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

Pembroke’s death. I hope I did not distress you on my last visit.’

‘Not at all, Inspector. I quite understand. It must be so difficult to deal with such tragic circumstances.’

He opened his notebook. ‘And now, if you please, I should like an account of your whereabouts on the twenty-seventh to the twenty-eighth of April.’

The twenty-seventh was the day that she’d been to the church in Soho: the night she’d made her sixth wish. Eleanor was ready. She had practised in front of the mirror at her dressing table, smoothing her voice and her face into blandness as she’d spoken.

‘Well,’ Eleanor began, ‘I got up at about eight, attended to some business matters and household tasks in the morning, and then went into town in the afternoon. I came back at about six o’clock but went straight to bed, not feeling well. The next day was much the same, only I didn’t go into town.’

The Inspector was still writing it down. ‘And can anyone confirm your movements?’

Too late, Eleanor remembered Bessie. She’d heard Eleanor coming back home in the middle of the night. Where had she been? Eleanor couldn’t remember. There’d been money missing from her purse – had she taken a cab, or a train? Had she been robbed? Eleanor fought to keep her face blank. Why couldn’t she remember?

‘I still have the ticket stubs upstairs, if you’d like to see them,’ Eleanor said.

‘What about your maid?’

‘I’m afraid she’s out. I can send her down to the station when she returns, she’ll find her way.’

The Inspector looked at her for a long time. There was a flash of grey at his temples, his face half-hidden in a mass of lines. His expression was unreadable.

‘Forgive me, Miss Hartley,’ he said, ‘but I am surprised that you have gone into mourning for Mr Pembroke. To be blunt, I had not thought you cared for him.’

Eleanor hesitated, and realized that in hesitating, she had given him all the answer that he needed. She blushed.

‘I care for Charles,’ she said. ‘I mourn for his sake.’

‘That is one benefit to this sad affair. I understand you were planning to elope; now you may be married without opposition.’

Each word was empty of insinuation, placed with all the care of a chess master lining up his pawns. He was not writing now, just watching her, and as he did so the black-eyed woman materialized behind his chair. She peered over his shoulder and read the notebook, then looked up at Eleanor and tutted.

The Inspector followed her eyes. He turned and looked right at the black-eyed woman – no, right through her, because he was looking around the room for the thing that had caught her eye.

Eleanor gave herself a little shake and forced herself to ignore the black-eyed woman. He’d think Eleanor was mad, if he saw her jumping and starting at nothing.

‘It is very kind of you to see the good in this, Inspector,’ Eleanor said. ‘I shall take comfort from it.’

He made another note, and said nothing.

Charles returned a few days later, with armfuls of roses. With clouds of colour around his face, petals drifting gently downwards, he looked like a tree shedding brightly coloured leaves. Still smarting from the news about Mr Pembroke, Eleanor stared resolutely at the dress she was mending.

‘I’ve brought you flowers,’ Charles said.

She kept her eyes on her sewing and a hold on her temper. ‘So I see.’

‘There’s red ones, for passion. White is for innocence, or perhaps charm. Pink is … grace, I believe? And there are others, too. When one puts them together, they mean “you are everything to me”.’

Eleanor did not look up. ‘Is there anything in there that would do for an apology?’

He shifted. ‘That’s hyacinths. I … I thought that might look odd.’

She went back to her sewing.

‘Eleanor, I—’

‘Were you ever going to tell me what happened to your father?’

The flowers drooped. She wanted to smack them out of his hands.

There was a tightness in his voice when he spoke. ‘I know I should have told you. I’m sorry.’

Eleanor sighed and laid aside her sewing. ‘I hope you don’t intend to make a habit of this. I don’t care to find out all your news from a police officer.’

‘I imagine not. Was he civil to you, when you met?’

‘Civil enough. He’s rather stern, isn’t he?’

He gave her a small smile. ‘Good Lord, yes.’ Charles set down his flowers on a table and perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘I really am sorry, Eleanor,’ he said again.

She felt a twinge of pity and kissed his pale cheek. ‘I know.’

‘I have something else for you,’ he said, putting his hand into his pocket. ‘The Inspector asked about you and when I mentioned our plans to elope it occurred to me how silly they were.’

He drew out a small box. There was a sapphire ring inside: Mrs Pembroke’s ring. Charles had risked so much for this ring – Mr Pembroke had all but thrown him out when he’d first tried to take it. Now, it was finally Eleanor’s. It had been a long and bloody journey but, at last, she had carved out a place at his side.

Charles slid it onto her finger. ‘Much better to do it properly,’ he said. ‘You’ve been such a comfort to me, Eleanor – the one constant thing in this horrible affair. You deserve something better than an elopement.’

Her hands must have been unbalanced before; the weight of Charles’s ring on one hand made them feel so right. Warmth spread through Eleanor like a sunrise. Finally, she could set her past behind her. There would be no more wishes. She already had everything she needed. Now she could start to put things right. With Charles by her side, there would be nothing she could not accomplish.

She kissed him, happiness burning through her like wildfire.

Charles’s ring transformed her from a friendless waif to a girl who was going to be a princess.

All the doors had flown open. Her neighbours finally came to