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

thought to her future – to the wishes, and to her and Charles’s plan to elope to Gretna Green. If she could not be rid of the wishes, Eleanor would be watching her language for the rest of her life: speaking an idle fancy aloud could kill someone. That shadow would hang over her until the day she died – but that might be easier to bear when she and Charles were married. She’d have to forge another reference for Aoife before they went to Scotland. Eleanor’s threats against Mr Pembroke had worked, but they only worked because Eleanor was still here. If she left, she would take his self-restraint with her.

Out loud, she said, ‘No, Mrs Fielding.’

Mrs Fielding pursed her lips. ‘I find that most unlikely. You’re seventeen years old. That’s the age a girl starts to wonder what the future may hold. Husbands, and so on.’

Eleanor went still. Husbands? Did she know about Charles? She must have seen something. Had she heard footsteps along the corridors after the servants had gone to bed, and crept up the stairs to see?

‘But, Ella, these things are not as simple as they seem. You must keep your wits about you. Gentlemen will say all sorts of things to turn a girl’s head. I know that you were close with Leah and I must warn you not to follow such a poor example. The virtuous thing is not to listen, but to hold true.’

Eleanor kept her face blank. It was something she had become very good at, after three years of service. But she knew that Mrs Fielding, who had been managing housemaids for decades, could see the shutters coming down behind her eyes.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Mrs Fielding rubbed the scar on her neck. It was a wobbly curve about two inches long, wider at each end, and with intermittent pits and ridges running along its length.

Teeth marks.

But it couldn’t be her teeth marks, no matter what Lizzie had said. Even as a child Eleanor never would’ve dared to bite the housekeeper, and if she had she’d certainly remember doing it. Mrs Fielding’s hand flattened against the scar. She twisted slightly, as if she was ready to back away.

Eleanor looked away. No. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. She hadn’t done it.

‘We were speaking of your future,’ Mrs Fielding said. Her voice was too loud.

‘As I’ve said, Mrs Fielding, I’m afraid I haven’t—’

Mrs Fielding held up a hand. ‘I know this is not what you wanted. You’ve made no secret of that. Had Miss Darling been a better fit, things might have turned out very differently, and not a one of us would have begrudged you for it. You’ve never been happy here, have you?’

Eleanor squirmed.

‘But … you’re young, Ella. You’ve yet to learn the value of patience. And Master Charles … he’s a good boy, but with his mother gone he has only his father’s example to follow. He’s four years older than you, and has seen a good deal more of the world – and all the worldly things in it.’

‘Mrs Fielding, I—’

‘Did he buy you that shawl?’

Eleanor swallowed. ‘He gave me a small sum as a token of his appreciation after I helped him with his letters. I got it second-hand, with my wages from Miss Darling.’

Mrs Fielding pursed her lips again and fell quiet. As soon as Eleanor opened the package she’d known she would need an excuse. Charles had been favouring her, anyone could tell.

Eleanor leant forward. ‘Mrs Fielding, I shall certainly think on what you’ve said. But I would like to reassure you that Master Charles has never behaved improperly with me, nor I with him.’

Relief swept over Mrs Fielding’s face. ‘You may go.’

Eleanor stood up. She couldn’t seem guilty. After all, she’d done nothing wrong. She hadn’t bitten Mrs Fielding and her relationship with Charles would soon be thoroughly above board. No one would care how they met when they were married.

Eleanor left the housekeeper’s rooms, knowing that Mrs Fielding was watching her go. She kept her back straight and forced herself not to falter. How much did Mrs Fielding know?

The church had been cold enough to make Eleanor’s breath mist in the air, but outside was worse. For once, the maids were left alone: Mrs Kettering’s son had returned from India with his new wife, and half the parishioners were interrogating the poor woman. Charles fended off the rest of the congregation – gossips and eager mothers with blushing daughters in tow. Watching Charles be introduced to girls bundled up in sleek furs and velvet capes made Eleanor more conscious than ever of her rough hands and darned clothes. Would he really marry her, when London was full of so many pretty girls?

‘Come along,’ Mrs Fielding said, when he was still failing to extricate himself from a knot of parishioners, ‘the Sunday dinner must be prepared.’

They went home, shivering through the streets. Eleanor ached all over and there was so much ice underfoot that she slid along the pavements. She saw her own reflection staring out of a sheet of brown ice and wondered, blushing, if this meant the man behind her could see up her skirts. He’d be disappointed. She was wearing so many layers he’d be lucky if he saw the tip of her boot. When she looked up, she realized she’d lost the others – she’d been going so slowly that she hadn’t noticed how far ahead they’d gone.

A fug of coffee, soup and smoke hung in the air and made her gag. Horses steamed in the street and beggars sidled up to them for warmth. She saw a chimney sweep and envied his coating of soot – there was so much of it, it looked as if it kept out the chill.

She was about to head back when she heard a voice.

‘Ella?’

The woman standing in front of her was distorted. Every spare ounce of flesh had been scraped away by hunger, apart from her belly, which was