The Shadow in the Glass JJA Harwood (book recommendations for young adults txt) 📖

one-way street. As master of the house, Mr Pembroke had a duty to look after his staff, to provide them with food, clothing, and a safe place to rest their heads. And he was not just her employer; he was her legal guardian. He had a duty to her more than anyone else in this house. He was supposed to take care of her. He’d promised Mrs Pembroke when she lay dying, Eleanor had heard him make his promise, and he had broken it.

Anger blazed through her. Well, he could break all the promises he wanted. It wouldn’t matter. She had the wishes. She could break him.

‘We all have our duties, sir,’ she said, keeping her tone neutral as she opened the door. ‘I assure you, I remember mine.’

The weight of the laudanum in her pocket was unfamiliar. A heavy purse waiting to be stolen. Eleanor thought of Lizzie, and her fists clenched. She wouldn’t have needed to do this if Lizzie hadn’t stolen her money.

Mr Pembroke had gone out. The moment he’d left, Eleanor went straight upstairs, the bottle banging against her leg. It had been easy to steal. Mrs Banbury kept the laudanum in the kitchen cupboard, and amid the clatter of the maids it was all too easy to hide a little bottle among a stack of plates. She’d palmed it in the middle of putting them back, and no one had noticed a thing. Still, she had to be careful. She could be hanged if anyone saw; they’d take her for a poisoner. Of course, now that she had the wishes she supposed it would not matter if she was arrested – she could simply wish her way out – but she’d rather not have such an unpleasant scene.

The study first. Mr Pembroke kept half his decanters there. She told herself to be sensible and only faltered when she reached the second-floor landing, and saw the study door.

Eleanor drifted closer, turning the bottle over in her pocket. The study door loomed ahead of her. She listened. Mrs Banbury and Daisy, yelling to each other in the kitchen. Aoife, singing an Irish air from the floor above. Mrs Fielding calling to Lizzie from the hallway. Nothing from the study.

Eleanor went inside.

The study looked as it always had: dark, sombre, and rather like a lair that had been dug out underground. The walls pressed in too close, the cabinets and bookcases leant too far forward, and the portraits of long-dead Pembrokes were starting to fade to a sludgy tobacco-brown. The eyes in the portraits watched her as she wedged a chair underneath the doorknob. How had she never shrunk back from all those faces? She half-expected their eyes to flicker, or strange shadows to pass across their faces as she turned away. She almost turned their faces to the wall, but there was no time to linger.

It was done in a matter of minutes. One sip, and Mr Pembroke would drift gently off to sleep instead of putting his hands on her. He’d never notice all his crystal decanters had been opened with the amount he drank. She thought of Leah as she added the last drop of laudanum and cringed. She should have done this months ago – no, years. If only she’d thought of it then, Leah might be here still, happy and laughing while Mr Pembroke dozed in a chair.

She slipped the bottle back inside her pocket. Would it be enough? How much laudanum would it take to knock out a man like Mr Pembroke? He was far bigger than her, he drank gallons of brandy, and God knew what he did when he was off on one of his sprees. And there were other decanters, too – what if he drank from those instead?

Eleanor gave herself a shake. Now that she had the wishes, she could make sure that Mr Pembroke never found himself alone with a maid again. The laudanum was a temporary measure, so that she had time to plan. She would not need to drug the other decanters then.

Eleanor left the study and drifted towards Leah’s room. She cursed herself for being too afraid to drug Mr Pembroke’s decanters earlier. If only she’d thought faster, acted quicker – but it was too late now. She’d never see Leah again. Eleanor had no idea where Leah might have gone and no means of finding her, because Leah could not read or write. London had swallowed her up, with her kind, fierce eyes and her quick laugh. Eleanor laid a hand on the door to Leah’s room. How long would it be before the city spat her out?

Eleanor wiped her eyes and went back down to the kitchen to replace the laudanum. Mrs Banbury was at the range, a vast knob of butter sizzling in a pan, while Daisy cleaned out the larder. No one was looking at the cupboard she’d taken the little bottle from. She strode across the kitchen, drew the laudanum out of her pocket and—

‘Ella!’

Mrs Fielding was standing behind her. Eleanor froze, the cupboard door open, the laudanum in her hand. The handle shook under her fingers. This was it, she thought, this was it. Any minute now Mrs Fielding would yell for the constable, shrieking about poisoners, and there was nothing she could say or do because she had been caught with the bottle in her hand …

‘What on Earth are you doing with that?’ Mrs Fielding asked.

Eleanor started. She hadn’t been expecting a chance to explain herself. But now that she had one, all that was going around her head was I’ve been caught, I’ve been caught, I’ve been caught …

And then, it occurred to her.

She turned around, aware of the flush in her cheeks. Good, she thought, it would serve her.

‘I … I’ve been caught short, Mrs Fielding.’ She laid a meaningful hand on her abdomen. ‘I thought perhaps a drop or two, for the pain …’

Mrs Fielding sighed. ‘Oh, come now, Ella. I had supposed