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

calmed down the sun had set and the house had settled back into quiet. Mayfair was silent, but at four storeys up there was no escaping the sounds of the city at night. Music halls, rattling cabs, distant shouting – they stuck to Eleanor like tar, reminding her that she was trapped in the realm of the ordinary.

It was time to escape.

Eleanor took off her boots so that they would not make a noise, and crept down to the library. The steep wooden steps of the servants’ staircase did not creak underfoot; she knew how to walk silently. She eased the door to the second-floor landing open and stole into the corridor, her stockinged feet catching on the carpet. She shuffled towards the library – just five minutes, that was all she needed – and froze as a door creaked open behind her.

She turned. Lizzie was standing in the doorway to the servants’ staircase, grinning, a candle clutched in her hand. ‘The master wants to see you,’ she hissed.

Eleanor stepped back, heart beating so fast it felt like it was rattling. No. Not now. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready, she would never be ready.

Lizzie advanced, holding her candle high. ‘Go on, Miss Eleanor. You’re needed upstairs.’

Eleanor barged past her and darted down the servants’ staircase. She had to get to the kitchen – there would be knives there, cleavers, a coal scuttle she could swing at Lizzie’s head. Anything to get Lizzie to leave her be. Lizzie swore and came after her.

Eleanor burst through the kitchen door and snatched up a carving knife. She whirled around. Lizzie skidded to a halt when she saw the blade glinting in the candlelight.

‘You bring that thing near me and I’ll scream,’ she hissed.

‘Go ahead,’ Eleanor spat. ‘They won’t hear you with baize on all the doors.’

Slowly, Lizzie set her candle down on the kitchen table. Eleanor listened for footsteps on the stairs, but heard nothing.

‘Give me back my money.’

Lizzie grinned. ‘Can’t. Spent it.’

A dull whine was building in Eleanor’s ears. The bones in her hands stood out stark as she gripped the knife. How had Lizzie spent Eleanor’s future so quickly?

‘You can’t keep hold of that thing forever,’ said Lizzie. ‘Mrs Banbury’ll make you give it back. And when she does, I’ll be there – and so will he.’

‘Stop it.’

Lizzie took a step forward. ‘He’ll lose his temper if you drag it out like this. That’s what happened to Leah. But you know that, don’t you, Miss Eleanor? You saw all her bruises.’

‘I told you to stop it!’

‘Or what?’ Lizzie nodded to the knife. ‘You won’t use it. It’ll only make things worse. Better to go to him now and get it over with.’

‘Stop! For pity’s sake, stop! My God, how can you stand to be like this?’ Eleanor spat, tears prickling in her eyes. ‘How can you throw him girl after girl and just … just … God! I wish you’d just stop, just once!’

Something changed.

For a split second, Eleanor saw everything. Dust in the air, made silver by a shaft of moonlight. The reflection of Lizzie’s pale face in the blade. A beetle skittering underneath the kitchen range. Then, a strange prickling sensation swept through her body, leaving her feeling magnetic.

She’d made a wish.

She hadn’t meant to do it. The wishes were valuable things, she had to spend them wisely. Only now she was one step closer to losing her soul, all because she couldn’t keep a lid on her temper. Shame tugged at the edges of Eleanor’s thoughts. She needed to be more careful.

Lizzie was staring at her, her throat working frantically. The knife clattered to the floor. Eleanor backed away, heading for the stairs.

‘It isn’t going to be me,’ Lizzie hissed, the faintest tremor in her voice. ‘It won’t ever be me.’

Dawn filtered through a thin film of grease on Eleanor’s window. She was tangled in her damp bedclothes. The heat was already rising – Eleanor could feel the sweat in her own hair – and still they had not yet dried. But, she thought, at least it cooled her down.

Costermongers trundled their carts through the streets below. From further afield came the sounds of animals being driven to market, but all she could see from the little window was a thin line of streetlights winking out, one by one. A trail of breadcrumbs, slowly being eaten away. She dressed and tried to stretch the ache out of her neck, still furious with herself for making a wish without meaning to. Damp cloth leached the warmth out of her limbs as she went downstairs.

She could not afford to delay any longer. She would have to make another wish – one that she’d planned for, this time. It was an easy choice to make, now that she knew Mr Pembroke had set his sights on her. She would wish for money, and put herself forever beyond his reach. But first, she wanted to see how her second wish would come true.

It was strange to think of how that might happen. Perhaps the wish would have completely transformed Lizzie’s personality, and she would be sweetly apologetic and ready to make amends. But, Eleanor thought, there were some things that were too strange to contemplate. Lizzie would probably find herself called back home on urgent family business; after all, magic had to have some limits.

The kitchen was filled with the kind of heat that crawled into her mouth, laced with the heavy taste of ashes. Eleanor shook them out of the vast range’s grate, picking out the cinders and cleaning the flues before laying the fire. Her fingers smarted and ash sputtered all over her skirts. The range was still warm, but it would be a while before it was hot enough for porridge; the others would not be down for some time.

Eleanor shook out her apron over the ash-bucket. The kitchen was a mess. A thin layer of dust and soil was scattered around the steps leading up to