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

ought to have been pleased. Being Felicity’s maid had benefits. She ate better, she had new clothes for the first time in years, and she was earning more than double what she’d made as a housemaid. A better person would’ve been grateful. But all her comforts had been bought by Aoife’s isolation, and every time she tried to enjoy them an undercurrent of guilt tugged at Eleanor’s thoughts.

And then, there was Felicity.

Every evening, Felicity went into her dressing room and counted her possessions. She had a small green notebook that she carried everywhere, and every time she bought something new she added the details to her inventory. During her nightly inspection of the dressing room, she would tick it off the list, and did the same every morning.

This was because the floor of Felicity’s dressing room was where Eleanor slept.

The notebook wasn’t just to prevent Eleanor stealing Felicity’s jewels. Felicity would inspect the quality of everything and list the trimmings she wanted for every hat and dress. If Eleanor hadn’t completed the alterations by the morning count Felicity would dock her pay.

Eleanor would have given her right eye to watch that notebook burn.

She opened Felicity’s cavernous wardrobe and took out a dress in Paris green ringed with endless flounces, to be trimmed with gold braid. Eleanor would never have chosen something like that – it was far too ostentatious, and the dye was giving her a headache – but she couldn’t resist holding it up against herself in the mirror. Eleanor sighed. She would’ve looked like a wood sprite in that dress, emerging glittering from between the trees.

Eleanor set to work. As she sewed, she thought about her wishes.

They hung over her head like stars, casting a sinister glow over everything she touched. This dress could be hers, this coat, this hat. All she needed to do was wish for it. She wouldn’t have to imagine Felicity’s notebook alight – she could make it happen, and watch her scream and singe her skirts. But if she did, someone would die. At six o’clock in the morning and with her stomach feeling empty enough to cave in on itself, she might have risked her own soul, but all the hunger and tiredness in the world would not make her risk someone else’s life as well.

She finished trimming the first flounce and started on the next. The first light of dawn crept under the door. Eleanor would have an hour, maybe two, before Felicity got up.

Eleanor knew what she would wish for if she could guarantee no one would get hurt. She’d wanted it since the moment she saw Mrs Pembroke, smiling and secure in her fine house. As a wealthy society lady, Eleanor could see the world, keep poverty and sickness from her door, and no man would ever dream of raising a hand to her.

But from what she could work out with her past experience of the wishes, it would not be so simple. She could wish to be a lady and find herself married to a man like Mr Pembroke. Her wish would have come true, but she would be unhappy. She could wish to be rich, but she still might not find herself wealthy. Mr Pembroke was officially her guardian and controlled all of her money until she was twenty-one. It was simple enough now, because she didn’t have any, but if she wished for riches he would find a way to spend them.

She bit off the thread and started on the next flounce.

Planning out her wishes was doing her no good, she told herself. She wasn’t going to make any more, not when they would kill someone with a word. The risk to her soul wasn’t worth the gain. Better to think of another way out. Her situation had improved. She was away from Mr Pembroke, earning better wages and eating better food. Perhaps away from the tension of Granborough House, she could come up with something. Felicity was the only drawback, but perhaps in time she would soften.

Felicity showed no signs of softening as she threw open the dressing-room door later that morning. She spread out the skirts of the green dress, turning it this way and that, her eyes flickering to a grey dress as straight and severe as a workhouse pinafore in her wardrobe. Her mouth tightened every time she looked at it.

She let the green dress fall back into the wardrobe and plucked at the grey. ‘Dispose of this old rag, Hartley. It isn’t fit for a pauper. Bring my hairpins.’

Felicity dressed carefully that morning. She cycled through four dresses – peacock blue, mauve and olive, canary yellow and rhubarb pink – before she settled on a striped red-and-white walking dress. Eleanor laced her in and out of so many bodices that her fingers were numb. Next came Felicity’s jewels. Fat rubies, sparkling diamonds and glowing pearls tumbled through Eleanor’s hands, snake-cold and rattling. Then Eleanor dressed Felicity’s hair, leaving her fingertips sticky with bandoline. Hairpins skittered through her fingers. One of them caught on the back of Felicity’s head and she let out a hiss of pain.

Felicity went to the mirror and examined herself. She patted her pale hair, smoothed her skirts, stroked the glassy surface of her jewels. Eleanor washed the bandoline off her hands and tried not to think of candy canes.

Felicity beckoned her over. ‘Roll up your sleeve, Hartley, and hold out your arm.’

Eleanor did as she was told. Felicity leant forward, grabbed her arm in both hands and twisted. Pain sparked across Eleanor’s skin.

‘Have a care with those pins,’ Felicity said, shoving Eleanor away. Eleanor stumbled backwards, her arm raw and smarting. She gritted her teeth and apologized, willing away the tears filling her eyes. She should’ve stuck the pin in harder.

Felicity turned back to the mirror. ‘Make yourself presentable.’

Eleanor rolled down her sleeve, trying not to touch her stinging arm. ‘Yes, miss.’

The smell of horse manure and rain oozed through the open window of the hansom, but