‘Pull tighter while I hold my breath, Macy!’ The maid blushed as she strained the corset strings; this girl would surely faint. Cressida had sipped only a cup of morning tea and a bowl of soup at midday. It was the eve of the most important ball of her young life.
In the spring of 1888, dressmakers in New York were swamped. It was the time of prestigious invitations. Cressida was overcome with anticipation. Perhaps the only person more excited was her mother.
‘Oh Mama, the black and gold silk gown is best! The bustle must have a taffeta bow!’
‘Of course!’ replied her mother. ‘And we’ll need new satin pumps and purse.’
This was the first time Cressida and her parents had been included on the guest list of Mrs Astor. Unlike the Astors, Cressida and her family were not old money. Her father would be classified as nouveau riche – he was a railroader. As a youth he’d worked on the tracks springing up across the United States.
When the American Civil War ended in 1865, investors in the railroad system were taking chances, buying stock. Cressida’s father had been one to try his luck early, continually adding to the small investment gifted from his then boss, William (Billy) Vanderbilt. A risky but fortuitous calculation. Mass transport was needed. The Statue of Liberty beckoned, and an influx of immigrants had grown New York city’s population to well over two million.
Eighteen-year-old Cressida longed to be part of established society. ‘Papa, when will we move to Fifth Avenue?’ she’d ask intermittently.
‘Patience my dear… all will happen with time,’ was the recurring answer.
Apart from the Astor ball, there was feverish buzz among Cressida and her friends. Lord Brereton of Cheshire, England, would be in attendance. What chance of a daughter marrying into British aristocracy? Cressida’s mother almost swooned at the thought of a titled son-in-law, with her daughter becoming Lady Brereton. Surely such a circumstance would catapult the family into that category she could only dream about – acceptance into New York society’s top Four Hundred.
Lord Brereton anticipated the Astor event as much as the mothers and daughters. Marrying into a wealthy American family might reduce his woes. A generous dowry was sorely needed. He had inherited two crumbling castles and was deeply in debt.
That evening, Cressida would never forget the imperious image of Mrs Astor, perfectly coiffed in a stunningly understated gown, as she stood in front of a huge oil painting of herself in the reception hall.
When her name was called, Cressida moved with floating grace into what must have been the most impressive ballroom imaginable: soft electric lamps, flowered pillars, quartets in alcoves, manservants deftly balancing silver trays. With fan held in a tightly gloved, clammy hand, she vaguely saw Lord Brereton approach as the room itself began to float. She toppled sideways, losing her fan and purse to astonished onlookers.
When she came to, Lord Brereton was cradling her. Her mother’s expression was one of pure ecstasy.
Burnside Writers Group 