figure. Every gesture and smile a reflection upon her husband until the day he died, which I prayed would not be soon.
“President Washington simply must recover,” Angelica decided, making herself helpful by brushing little Fanny’s curly hair. “And he will. At the inaugural ball he looked as strong and vigorous as ever. So right now I refuse to worry about anything but you.” She nodded toward the babe at my breast. “I don’t know how you manage all this. And you’re expected to host a dinner tonight besides?”
I nodded, eyeing a gown piled atop the chair that I needed to mend before I could wear it. “Some gentlemen are coming to arrange for the care of Alexander’s legal practice when he takes up his new position.”
Angelica sighed. “This won’t do. It’s too much for you without more servants. It’s too much for Jenny. It isn’t seemly for the wife of such an important man to scrub floors next to her maid. It wouldn’t be fitting for the president’s lady to stoop to it.”
In light of the current crisis, I could scarcely imagine such a position. Certainly, I didn’t want to imagine it. “I am not the president’s lady.”
“But you might be, one day,” my sister replied with a sly smile.
My mouth went dry, for the situation cast Angelica’s comment in a too-calculating light that made me uneasy. And it was more proof that, though I was coming to better understand my husband’s ambitions, sometimes it seemed as if my sister sympathized with those ambitions more than I did.
I didn’t want to be the wife of the secretary of the treasury, much less the president’s wife. And I shuddered to think I might ever find myself in Martha Washington’s position. Especially given what she was facing now.
Perhaps sensing my panic at the idea, Angelica sighed and said, “Oh, Betsy. You blanch when you should blaze! If Hamilton must entertain, have him take his guests to my lodgings where servants can wait upon them as befitting the household of a great man.”
Oh, the relief of that idea. I couldn’t deny that the elegance of my sister’s household was more in keeping with expectations—to say nothing of the absence of children, chickens, and monkeys.
Though, on this particular afternoon, with such grave news hanging over our heads, the monkey looked to be having a salutary effect on the men. For when I went out to refill their glasses, I found my husband and Mr. Madison, heads close together, laughing and teasing the creature as it swung from the tree by its tail and pelted them with leaves.
“Where did the little devil come from?” Madison wanted to know.
“Our neighbor won the monkey from a sailor in a card game,” my husband explained.
“A British sailor or a French sailor?” Madison asked, archly, as if ready to come to fisticuffs about it. Whereupon they both laughed before their conversation turned to finance and Alexander’s upcoming position—topics that had me retreating back into the house.
The next afternoon, Angelica and I tried to call upon Mrs. Washington, only to be denied access, as I feared. The street had been roped off so that carriages would not disturb the president’s rest. I returned home early, dejected, only to find the house strangely empty and quiet.