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

Eleanor almost choked on her coffee. ‘There have?’

‘Of course there have!’ said Mrs Cleary. ‘You all but vanished after dear Emmeline died. People are saying you went into service.’

Eleanor thought fast. She couldn’t tell an outright lie; if Mrs Cleary had heard rumours about her, she could still find out the truth. But the tone was clear: a former housemaid was not suitable company for the illustrious Mrs Cleary.

‘I can see how people might have thought that,’ Eleanor mused, keeping her expression neutral, ‘but that’s not strictly true. My circumstances were reduced, but not quite so much. Mr Pembroke allowed me to continue my studies on the understanding that I would become a governess.’

Mrs Cleary nodded. ‘Of course I knew such a thing could not be true. You have the manners of a lady; those would not last below stairs!’

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. People rarely asked after governesses; they were far too respectable to be interesting.

‘But you must tell me how you came to this neighbourhood, alone?’ Mrs Cleary continued, the gleam coming back into her eyes. ‘I had heard there was a young man …’

Eleanor thought of Charles and felt herself going scarlet. ‘Goodness,’ she said, making sure she was sitting up straight, so that Mrs Cleary could see she was not carrying a child. ‘Why should anyone think that?’

She could not tell if the old woman was relieved or disappointed. Either way she leant forward and patted Eleanor on the knee. ‘Miss Hartley, such rumours will always follow a pretty young girl. You must pay them no mind. Comport yourself with dignity and modesty and everyone will see that they are not true.’

Eleanor put on her best relieved face. ‘Thank you, Mrs Cleary. I must say, I sorely feel the need for guidance. I’m quite terrified of making a misstep, now that I no longer have Mrs Pembroke’s example to follow. I don’t suppose you have any daughters that I might write to, so that I may ask their advice?’

Mrs Cleary gave her a tight little smile. ‘I’m afraid I have no children living.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Eleanor said, laying down her china cup.

‘But if you require any advice, Miss Hartley, you must come to me. I can see that you would benefit from the counsel of a woman of my experience.’

Triumph burned in Eleanor’s chest. This was exactly what she had been hoping for. ‘That is most kind of you, Mrs Cleary,’ she said, an angelic smile on her face.

March brought out the street-sellers like spring birds. Under watery sunlight, they trundled hot-potato carts down the street, lugged buckets of milk onto doorsteps and brandished posies at passers-by. They crowded around the entrance to Victoria Station, snatching at Eleanor’s elbow as she passed. A ticket-seller tried to persuade her to take a box at the Variety for a week. A pockmarked boy of thirteen offered to take her on a tour of the sights of London, stuttering and blushing as he spoke. A man with a flower tucked into his buttonhole attempted to steer her into a side-street; Eleanor stamped on his foot and marched off towards Mayfair, seething with her head held high.

In a certain light Eleanor could see Granborough House the way it had once been. A spring wind twitched apart the clouds, and when the light fell on its walls she might have been thrown back into the past. The stone gleamed, the railings shone. She allowed herself to imagine a liveried footman opening the door and calling her ‘Miss Eleanor’ as he welcomed her home. But after the first flash of light the water-marks at every window looked like tear-tracks and all the sooty marks stood sharp against the pale stone.

Charles was not there.

Eleanor had circled the house until she was in front of his window, careful to keep a safe distance from the doors. It was closed, and so she knew he could not be there; he always had his window open during the day. Where was he? Had he been sent away? He must have been. Mr Pembroke had already tried it once before.

Thinking of Charles was like standing in the eye of a storm; staying perfectly still and calm was the only way to avoid being torn apart. She missed him so much that she could only think of him at a distance. Move closer – allow herself to remember the blue of his eyes, the feel of his arms around her, the way he held her hand – and all the things she had lost would crowd around her, doubt shredding all her hopes. She had loved him so much – she still did, even though it hurt to admit it. Surely he had not forgotten her.

She stalked back to the front of the house again, peering up at the drawing room, the library, the dining room. Their windows were dark. Perhaps she should leave some sign, to let him know that she had been there when he returned – her shawl, tied to the branch of a tree? No. It was the first thing he had ever given her; she could not part with it.

She made herself look for Leah instead. She’d paid for the train fare, she may as well use the time. And perhaps when she was done, Charles would have returned.

Eleanor found the soup-seller, but she hadn’t seen Leah since the New Year. Next, Eleanor called at every shop with a description of Leah, and asked if they’d seen her begging or sleeping in their doorway. None of the assistants remembered her. Eleanor swallowed her pride and visited the tradesmen’s entrance of every residence on the street. No luck there. The other servants recognized her as Granborough House’s latest disgrace, and shut the door in her face.

The sun was nearly setting. She’d spent the whole day surveying the street, and what did she have to show for it? Sore feet, a filthy hem, and disappointment that hung on her like Marley’s chains.

When Eleanor visited