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

woman had promised was true. It wasn’t a dream, she could have anything she wanted, she could leave Granborough House …

The future burst into life before her. She could be a lady, just as she’d once hoped. She would have servants, and a feather bed, and she could gorge herself until she was fat and happy. She would stand on Juliet’s balcony, tour the palace of Versailles, climb through the ruins of Pompeii – and when she did, people would say ‘Right this way, Miss Hartley’, and beg for the privilege of carrying her bags. She would reshape her life into a glorious, shining jewel, and all who saw it would envy her …

But if the wishes were real, then so was the price she had paid.

Her soul was no longer her own.

She had already made one wish. It was too late now. She was already changed – but how? What had she done to herself? Unconsciously, her hand drifted up to her face; she stared at her palm, her breath coming sharp and fast. She still looked the same. She still felt the same – but no, she didn’t. She felt like the top of her head had been sliced off and all the secrets of the universe had been tipped straight into her skull.

What had she done?

Eleanor forced herself to calm down. Of course she didn’t feel the same. Things weren’t the same – Leah had been forced out, Mr Pembroke was already circling Eleanor and she’d found out that magic was real, it was real, and she was the only one who knew. But, she thought, what would she be when the shock finally began to fade? Would she be herself still, or would she be a sharper, crueller thing? Or would she finally be able to see the world with clear eyes, the only person who could see its secret heart?

Last night, the black-eyed woman had said she would not take her soul until Eleanor had made her final wish. Perhaps it was not too late. She had six wishes left – no, five. She must never use the last wish: her soul was hers, and hers alone. Only now, Eleanor was one step closer to losing it.

Eleanor clutched at the slippers. Despite what she’d done, she could not contain her happiness. They were smooth and soft under her rough fingers, and even the feel of them made her grin.

She had a way out – not just for her, but for Aoife, too. But it was a door she could only go through carefully. She must plan out her wishes like a general moving troops across a battlefield; one wrong move and there would be blood. But she had a way out, she had it, after all these years she had it. Everything she’d dreamed of was within her grasp. All she had to do now was reach out and take it.

Eleanor hugged the shoes to her chest, the light of her secret shining under her skin.

Eleanor drifted down the servants’ staircase and into the kitchen, all her thoughts alight. The shoes were bundled up in a torn petticoat and shoved into an old suitcase which she’d slid behind her chest of drawers. No one was going to take them from her.

She raked through the ashes and lit the kitchen range, and distractedly smacked her hand on the hard iron door. It stung, and three little scratches on the side of her hand opened up and began to bleed. Eleanor barely noticed. It was hard to make herself care about something so trivial when this could be the last time she ever lit the kitchen fire.

She straightened up, staring around the wide stone kitchen. This could be the last time she slid across the stone floors, sat at the rickety wooden chairs, stared out of the narrow street-level window set high into the wall. No more bending to rummage through the cleaning cupboard, no more lugging around her housemaid’s box, no more choking on dust in the wine cellar. She would rise above it all, straight-backed and proud, and everyone would smile to see her restored to her proper place again.

Lizzie tried to goad her over breakfast; Eleanor barely heard it. What did she need twenty-five pounds for, when she could wish for all the money in the world? Mrs Fielding snapped at her for wasting her time the night before; Eleanor let the words wash over her. She had no need to listen to Mrs Fielding when she could use the wishes to catapult herself back to the height of Society. Mrs Banbury took her aside, and gently asked if there was anything wrong; Eleanor beamed at her, so brightly that the cook stepped back. Nothing could be wrong when Eleanor could make everything right.

When they had finished breakfast, Mrs Fielding gathered them all around the kitchen table and told them she had an announcement. Through a giddy haze, Eleanor heard that Charles would be returning home. His things were being sent ahead, and they were to prepare the house for his arrival. That punctured Eleanor’s reverie. The last time she had seen Charles was at Mrs Pembroke’s funeral, over three years ago. Actually, ‘seen’ was not quite true. Eleanor had not been allowed to attend the funeral – she had still been considered a young lady, then, and it would not have been proper for her to attend. She had been stuck in her old bedroom instead, weeping into a pillow for most of the morning. At three o’clock the front door had banged open and Charles and his father had stormed in, shouting at each other before the footman could get the door closed. Eleanor could not hear what they were saying – the echoes made it difficult to discern the words – but before long a pair of angry feet were stomping along the corridor and another door slammed.

Eleanor had wiped her eyes and counted to one hundred, wanting to be sure