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

through the crowds and was soon stepping into the whitewashed halls of the church.

It was quiet. Eleanor’s feet rang out over the scuffed flagstones as she passed rows of shiny pews. A vast organ hulked over one end of the church, and a musicians’ gallery ran along the west wall. Eleanor looked around. A woman was praying in one of the pews and the reverend was speaking in a low, earnest voice to a blushing young couple. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting for her.

A soft knock came from the gallery. The reverend looked up, then turned back to the couple. Eleanor hurried over to the stairs and climbed to the gallery. Of course the informant would not want to be seen, she chided herself.

Waiting at the top of the gallery stairs was Charles.

She froze, one foot on the final step. The world seemed to shrink down to a point. Eleanor forgot Mrs Cleary, the rumours swirling around her, the Inspector’s growing suspicion. In that moment there was only the fresh spring sunlight gilding Charles’s hair, the gentle brush of his fingers on her cheek, and his smile, brimming over with joy.

He cupped her face in his hands. ‘Eleanor,’ he murmured, ‘it’s you.’

Tears sparkled in his eyes. How could she have ever forgotten how blue they were? Memory could never do justice to that shade.

Someone coughed in the church below. Charles cast a furtive glance over the edge of the gallery, shuffled two steps to the left, and kissed Eleanor hungrily. Out of sight, he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. She tugged on the lapels of his jacket, kissing him fiercely. She never wanted to let him go.

They broke apart, breathless. Charles seized her hand, kissed it, and led her away from the stairs.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered.

‘Father called me back for the Season,’ he explained. ‘He’s trying to arrange my marriage.’

Eleanor pulled her hand away, her pride smarting. ‘Then you shouldn’t even be here.’

‘On the contrary. This is exactly where I should be.’

She blushed. Charles grinned at her, and took her hand again.

‘I knew I could put the roses back in your cheeks. But you look pale, Eleanor. I read about that awful business with Mrs Cleary and I had to see you. You must be distraught.’

It was hard to feel distraught with Charles holding her hand. With him by her side, she doubted she would ever feel unhappy again. She told him what had happened since they parted, and as she spoke she could not take her eyes from his face. She wanted to commit every detail to memory.

‘I never should have let Father send me away,’ he muttered. ‘I only agreed because I thought it would be best for you. To think you’ve had to bear such burdens alone!’

‘And I shall keep on bearing them alone, if you are married.’

She tried to pull her hands away, but Charles held them fast. ‘Father can make what plans he likes. I shan’t marry anyone but you, Eleanor. I see no reason why we can’t go to Gretna Green as we planned. Only this time, I shall be far more careful.’

Eleanor could barely believe it. After all her months of longing Charles was back, holding her hands and saying everything she’d dreamed he would. His words had set something in her alight; she could feel it glowing under her skin.

‘We’ll have to be discreet,’ Charles was saying. ‘Father mustn’t suspect a thing. When I have the money I’ll tell him I’m visiting a friend; you must follow. He needn’t know anything about it until we return as man and wife.’

Even as she smiled – man and wife – doubt dimmed her joy. Mr Pembroke could still have the marriage annulled; he was her guardian, and she would need his permission for the marriage to be valid. Worse, he could have Charles declared mad and thrown into the asylum. It happened in novels all the time. And even if he didn’t separate them, could she really move back into Granborough House? Watching Mr Pembroke spend her money would be bad enough. Could she really go back into that house, and put her neck into that noose once again?

‘I must go,’ Charles whispered, ‘but I’ll be back soon. Very soon, Eleanor.’

He kissed her again, and left. Eleanor watched him go, and prayed that he was right to be so hopeful.

Eleanor paced around her drawing room, her mind writhing with plans.

She’d been through everything she owned, looking for things to sell. The fine dresses Mrs Cleary had given her would fetch a good price, but she could not sell them all: no one would believe she was Charles’s wife if she dressed like a housemaid. The furniture technically belonged to Mr Pembroke – if he realized she’d sold it he could charge her with theft. Everything Mrs Cleary had left her was technically under Mr Pembroke’s guardianship; if Eleanor sold anything, he could contest it. That left nothing but a few odds and ends: a collection of hatpins, a few books, and an old hat she thought might go for a shilling with a few trimmings added to it. Not nearly enough for a train ticket to Gretna Green, and the three weeks they would need to stay there before they married.

Eleanor slumped into a chair. It was galling that she was an heiress and could not touch her own money. She’d been to the bank and they’d told her that if she wanted to withdraw money, she’d have to present proof of her guardian’s permission. Then the clerk had patted her hand and told her not to fret; money would spoil her, and her guardian was acting in her best interests. Eleanor left with her hands balled into fists.

Once again, Mr Pembroke was standing in her way.

In truth, she did not want to go to Gretna Green. Why should she and Charles run off into the night as if their marriage was something shameful?