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

‘Ask away, my dear.’

Eleanor fixed her eyes on a seam running down her skirt. ‘Why did you ask for my soul? What will you do with it?’

‘I shall treasure it,’ the black-eyed woman said, her voice carefully light. ‘I shall string it on a silken cord and wear it around my neck.’

‘But surely you must have a reason to want it.’

‘Indeed I do.’

‘Won’t you tell me?’

There was a sudden rattle in the fireplace. Eleanor flinched, but it was nothing; a piece of coal had rolled into the grate. When she looked back the black-eyed woman was still there. Her face was set and she remained motionless, but the light seemed dimmer and something cold prickled the back of Eleanor’s neck. Beyond the shriek of train whistles and the rattle of hansoms and carts, Eleanor could have sworn that she heard a low, soft rumbling.

The black-eyed woman leant forward. As she moved, all the shadows shifted. Strange shapes contorted on the walls. Sinuous darkness pooled behind the black-eyed woman’s skirts, crawled across the wallpaper, and curled around her feet.

She gave a grin. It had far too many teeth.

‘No,’ she said.

A door creaked – Bessie had come home. Suddenly, the black-eyed woman was gone. Eleanor was left sweating on the edge of her seat, her heart rattling as she stared at the empty sofa. The cushions were plump and unmarked. There was no sign that the woman had ever been there, apart from a lingering darkness at the corners of the room.

For a moment Eleanor stared into the shadows, half-wondering if she had imagined it. Then she, too, left the room, squeezing her hands very tightly to stop them from shaking.

When Eleanor first saw Mrs Cleary’s house she wondered if she had taken a wrong turn. With its wrought-iron gates, wide, sweeping walls and carefully laid-out garden she might have been back in Mayfair, or at one of the smaller railway termini. As Eleanor strode up the path, Bessie bobbing along behind her, the sound of the rain on leaves was something like applause. Bessie was eyeing the front door with undisguised greed. Panic jolted through Eleanor. The damage that Bessie could do if she were to talk to Mrs Cleary …

‘Why don’t you take the evening off?’ Eleanor said, trying to sound nonchalant.

‘Don’t need to tell me twice,’ said Bessie, taking off with the umbrella.

A footman answered the door and took Eleanor’s cloak. The butler showed her into the drawing room and Eleanor’s mouth nearly fell open.

She’d read about the palaces of Egyptian pashas, and all the glittering spoils they sent back to the courts of their sultans. It seemed as though they had all come here instead. Swathes of red velvet, glittering glass and gold, and gleaming porcelain. Slim dark tables, overstuffed sofas and knee-high ottomans crowded together like courtiers vying for a king’s attention. Ferns made green fans in all the corners, flowers spilled out of every vase and a large ornamental fish tank sprawled across the mantelpiece.

Mrs Cleary was waiting for her, sitting in a chair and leaning on her silver-topped cane. She was resplendent in a black silk evening dress and glittering with jet, one large black feather tucked into her grey hair. She extended a hand when she saw Eleanor, but did not get up.

‘Good evening, Mrs Cleary,’ said Eleanor, smiling at full capacity. ‘Thank you so much for the invitation, it is very kind of you to—’

Mrs Cleary waved Eleanor’s thanks away. ‘No need.’

‘Will we be a large party?’ Eleanor asked, trying not to look at the plain blue skirts of her best dress.

‘Just you and I. My companion, Miss Hill, is indisposed this evening.’ Mrs Cleary leant forward and patted Eleanor’s hand. ‘There’s no need to worry about your appearance, Miss Hartley. In a person of your age and class, simplicity of dress is entirely proper.’

Eleanor papered over the cracks in her smile. ‘I’m glad to hear you think so,’ she managed.

The butler materialized at the drawing-room door. Mrs Cleary looked expectantly at Eleanor, who helped her hostess out of her chair at once. ‘In the absence of any gentlemen, you will escort me into dinner,’ Mrs Cleary said, and Eleanor offered her arm. She wondered if this was how Charles felt, and missed him more than ever.

Eleanor led Mrs Cleary into the dining room. A constellation of candles made the regimented lines of cutlery sparkle, bathing the flowers on the table in golden light. Eleanor sat down, and tried to remember if Mrs Pembroke had said anything about using a fish-slice.

The food was so good it almost brought her to tears. There was oxtail soup, boiled haddock, roast mutton, pigeon pie, and several tureens of vegetables, all followed by rhubarb tart, a rainbow of moulded jellies and an enormous, cream-laden pudding that Eleanor wanted to jump into. She tried to eat carefully – there were so many things to try – but, surrounded by clouds of fragrant steam, glistening meats and vast bowls of cream waiting for a spoon, it was all she could do not to lick the plate.

Mrs Cleary laid aside her cutlery. At once, a footman appeared behind her chair, ready to pull it back. ‘Send some coffee through to the drawing room, Watkins, and do pass along my compliments to Mrs Allesley.’

‘Very good, ma’am.’

The footman pulled back Mrs Cleary’s chair and Eleanor started as another one did the same for her. He’d been so quiet, she hadn’t heard him approach. She offered her arm to Mrs Cleary, noting the glint of approval in the old woman’s eye, and led her back into the drawing room. A silver coffee pot and two china cups were already waiting there. Eleanor helped Mrs Cleary into a chair and poured her a cup of coffee.

‘I must say, Miss Hartley, you are not at all what I expected,’ said Mrs Cleary, fixing Eleanor with a look that pinned her to her chair. ‘There have been all kinds of rumours flying around about