by J. F. Collen
Already this morning, a smattering of invitations to balls, luncheons, and dinners had arrived. Helen Brandreth, her contemporary and the eldest daughter of the wealthy pill factory owner even graced Nellie with an invitation to tea. Perchance, this might provide an occasion to meet Helen’s comely older brother, George Brandreth. Would he make an appearance at Helen’s tea? If I had my druthers, I would set my cap for him! A new world unfolded for Nellie, renewing her interest in the art of ladylike behavior and etiquette—which invitations she would accept, the protocol for replying, what type of script to use on her new calling cards...the plethora of details that required attention astounded Nellie.
Nellie’s mother had already arranged a trip to New York City today and an appointment with a dressmaker. Fittings for new gowns! Nellie felt like royalty. Her ears still catching strains of last night’s music, her head swirling with images of her gown billowing and swaying as she danced, she returned up the narrow back staircase, taking the steps two at a time, to dress for The City.
Fastening her buttons and hooks while she looked out her window, Nellie observed the construction of the new railroad tracks along the river. Soon it would be possible to take a locomotive to The City. Why would anyone eschew an easy sail down the river? Nellie wondered.
Mrs. Entwhistle had them booked on her husband’s eleven o’clock steamboat.
“I will never travel to the city with the plebeians on that dirty noisy conveyance belching dirt and soot they call a locomotive train,” her mother declared yet again, evidencing her staunch endorsement of their family business and their investment in shipping and a genteel way of life. “I do not care if they build the tracks right to our front door! My experience at the central depot in The City was most horrifying, and never to be forgotten. Ladies must never stoop to common transportation when they can travel in dignity via ship.”
“May we go to an eating-house and eat oysters like real New Yorkers?” asked Anastasia, bouncing into the kitchen, eager to begin her duties as a debutante too.
“Have you taken leave of your senses? No daughter of mine will enter an eating-house. Furthermore, why would you fixate on a food as common as oysters? Oysters! We have a river-full just outside our door, just ripe for the taking. That is what the common folk eat!” Anastasia’s face fell and she looked as if she wanted to vanish on the spot. Mother’s tone softened. “However, mayhap we will luncheon at a fine restaurant, in the Ladies Sitting Room. Or, if your father’s schedule permits, he will escort us to tea at the Astor House,” her mother said.
Aha! Nellie thought, Mutter has not ruled out the possibility of a sumptuous lunch!
Excitement mounted as Mrs. Entwhistle ordered the carriage brought around. Soon they rolled down the hill to the dock.
The accustomed rush of exhilaration Nellie felt upon her arrival at the wharf whipped her already heightened senses into a small frenzy. She drew in a deep breath, and a nose full of the salty smell of the ocean rewarded her. The tide, full of saltwater, is coming in! The journey will take twenty minutes longer. Halleluiah! Cornelia knew as soon as she embarked on the boat she would wish the voyage would never end. She stood in the middle of the dock for a moment, feeling the wind, watching the sails and the gulls, trying to contain her wild enthusiasm. No cause, no enticement could ever induce me to forsake this river valley!
Joy filled her heart as she observed the dock activity. Sailors scrambled to ready their ship. Freight hung suspended from ropes on pulleys while cargo men hoisted the ropes higher and then swung the heavy crates on board, lowering them in front of handlers poised to align them in rows in the cargo hold. Cargo placement satisfactory, the sailors released the winches and sent the lifters back to shore.
When the steamboat was in readiness and the five-minute ‘all ashore that’s going ashore’ whistle blew, she assumed her usual position at the tip of the bow. In breathless excitement, she watched the sailors haul in the lines. The steamboat pulled from the dock, edging out to the center of the Hudson. Mrs. Entwhistle frowned her disapproval when she saw Nellie’s perch, but wordless, she disappeared through the hatch into the captain’s sitting room.
Nellie turned her face toward the spray as the boat gained speed.
“Ten knots,” called a sailor.
Nellie’s knees bent in rhythm with the chopping motion of the boat chugging through the tide’s surf. The thrill of a ride on one of my father’s steamboats, capped by a wardrobe of new dresses from the finest seamstress in The City? The world could not contain any greater joy than this!
“Mistress Entwhistle,” said a voice behind her. She turned to see a tall, handsome, vaguely familiar figure smiling at her.
“Yes?” she asked, abashed at having someone catch her with what she could only imagine was a look of sheer bliss on her face.
“Your father requested I furnish you this,” he said, holding out a huge Macintosh. His grin widened, ear to ear.
Embarrassed, Nellie mumbled her thanks, not looking the man in the eye as she took the proffered garment. He is not wearing a sailor’s uniform—who is he? she wondered, but she was too mortified to look at him, much less engage in further conversation.
It seemed just a heartbeat later, the steamboat docked at Barclay Street, where father had his port. Only the thought of new additions to her wardrobe prevented Nellie from staying onboard. She stood lingering on the wharf, watching the bustling activity; freight swinging from winched ropes on to shore, passengers scurrying, seamen hustling, consoling herself with the thought that she would be back on the ship this evening.
Nellie was so busy watching some sailors tie their knots on a ship’s ropes she did not see that same young man steer her mother and sisters to a waiting hackney.
“Nell!” called Anastasia, with a sense of urgency to her voice. Startled, Nellie looked around to see that her entire party was in the carriage save her sister, who, with half her body and one arm in, gesticulated wildly at her with the other arm. Nellie picked up her skirts and ran to the door as it was closing.
The man who had given her the Macintosh suddenly materialized, catching the door, pulling it wide open. He smiled at her again. What lovely eyes he has, she grinned back in spite of herself.
“Your raincoat, Mistress E,” he said, holding out his arm. She peeled it off; again embarrassed, as she had forgotten she was still wearing it. “Enjoy the day’s outing!” He smiled again, handing her into the carriage.
“At what time shall I have the hansom call for you, Ma’am?” the man leaned in and asked Mrs. Entwhistle.
“We must return to the dock in time for our passage on the evening steamship home,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. She handed him a card. “Direct them to this address, at half four.” The door closed and the young man faded from sight.
The carriage ride was a virtual tour of Manhattan. The sights, sounds, and smells of the streets bombarded them as they made their way to the dressmaker’s shop. The girls marveled at the scenes they witnessed: shopkeepers fussing over merchandise displays, newsboys hawking papers, butchers chopping meat. Noise and odors spilled onto the streets and into their carriage. They turned off a busy street onto an avenue.
“Was there ever such a sunny street as this Broadway!” exclaimed Anastasia, leaning out the window to better view the avenue ahead of them.
“Anastasia, do not dangle from your carriage window like a fisherman’s pole from a trawler,” chastised mother.
“The colors!” sang Nellie. “Rainbows of color on hats and parasols!”
“Not to mention the gowns,” said Anastasia. “Look at these fashions! Dazzling. We must procure a gown with these ballooning sleeves and inaugurate this stylish trend at home.”
“Omnibuses, hackney cabs, peddler’s carts—this bustle of activity caps the climax! One forgets just how sleepy our little Sing Sing village is,” Agnes chimed in.
Not exactly on point, thought Nellie, but at least she is not adopting her usual strident tone.
“B
roadway is the pinnacle of elegance!” exclaimed Anastasia. “’Tis quite the lively whirl of color, fine carriages and enticing smells.”
“Not like the Bowery,” said Agnes. “Common carts and wagons, streets full of people wearing ready-made clothes and whiffs of cooked meat.”
“Ladies, must you gawk like commoners? Agnes, a genteel lady does not comment on sections of The City where less fortunate people abound. Now, let us put an end to this unseemly behavior. We must move with alacrity if we are to arrive at the dressmakers punctually.” Mrs. Entwhistle hustled the girls out of the carriage as soon as it stopped.
The appearance of some ready-made gowns, offered for examination and trial, made the session at the dressmaker’s even more delightful. Enchanted, the girls each chose a gown to her liking and assessed the latest fashions.
Nellie donned a lavender tea dress, a soft pink chenille morning frock, and a shimmering blue taffeta ball gown, shivering with delight at each view in the mirror.
“If I may say so myself, we cut quite a fine figure,” said Anastasia softly. Both girls, sporting fine creations with yards of fabric billowing over six petticoats topped by a crinoline underskirt, twirled, and posed, admiring themselves in the mirror.
“This tucker of Dresden lace is the perfect complement to your figure,” said Nellie.
“As is the majesty of your figure aided by this loop of fabric,” complimented Anastasia as she fingered the soft cloth draped on the bodice of the gown Nellie wore.
After they identified fashion preferences, bolts of material passed in front of the awe-struck girls, one more beautiful than the next. Mrs. Entwhistle spared no effort in procuring choice after choice of material and pattern.
Agonizing over the alternatives amid her daughters’ barrage of verbalized indecision, Mrs. Entwhistle ordered several gowns for each girl.
“To tea!” cried Gertrude Entwhistle. “With not a moment to spare.”
“No oysters?” asked Agnes in a small voice. Nellie wondered that even Agnes dared to question her mother’s directive. After the decadent hours filled with an embarrassment of riches and every couture choice imaginable, even Agnes should have no cause to grouse.
Mrs. Entwhistle’s face took on the appearance of a thundercloud. Agnes had the good sense to change tack immediately. “Just a trifling jest, Mutter. We are all in such high spirits after viewing that veritable whirlwind of luxurious fabrics and styles. We have been fêted and spoiled like princesses. Lead the way!”
“Your father’s messenger advised, Mr. Entwhistle has contrived to meet us at the Astor House for tea,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. “That magnificent structure is just a short perambulation along Broadway from here, no need for a carriage.”
“Mutter, Astor House is across from City Hall,” said Agnes. “That is a rather long perambulation.”
“Now Agnes, after sitting at the dressmakers the entire afternoon, it is a privilege to be able to stretch our limbs and stroll through the cityscape. Furthermore, your father has rearranged his schedule to afford us the opportunity for the rare treat of tea at the Astor House. This opportunity should not be greeted with complaints.”
Agnes did not respond.
“The Astor House! How truly scintillating,” Anastasia said to Nellie.
“Did you know it was designed by the same architect, Isaiah Rodgers, who designed our country’s first truly elegant and luxurious hotel, the Tremont House in Boston?” asked Nellie, linking her arm with Anastasia’s and beginning their saunter. “I saw a picture of it in one of Jonas’s architectural textbooks.” The pair’s noses swiveled back and forth like metronomes, observing the scintillating sights and sounds of The City as they chatted.
“How truly blessed we are,” piped the quarrelsome voice of Agnes, walking behind them alongside their mother. “Our own family historian treating us to yet another lecture.”
“Ha! I am more than an historian. I am a visionary! I dream of a world where women can dine at a fine hotel for tea without having to be accompanied by a gentleman,” Nellie retorted.
Just as their entourage arrived at the Vesey Street entrance to the Astor House Hotel, Mr. Entwhistle jumped out of a carriage.
“How very fortuitous,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. She smiled fondly at her husband.
He rubbed his hands. “I’m anticipatin’ a grrrand and tasty meal, accompanied by all o’me beauties. Oh, tarry a moment.” He suddenly turned back to the cab. He reached into the hansom and pulled out a colorful bunch of flowers. He ran his free hand over his hair. “Almost forgot, these are fer ye.” He thrust them at Cornelia.
Speechless, Nellie accepted the bouquet, the colors so vibrant they brought tears to her eyes. “I have nary seen such a panoply of color gathered in one bunch.” She gazed in wonder at the magenta and purple fuchsia, the blue delphiniums, sunshine yellow black-eyed Susans and orange Gerbera daisies; exotic flowers that grew in no garden Nellie ever saw. “Are these enchanted?” she whispered.
“Who has endowed you with such splendor?” Anastasia demanded.
Nellie separated the flowers, revealing a card.
“What does it say?” Even Agnes was interested.
Nellie opened the card, and closed her mouth.
“Do not toy with our emotions,” entreated Anastasia. “Whose name is signed?”
Agnes said with exasperation, “Cornelia Rose you have such a flair for the dramatic.”
Even Mrs. Entwhistle was curious. “Who is the mysterious suitor?” she asked.
“I know not!” Nellie said. “This note is hardly enlightening. All that is written is ‘A bouquet of magical color from your admirer!’” She turned to her father. “Papa, who gave these to you?”
Mr. Entwhistle’s eyes twinkled. He replied, “Sure ‘n begora, I’ll not play cupid.”
“Do not amplify the mystery, Papa. From whom did you receive these flowers?”
“I was sworn to secrecy. I know me little romantic colleen loves a good mystery, and to that end I’ll only reveal that even I am unsure whether I was given t’ flowers from a mere messenger or t’ true sender.”
Nellie stood in bewilderment, staring at the note.
“Now come along, ladies.” Mrs. Entwhistle used her no-nonsense voice. Nellie, Anastasia, and Agnes remained immobile; Nellie looking at her flowers, Anastasia admiring the architecture of the grand Astor House and Agnes leaning with a look of wonderment on the great Doric columns at the grand entranceway.
“Agnes, ladies do not lean, they stand straight with good posture at all times. Anastasia, we do not gaze upward at the entablature and gawk, no matter how magnificent the design and construction and Cornelia Rose...ach du Liebe! Ladies do come along!” Mrs. Entwhistle nodded to the doorman, who sprang forward to open the door.
“Yea, me stomach tells me ‘tis long past tea time. I’ve traveled a long way for me tea, and I intend to imbibe a bit o’ t’ delicacies post haste,” said Mr. Entwhistle with his hearty laugh.
Nellie stood still as her family filed through the door, held open with continual flourishes by the doorman. She took another look at the brilliant array of colors. A dreamy smile played on her lips, lighting her whole face. I have a secret admirer! One who has dazzled me with the most exotic flowers, blooming in intoxicating colors! No need to fret over who he be, or spend time sleuthing to ascertain his identity—this is heady enchantment. I do not believe there ever was a lady so inundated with blissful bounty. Truly, I am blessed.
She tightened her grip on the flowers with her left arm and with her right hand she picked up her skirts and petticoats and swept through the doorway with her own grand flourish.
Chapter 12 – Sugar, You are my Candy Girl
Sing Sing, February 1849
The days after her “unofficial” debut continued to provide a delightful uptick in the number of invitations Cornelia Rose and her sisters received from various fashionable members of Sing Sing’s high society. Now a steady stream of eligible suitors crossed the E
ntwhistle threshold daily. In a reprieve from instruction at Miss Sarah’s, the ladies devoted their mornings to receiving callers.
“Here comes a great paper of candy along with Barney Forshay!” exclaimed Agnes, looking down from their garret window as the girls prepared to welcome their guests. “I shall treasure it better than Barney’s company, for he has been to see me every day of this past fortnight and candy has not.”
In spite of their annoyance at Agnes’s usual ill-tempered observation, Anastasia and Nellie laughed.
“I must agree,” said Anastasia, all smiles. “It seems we have no dearth of male attention. However, that treat is less sweet than other delights of the confectionary persuasion.”
“Let us garner bonbons of our own,” declared Nellie. Her sisters looked at her with blank stares. “We must host a taffy pull! ‘Tis the perfect weather, and perfect season for a social gathering of sweets.” She winked.
Anastasia squealed with delight. “Another of your delightful puns,” said Anastasia.
Even Agnes laughed and said, “Capitol plan.”
Anastasia squealed again and Matthias came running. “Another mouse?” he asked, looking around the room. “Where is he, I need another pet.”
Now all the girls squealed at that repugnant thought.
Agnes took the lead in disabusing him. “Sakes alive, no. Matthias, ever since we got our new cat Smedley our garret has been free of those loathsome, ugsome creatures entirely.”
Matthias looked crestfallen.
Nellie gathered him in for a hug. “However, you might be pleased to learn the true reason for Anastasia’s squeal.” Nellie smiled down at her little brother. Matthias, disappointment temporarily arrested, looked up expectantly. “We propose to host a taffy pull.”
Matthias gave his own gleeful squeal. “Nellie, you are right, that is far superior. It is doubly better, because we’ll get candy, and I’ll make sure the spills don’t get cleaned up and then we’ll get more mice too.”
