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

Tentatively, she knocked on the open door. ‘Sir?’

He whirled around. His brown hair was dishevelled, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was blotchy from crying. He was standing by the birdcage, and cupped in his large hands was a small, yellow body, its head at an unnatural angle.

‘Get out of my sight,’ he rasped. ‘Get out!’

Aoife bolted. Eleanor followed her, and the two of them hid in Charles’s room, not moving, until the sound of Mr Pembroke lurching down the stairs echoed back up to them.

Eleanor leant against the door, breathing hard. Aoife came closer, her eyes huge with worry.

‘Was that …’

Eleanor nodded.

Aoife put a hand over her mouth. ‘That poor little bird.’

Eleanor tried to feel sorry for Mr Pembroke. But even if she screwed up her compassion and wrung out the last drops, she could not do it. The little canary had been blameless, of course, and she was sorry that it was dead. It had been a pretty thing, and listening to it sing had made cleaning Mr Pembroke’s bedroom far more bearable. But when she thought of Mr Pembroke, and what he had done to Leah, she could not feel anything at the sight of his tears. He had taken too much from too many for her to want to spare him any loss.

‘Yes,’ said Eleanor, ‘that poor bird.’

Eleanor sat in the dining room, the Pembroke family silver laid out in front of her. It winked and flashed as she worked the dirt free from the crests. Set against the gleaming, dark table, they looked like stars aligning themselves into constellations of her own making. She tilted a knife and a couple of spoons until she’d made Ursa Major. She’d seen it in a book once, and had spent the next few nights staring out of her attic window, looking for a shape of a bear in the stars. All she’d seen were streetlights that turned the chimney smoke orange.

Of course, she could make her own constellations now. She could write her name in stars, line up the planets from red to blue, or drag them closer to the Earth so that she could see their colours better. Now that she had the wishes, she could do anything.

Her hand cramped and a fork clattered to the floor. She left it there, massaging the sore spot in her palm.

Not that she would drag the planets around, of course. She had only six wishes left – no, five, she reminded herself, because she could not use the last wish if she wanted to keep her soul – and it would be silly to waste one on something as frivolous as that. She needed to plan carefully if she was going to make her dreams come true.

She was going to make herself a lady. She could whisk her friends away from Granborough House. She’d never have to even look at another scrubbing brush. She could travel the world, just like Charles did, and leave a string of broken hearts behind her. She might not even need the wishes after that.

The door opened, and Mr Pembroke came in.

Eleanor jumped to her feet, forks clattering across the floor. She stepped back, desperate to have something in between them. Mr Pembroke closed the door behind him, his hand slipping off the doorknob. Sunlight flared across his face, showing up all the glistening sweat. He squinted into the light as he looked at her, the hand shielding his eyes casting long, deep shadows across his pale cheeks.

‘Why, Ella,’ he said, his voice mild, ‘I hope I didn’t startle you.’

Eleanor was already scrabbling for a response that he couldn’t twist when she remembered that she didn’t need one. She had the wishes now. She could say what she liked, and if he tried to punish her it would slide right off her, like rainwater on a window pane. The knowledge was like strapping on armour, or picking up a sword. Still, she reasoned, better not to speak her mind yet. The last wish had taken a while to work, and a man like Mr Pembroke could do a lot of damage with a little delay.

She retreated behind a blank, chilly politeness that she could wear like a mask. ‘May I help you, sir?’

He gave her an insidious smile. ‘I daresay you can. Do sit down. Now, Ella, certain rumours about your character have been brought to my attention …’

A prickle of fear ran through Eleanor. Lizzie had started work already. Well, Lizzie could say what she liked. Soon Eleanor would be so far above her that she wouldn’t even notice what Lizzie thought.

‘Rumours, sir? May I ask where you heard them?’

Mr Pembroke waved a hand. ‘Oh, the details of such things are not important, I assure you …’

‘I believe they are,’ Eleanor insisted, hating how small her voice sounded. ‘If you will excuse me, I am going to fetch Mrs Fielding. I should like to have her support in this matter.’

His smile faltered. ‘Come now, Ella, there’s no need. Mrs Fielding is a very busy woman. I’m sure that we can come to an arrangement between ourselves …’

It was already starting. She knew exactly what kind of ‘arrangement’ he had in mind. Fear churned through her. She had to get someone else in the room. ‘On the contrary,’ she said, ‘if this matter is important enough for you to consider it personally, as the master of the house, then you must agree that it is my duty to make sure that Mrs Fielding is aware.’

Eleanor almost ran for the door. She was turning the handle when Mr Pembroke said, indignant, ‘Your duty is whatever I tell you it is.’

Duty. It was a word she had heard a lot in Granborough House. It was a word that ground and scraped and pushed and tugged, and over the past three years it had seemed to be all that Eleanor heard. But it was not a