MY THEODOSIA (5 page)

Theo giggled, and he rolled his intelligent, yellowish eyes. 'Je vous demande pardon, mamselle, but it is truth. Over zere zey kill ze king, zey kill everybody—and now zey let zis Corsican brigand lord it over zem wiz his—his doxy, cette Josephine!'

He flung down his comb, his hands shook, their pinkish palms wet.

'Zey even say zis Bonaparte will make himself a king! It is not possible, zey cannot be as mad as zat—Someday, mamselle—someday zis folie will pass, the Bourbons will come back. You will see, as sure as le bon Dieu watches us up there ... the Bourbons will be back on zere rightful throne'. His eyes watered and he muttered on to himself.

Theo sighed. He was off again, poor old thing. Nothing to do but wait patiently until he took up his comb. Adonis was an artist with the scissors and tongs, by far the best in the town, and the ladies and gentlemen who patronized him all knew his story and put up with his mania. He had been born on Martinique, a free negro of some consequence, and with a passionate loyalty to his king. Louis XVI and God were for him merged into one. The Revolution had broken his heart, and he had been hustled off the island by friends just before the newly appointed committee got around to dealing with a trouble-making old negro.

He had landed in New York and taken a mighty vow. Never would he cover his kinky poll until the Bourbons reigned again. Winter snows and summer suns beat alike on his grizzling thatch, while he stalked grimly around the streets, his pockets filled with the implements of his trade, his soul filled with hatred for the Anti-Christs who had murdered his king.

'The Count Jérôme de Joliette is coming today,' said Theo slyly, beginning to despair of getting her hair finished.

Adonis started, his seamed face crinkled. He picked up the comb. 'Ah, c'est bon. Un aristocrat de l'ancien régime. I will make you vairy vairy beautiful for him.'

Well, hardly—thought Theo. The Count was a dreadful bore, and quite old, way over thirty. But her bait had served its purpose.

Adonis piled her ringleted hair, dexterously inserted a small white ostrich plume, anchored it with a cluster of rosebuds. He backed off considering. Theo tried to control her fidgets.

'Mamselle has beautiful nose, classique; I have made it more easy to see. And she has magnificent eyes; she should not wear her hair so low on the forehead, only those two little curls, just as I have put them—so. Also zey balance ze chin. Mamselle have ze chin a bit full, a bit too round. Now no one will notice——

'Yes, Adonis, you've made a masterpiece of me. Thank you, but I must get ready. I see the Hamiltons' curricle coming down the drive, and that means it's late. Peggy will give you your money in the kitchen.'

She hustled the old man out and called her maid. They embarked on the intricacies of her toilette, lacing her tender young body into long stays made of steel and leather. These reached so high as to push her small bosom even higher than its normal position, and they cut cruelly underneath. Theo hated them, and wore them as seldom as possible, fashion or no fashion. Over the stays went a short muslin petticoat, then white silk stockings with clocks, and tiny yellow satin shoes whose flexible kid soles barely separated her feet from the floor.

The shoes gave her no height, but the Parisian gown did, for it was fashioned very simply in the new mode: a long straight fall of white India muslin, caught high under the bosom with a band of gold embroidery whose gilded vine pattern was repeated at the hem.

And of course there was the necklace, sparkling on her white skin like a shower of raindrops.

When she looked in the mirror, she knew that she was lovely. Her heart swelled with a delicious sense of power. This was her evening, her day. To be admired and feted against the background of Aaron's fondly approving smile, what greater joy was there in life?

She paused before entering the long drawing-room, looking for her father. It was filled with people. Despite the flooding sunshine outside, the curtains were drawn and all the hundred tapers lighted. They glittered from their crystal pendants, a forest of twinkling yellow flame. The guests made a soft pastel blur of rose and blue and green and violet, accented by an occasional powdered head like that of the beautiful Mrs. John Jay, who clung to a fashion she knew suited her so well.

The buzz of conversation broke off and heads turned to welcome her. Aaron, impeccable in dove-gray satin and white neckcloth, sprang forward from a group.

'Here is Queen Theodosia at last! I suppose we must today accord her the royal prerogative of tardiness. He smiled at her with undisguised pride, despite the implied criticism. Aaron had no patience with tardiness, particularly when manners demanded that a hostess should be graciously ready long before guests arrived. Theo was glad to be let off so easily, as he led her forward to stand beside him against the fireplace.

Mrs. Alexander Hamilton came up first, stepping lightly as a girl despite her eight children. She kissed Theo on both cheeks, wishing her many happy returns of the day. Her tall daughter, Angelica, followed more sedately, her melancholy little face already shadowed by the insanity that was later to claim her. Then General Hamilton himself bowed low over Theo's hand.

Theo smiled brightly at his compliments, disguising perfectly the feeling of dislike and fear he always gave her. No reason for it, she knew. He and Aaron were political opponents and had had several bitter public skirmishes, but that was true of many other men whom she heartily liked. Besides, Aaron and Hamilton were friendly enough in private, and called each other by their Christian names. They were rather alike, too, both short men, fastidious and exquisitely dressed, both great gallants with the ladies. General Hamilton this evening was particularly splendid in violet brocade, his sandy hair lightly powdered in the fashion of the Federalists.

'What a very fine bauble you're wearing, Theo,' he said, showing his white teeth. 'It very nearly rivals the brilliance of your eyes.'

'Father gave it to me this morning——'

'Ah—your father is ever one to lavish beauty upon beauty'. He spoke smoothly, but she saw a glint in his pale eyes.

One more count against Burr, he thought, as he turned away. Insane extravagance coupled with chicanery. Very like, this ridiculous jewel had been paid for with money swindled from the people in Burr's fictitious water company. If it had been paid for at all. The slippery scoundrel! He must at all costs be checked before he ruined the country with his plunderings and intrigues. God forbid that there should be a chance of his snatching the Presidency. Jefferson was bad enough—but Burr would be monstrous.

He settled himself in a corner and examined the company. Half the town was there. Livingstons, Swartwouts, Morrises and Sedgwicks, Bartows and Prevosts, these latter relatives of the late Mrs. Burr. There was pretty little Katie Brown talking to Burr's protégé, young Vanderlyn, and a handful of young bucks around her too.

He could not honestly object to these guests: they were natural enough selections; but why must Burr ever surround himself with Frenchmen? He glared at the Comte de Joliette : the fellow was rouged and befrilled like a woman; and why the inclusion of the du Pont de Nemours brothers with their wives? They had barely landed and spoke almost no English, and they were of no importance whatsoever.

Hamilton disliked foreigners, and grumpily helped himself to punch in anticipation of a dull evening.

Victor and Éleuthère Irénée du Pont were unconscious of the great man's disapproval. They were fine-looking young men, tall for Frenchmen, and enthusiastic about everything in the new country. Only this morning, while snipe shooting, Irénée had had a brilliant idea, and he impatiently awaited an opportunity to present it to Colonel Burr for advice. Or, indeed, to General Hamilton, for his shrewd French brain had decided to back the winner. The Federalists were on the way out, Burr and Jefferson were obviously gaining; still, one must be wary of offending expiring monarchs—they have been known to revive.

The great gilded punchbowl circulated rapidly, as black Alexis carried it from one group to another. It contained a Richmond Hill specialty, a mixture of homemade peach brandy and champagne, and it was iced—a newfangled innovation which disconcerted some of the older guests, who were convinced that a freezing liquid could not be wholesome.

Toast after toast was drunk to Theodosia's happiness, and she responded with deep curtsies and laughing thanks. Eyes sparkled, cheeks grew flushed, and still Alexis had not announced that the dinner awaited their pleasure.

Theo signaled her father in surprise, but he shook his head and glanced toward the door. They were waiting for someone, then. Who? She speculated idly, gave it up, and went on talking to the young men who surrounded her.

It was past six before Alexis opened the drawing-room door with a dignified flourish. 'Mr. Joseph Alston,' he announced.

Everyone turned as a heavy young man lumbered in. Theo stared with the rest. He must be a gentleman of consequence or her father would never have kept this distinguished company waiting for him.

Had she ever heard of Joseph Alston? Something to do with South Carolina, she thought. Political then. He had a pompous air about him; he looked arrogant and humorless. He was of medium height and heavy-set, a circumstance which his bright plum-colored suit did nothing to conceal. It seemed stuffed to bursting across his broad back. His hair was black and cut short a la Brutus; it clustered on his round head in tight curls. Theo thought instantly of a bust of the Emperor Tiberius which she had once seen in a Philadelphia drawing-room: the same thick neck, low forehead, and full, disdainful mouth.

Alston eyed the assemblage in a lofty manner while Aaron greeted him with emphatic cordiality, and drew him over to Theodosia. 'Mr. Alston, may I present you to my daughter, Miss Burr?'

Theodosia sketched a curtsy, and the young man bowed. ''S a pleasure, ma'am,' he drawled, with a languid blurring of consonants which she knew to be peculiar to natives of the Southern States.

'Welcome to Richmond Hill,' she murmured, gave him a bright conventional smile, and turned back to the group behind her, eager to join in their chatter.

'Theo——' It was Aaron's voice, and, sensitive to its slightest gradations, she heard in the one word that he was displeased with her. 'Mr. Alston has but newly arrived in New York. It will divert him to have you tell him something of the season in town, the balls and the theater. He will take you in to dinner.'

Her eyes widened. Here was a shattering of precedent. As both hostess and guest of honor tonight, it was fitting that she be escorted by the male guest of highest rank, General Hamilton, Mr. Livingston, or the Count, perhaps. But she was far too well trained to show surprise, and slipped her hand docilely through the arm of the silent young man beside them.

'Indeed, sir, and are you enjoying our city? Is it from the Carolinas that you come? Such a long journey—you must be fatigued'. She eyed him with fresh interest. He seemed a prodigiously dull gentleman, but her father was never wrong, and if he wished to do Mr. Alston unusual honor, he must have a very good reason.

Aaron presented his arm to Mrs. Jay, and they all moved toward the dining-room.

The immense table easily accommodated thirty people. Theo, separated from her father by its whole length, felt his admonishing glance as they took their places.

The table was piled high with platters: turtle soup, boiled lobsters that had come by sloop from Massachusetts, three great oyster patties flanked by immense joints, one of beef, the other of mutton. Between them, like the smaller islands of an archipelago, were dotted stuffed pheasants and ducks. There were vegetables, too: boiled onions, tiny new beets, and roasted potatoes.

The guests helped themselves, with the aid of Alexis and his corps of waiters, who facilitated the process when a desired dainty was too far away to be speared with one of the serving forks. This being a formal occasion, individual forks had been provided, but most of the company scorned this French refinement and conveyed food on an expertly piled knife.

Theo made conversation with Mr. Alston, using all her tact to draw him out as her father's look demanded. It was not easy. His responses were slow and ponderous, so that her quick brain had traveled yards ahead of him before he had finished.

Irénée du Pont sat on her left, and from time to time she turned to him thankfully, enjoying both the grace of his sparkling French and the pleasure that her own proficiency in the language gave her.

The party was nearly bilingual, and conversation, led from the center by Natalie and the Comte de Joliette, gradually changed into French. They were all talking glibly until Theo saw her father frown. She started, realizing that Mr. Alston sat heavily silent beside her, sipping his claret with an expression of sulky annoyance.

'You perhaps do not speak French?' she faltered.

Alston wiped his mouth. 'I do not, ma'am. Down where we come from we have no liking for foreign taradiddles.'

Merciful heavens! thought Theo. What a boor! Fancy a man of education not speaking some French.

Ir£n£e du Pont had watched this little contretemps with amusement. He now struck in across the silenced table, relieving the embarrassment. 'I had fonny—how you say—experience zis morning. I was snipe shooting wiz Toussard over by ze river; we shoot all our powder, get no birds. But we are shamed to go i la maison wiz nossing. Sophie will make fon of us'. He bowed to his smiling wife. 'So we find leetle shop and buy more powder. We see some birds, we aim, we shoot'—he paused dramatically—'and both our guns explode à la fois. Boom! Pan! Boom! comme ça. All in leetle pieces!'

'La! sir,' cried Mrs. Jay, leaning forward, 'I don't think that funny. Did you not injure your hands?'

Du Pont shook his head. 'No, we drop quickly ze guns. But I have idea. I admire much your so marvelous country; only one sing is bad. You make bad powder. So I tell myself someone should make good powder, and why not us? Papa, Victor, and me. We will start a—a usine somewhere to make it.'