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

Eleanor had never seen a woman so mechanical as Miss Felicity Darling. She perched on a drawing-room chair, back ramrod-straight, her legs and arms at perfect right angles. Her feet were neatly tucked together and her face was arranged into an expression of polite disinterest. When she raised her teacup to her lips, Eleanor listened for the clicking of cogs.

Her smile clunked into place when she saw Eleanor and Charles. ‘Ah, Charles, there you are! I was beginning to think you’d be cloistered up in that study forever! And who’s this dear little thing?’

She spoke with a tinge of a Manchester accent she was trying to hide.

‘Eleanor has kindly agreed to take on the position of lady’s maid during your stay at the Langham.’

Eleanor bobbed a curtsey, but Felicity was already talking again.

‘What a delightful little creature; wherever did you find her? Do come and have some tea, Charles.’

Felicity gave a sharp nod. Dismissed, Eleanor went upstairs to pack her things. It was strange to think of Charles having a fiancée. She’d never thought of him as someone who might fall in love, although now, thinking of his broad shoulders and his easy smile, it was difficult to say why. He’d just come back from Paris – was that where they had met? Had he escorted Felicity to the glittering Opéra Garnier, strolled past the old paintings in the Musée du Louvre with her on his arm, taken her hand on the banks of the Seine and smiled? Had it been as wonderful as Eleanor had imagined it might be?

She gave herself a little shake and kept on climbing the stairs, trying not to feel her boots pinching her toes, the scratchy wool of her servant’s uniform. From the drawing room, she could hear Felicity laughing.

At any other time, Eleanor would have marvelled at the Langham Hotel. With its high ceilings, glittering lights and smooth, shiny surfaces it looked like a palace – but as she was carrying Felicity’s luggage as they arrived, all Eleanor was concerned with were the stairs. Felicity sat at a table by the window while Eleanor dragged the cases and boxes up to her room. By the time she had lugged the last hat-box up the third flight of stairs, Felicity was halfway through a pot of Earl Grey and a plate of sandwiches.

Felicity dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. ‘They do have porters here, you know.’

Eleanor blushed. Of course the hotel had porters. A real lady’s maid would know that. But she’d been so eager to impress Felicity that she’d taken everything up herself. She hadn’t even said anything before she’d revealed herself as an ignorant little girl. A real lady’s maid would have never made such a stupid mistake.

But perhaps a real lady might have cared to let her know.

‘Please accept my apologies, Miss Darling.’

Felicity gave a magnanimous nod. ‘It’s only to be expected. You are untrained, and quite ignorant of what I shall require of you.’

Eleanor kept her face blank. ‘I shall take every opportunity to learn, miss.’

‘I hope it will not take too long.’

Felicity went back to her tiny sandwiches and Eleanor looked around. It was the prettiest room she’d ever seen, with a cream bed, gilt mirrors and plush carpets. Eleanor longed to dig her toes into the carpet, to run her fingers over the silk-embroidered bedspread, to press her forehead against the smooth glass of the mirrors, cool as ice. However, there was only one bed, and it was clearly not for her. Where would she sleep?

‘I have some questions for you, Hartley.’

Eleanor tried to look keen. ‘Yes, miss?’

‘How long have you known Charles?’

‘All my life, miss.’

Felicity’s gloved hands tightened in her lap. ‘Do you communicate often? Communicate means—’

‘I know what it means, miss,’ said Eleanor, forcing a smile, ‘and no, I’m afraid not. We were playmates as children but we have not spoken since he went to Oxford.’

‘Do you think him a good sort of man?’

‘I do.’

Felicity’s eyes flickered across her face. They were a shade of grey so pale they were almost colourless. When her eyes moved, the pupil seemed to hover, like a shadow hanging there of its own accord.

‘Well,’ Felicity said, ‘I know Charles thinks of you as his little charity project, but you must not become accustomed to this position. You are completely unacceptable, given your connection to Miss Bartram, and I will be looking for a new girl to fill the position.’

Her new mistress stirred the tea. The silver spoon clinked against the edges of the china cup. Each chink of metal on porcelain was like a pinch.

‘Miss Darling,’ Eleanor began, ‘I—’

Felicity held up a hand. ‘No maid of mine will be linked to a murder investigation. You needn’t bother the Pembrokes with this information; after all, I am now your employer.’

Felicity plucked another sandwich from the tray and popped it into her mouth with a flourish.

‘Well? Aren’t you going to start unpacking?’

Eleanor gritted her teeth, curtseyed, and turned to the huge pile of luggage.

As the days went on, Eleanor fell into a routine. She brought Felicity breakfast every morning, and thought of Daisy and Aoife yawning over their porridge in the kitchen at Granborough House. When she laced Felicity into her embroidered corset, she saw Leah struggling to close her stays on the morning she left Granborough House. When she mixed Felicity a brandy and water – which Felicity insisted she needed for her health – she saw the laudanum dropping into Mr Pembroke’s decanter.

She never should have left. At Granborough House, she had at least been able to see Aoife. If she screamed, Eleanor would have heard, and come running. Being away was much worse. When she closed her eyes all she saw was Mr Pembroke, leaning over Aoife in the corridor. She shouldn’t just have added a few drops of laudanum to the decanters; Eleanor should have yanked Mr Pembroke’s head back by the hair and forced the whole bottle down his throat.

She