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

money and no shoes on her feet. He would wash his hands of her as he had done with so many other girls before Eleanor, and move on to Aoife afterwards. She could stop him with a wish, of course – but could she really speak those words standing in front of him, and watch the light fade from his eyes?

She followed him into the corridor.

Mr Pembroke staggered into the study. Eleanor followed him inside, leaving the door open. All the portraits on the wall stared as Mr Pembroke lurched into his chair, catching his hip on the wide mahogany desk and swearing.

Eleanor’s mind was racing. Without being asked, she went to the sideboard and poured him a glass of brandy from one of the decanters she’d added to earlier. She placed the glass on the green leather desk top and Mr Pembroke tossed it back in three gulps.

‘Good girl,’ he slurred. ‘Another.’

Eleanor poured a larger glass. Mr Pembroke had to make two attempts to pick it up.

‘Now,’ he said, his words bleeding together, ‘what’s all this about a policeman?’

Eleanor stared straight ahead. ‘We were all interviewed, sir.’

Mr Pembroke drained half his glass of brandy and waggled a shaky finger at her. ‘You’re being deliberately unhelpful, Ella. I thought you were a good girl.’

Eleanor topped up his glass. The pupils of his eyes were tiny. She felt a flush of hope: the drug was working.

‘I’ve heard some worrying things,’ Mr Pembroke slurred, brandy slopping over the side of his glass, ‘about you and young Lizzie. I’d like you to set my mind at rest. I’ll have to dismiss you, you know, unless you give me a reason to let you stay.’

Even behind the desk, he was far too close. She could see every bead of sweat on his forehead. He’d loosened his collar, and there was a red mark on his flabby neck from where it had been fastened too tight. Mr Pembroke’s dark, wet eyes glistened like rotting fruit. She wondered how deep the rot went.

‘You know better than to listen to gossip, sir,’ she said, keeping her voice light. ‘Why don’t you take another drink and put it out of your mind. I’m sure that—’

Mr Pembroke’s hand shot out, lunging for her wrist. He missed, his cigar-stained fingers bumping into the decanter instead. Eleanor caught the bottle before it fell and poured him another glass.

‘Ungrateful girl,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve fed you, clothed you and given you a respectable position for years. And now I look to your character, to know you better, and you won’t oblige me! Where’s your loyalty? Is an ounce of gratitude too much to—’

Anger burned through Eleanor’s fear. The rot went all the way down.

Mr Pembroke picked up the glass and began to drink. Quick as a snake, Eleanor darted forward and tipped the glass up, forcing the brandy down his throat. He spluttered, the tiny pupils of his eyes struggling to focus on her as she settled back into position. The smell of urine drifted towards her and she wrinkled her nose. She’d have to clean that up tomorrow.

‘What the Devil did you—’

Eleanor blinked at him. ‘Me, sir? I didn’t do anything.’

‘You damn well spilled my—’

Eleanor started filling up his glass again. ‘I assure you, sir, I haven’t moved from this spot. I would never dream of doing so, without your permission. Do take another drink.’

Mr Pembroke stared at her, his head swaying slightly. ‘But … but you just …’

Eleanor pushed the glass into his unresisting hand. ‘You haven’t finished your drink, sir.’

He rubbed his eyes, forgetting about the glass in his hand. It slipped and smashed, slopping brandy all over his shirt. Eleanor let it fall and fetched another glass, pouring out yet another drink. She forced it into Mr Pembroke’s hand and lifted it to his mouth.

‘I should hate to think that I have displeased you, sir,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I should never look myself in the eye again. But, sir, I would like to remind you that I am not like the other servants at Granborough House. I am your ward. You are my guardian in the eyes of the law and you cannot dismiss me so easily.’

Mr Pembroke’s eyes were glassy. His tiny pupils flickered to her face, to the glass, to a point behind Eleanor’s shoulder. Still he drank, as greedily as a baby. The stink of urine, old brandy and sweat rolled off him in waves. How much of this he would remember, Eleanor could not say. But a strange kind of power seemed to have settled on her. She was still afraid of him, but now she wondered why she had ever listened to him.

She took the glass away and stepped back, just in case, but Mr Pembroke’s head slumped forward as she moved, his eyes unfocused. He mumbled something, and Eleanor started putting the decanter away.

‘I think perhaps you are a little the worse for drink, sir,’ Eleanor said, shutting the decanter back in the cupboard, ‘and you’ve let some silly ideas go to your head. I’m sure that now, you understand that there’s no need to pay them any attention. But of course, you knew that you were never in any danger from me. If you did not, why, you would not have let me pour you all those drinks.’

Mr Pembroke’s eyes slid in and out of focus. His hand twitched. He tried to speak. ‘You—’

Eleanor gave him a perfectly polite smile, triumph burning under her skin. She didn’t need the wishes. She might not be able to write her name in stars without them, but she could keep herself safe.

‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I think you’ll find that we won’t need to have this conversation again.’

The next morning, Eleanor told the others she was going to clean the library. After breakfast she clattered up the stairs with bucket and dusters while Daisy and Aoife were still rolling up their straw pallets – they were sleeping on the kitchen