The Shadow in the Glass by JJA Harwood (any book recommendations txt) 📕

‘You’re not,’ said Aoife. She picked up the scoop from the fireplace and wiped the flat side on her apron. ‘It’s a bit mucky, but it’ll do.’

Eleanor pressed the cool metal against her cheek. It stung, but soon the throbbing subsided. ‘Thank you.’

Aoife bit her lip, her eyes wide and troubled. ‘Was it Lizzie? I saw her tearing up the stairs after she had that row.’

Eleanor nodded.

‘But it weren’t even your fault! Speak to Mrs Fielding, she—’

‘She didn’t see any of it,’ Eleanor said, suddenly weary, ‘and Lizzie’s been here since she was fifteen. It’d be her word against mine.’

‘I’ll speak for you!’

‘You didn’t see any of it either, Aoife.’

‘But it’s not fair!’

Surrounded by bookcases towering over her head, Aoife looked tiny. The sunlight picked out all the freckles on her face and shone on the curve of her cheek, still quite round. She had never looked more like a child.

Eleanor tried to smile. ‘I’ll be all right. Just give me all the heavy tasks for a few months. Then I shall be as strong as she is, and she won’t dare touch me.’

Aoife gave a little laugh. ‘Daisy says she cracked her one before she was made head housemaid, and Lizzie’s never bothered her since.’

‘There! One good hit is all I need.’

‘Anyway, she’ll not try it again any time soon. Mrs Fielding docked her pay for rowing with her young man. She’ll mind her ways now, or she’ll be dismissed.’

Eleanor did not correct her. Mrs Fielding wouldn’t do anything. It would take months to replace a maid as experienced as Lizzie. Mr Pembroke had made a name for himself below stairs as the worst lecher in London, and the pay was nowhere near high enough for a sensible maid to overlook that. Besides, Lizzie could do far worse than hit her. The realization coiled around Eleanor like a snake. She had already done it to Leah, and she would do it to Aoife after Eleanor had gone.

‘Here,’ Aoife said, ‘Lizzie’s gone to pick up the laundry now. Come down to the kitchen and see if Mrs Banbury can spare you something sweet.’

They left the library, Eleanor’s legs still a little unsteady. She flinched at the creaking of every step.

Eleanor had the last slice of the day to herself.

Mrs Banbury took one look at Eleanor’s smarting cheek and handed her a piece of honeycomb. Eleanor broke off a piece for Aoife and ate it at the kitchen table. Daisy tutted sympathetically and tapped her temple while she was chopping potatoes.

‘Aim there,’ she said, ‘one good smack’ll do it.’

All eyes turned to Mrs Banbury. The cook said nothing.

When she’d finished the honeycomb Eleanor went up to the third floor to turn down the bedrooms. With Charles away, Mr Pembroke’s was the only one still in use. Eleanor listened at the door of the master bedroom, heart stuttering against her ribcage, before she went inside.

It was empty, apart from Mr Pembroke’s pet canary, which chirruped and fluttered against the bars of its large, ornate cage as she came in. A little of the tension eased out of her. She remade the bed in a tangle of flapping sheets, flicked a cloth over the floor of the birdcage, crammed his shirts back into the clothes press and shoved his cravats back into their drawer. There were a few letters from Charles on his pillow, all with European postmarks, but she didn’t dare stay to read them, although at the sight of Charles’s familiar, rounded handwriting she was tempted. Her fear had lost its edge, but after Lizzie’s threats just being in Mr Pembroke’s room was enough to make her skin crawl.

She bolted out of the door as soon as she was finished and made for the servants’ stairs. She clattered back down into the kitchen as all the servants but Lizzie were digging into slices of cold tongue and potatoes.

‘You got that done just in time,’ said Daisy, loading up a plate for Eleanor. ‘His Nibs has almost finished his tea.’

Mrs Fielding laid down her knife and fork. ‘You are speaking about the master of this house, Daisy. Show some respect!’

Mrs Banbury pointed her fork across the table. ‘Daisy’s a kitchen maid, Bertha. You leave her discipline to me.’

Mrs Fielding sniffed. ‘Well, my girls wouldn’t dare speak about the master in such a way.’

Eleanor stopped up her mouth with a large piece of potato before she said anything she’d regret. She ate quickly; Lizzie was serving Mr Pembroke’s dinner and she wanted to be well out of the way by the time it was done. Eleanor’s stomach churned. Even now, Lizzie would be pouring Mr Pembroke’s wine and painting Eleanor’s character in shades of scarlet. She could just imagine it. ‘Ella, sir? She’s turned out very fast …’

Eleanor pushed her plate away and rushed up the servants’ staircase. It was bare and narrow and cheaply furnished, like the rest of the servants’ quarters, but here, she was safe. Mr Pembroke was a gentleman; he would not follow her through the green baize door. Between the staircase, the kitchen, and the servants’ dormitories in the attic, she could disappear into a cheaply plastered warren quicker than a rabbit.

Lizzie, however, was another matter.

A footstep creaked on the staircase below. Eleanor glanced over her shoulder. The door to the first-floor landing was opening, and Eleanor could already see Lizzie’s shadow, laden with dishes. Before Lizzie could spot her, Eleanor darted through the door to the third-floor landing.

She stopped. The third floor held all the bedrooms, and Eleanor was outside the one that had been hers. Eleanor stared at it. She tried to tell herself she was listening for more footsteps, but all she could hear was Mrs Pembroke’s voice saying, ‘And this will be your room, Eleanor, dear’; all she could see was Mrs Pembroke’s long-fingered hand turning the handle, a sapphire ring winking on her finger.

And what a room it had been! Eleanor couldn’t remember much about the house she had lived in before