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

Felicity’s skin the colour of a bruise if it got wet. Eleanor was beginning to feel sick. Unless Felicity opened a window, ladies would end up smelling of whatever the previous passenger had left in the cab, which was likely a dead cat.

Eleanor shut her eyes and listened instead. Street-sellers. Horses. Omnibus drivers, swearing as they passed. Fiddlers. Children, whooping in delight. Mr Punch, yelling, ‘that’s the way to do it!’ and a shout of laughter. A burst of French, and another language she did not recognize. And then, finally, the driver slowing the horses as their cab drew to a halt.

Eleanor helped Felicity out of the cab, tugging her skirts away from the filthy wheels.

‘Father!’

Mr Darling stood like a stretched-out coil of paper – tall, thin, and curling in on himself from the shoulders down. To Eleanor’s surprise, there was a woman on his arm. She looked nothing like Felicity. Felicity was a glittering dagger of a girl; Mrs Darling was a fat little sparrow by comparison. Mrs Darling tugged at her husband’s arm. He saw Felicity. Sharp spots of colour blossomed across his worn face.

‘What are you wearing?’ Felicity’s father’s eyes narrowed.

All the shine went out of Felicity’s eyes. She swallowed, hung her head, fiddled with the lace at her cuffs. ‘It’s perfectly respectable,’ she began, ‘and quite—’

‘Hello there! I thought I’d never find you!’

Charles came striding out of the fog, crisp and clean in cool dove-grey. His smile faltered as his blue eyes flicked between Mr Darling glaring at his daughter, the drooping Felicity, and Eleanor, who was trying her best to blend into the background.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything,’ he said, watching Felicity with a worried look on his face.

Felicity pressed her lips together and shook her head, once. Her fists were clenched.

Charles glanced at Mr Darling, Mrs Darling, and all the people passing by who were clearly trying to eavesdrop. Then, as suddenly as striking a match, a dazzling smile spread across his face. He spread his hands wide, relaxed his shoulders and beamed at the Darlings as if there was no one else in the world he would rather see.

‘Well then!’ he said, good humour dripping from every syllable. ‘Shall we? I’ve so been looking forward to seeing you both, Mr Darling, Mrs Darling. How are your boys?’

Mrs Darling began to thaw. ‘Very well, thank you. Walter and Edgar were so pleased with the soldiers you sent them, and Gerald adores his new book. You received their thank-you notes, I hope?’

He steered them towards the dressmaker’s, placing himself between Felicity and her father as he did so. ‘I did, and very charming letters they were, too! You must congratulate the twins for me; my hand was never half so fair when I was their age.’

Felicity clung to Charles’s arm. Mr Darling began to unbend; Mrs Darling beamed. Eleanor trailed after them like a shadow. Charles nodded along diplomatically with Mr Darling. He lavished praise on Felicity’s brothers. He proffered his arm and steered the Darlings gently away from the grimier patches of pavement. He blunted the sharpness of their words, soothed frayed tempers, and punctured awkward silences with compliments that always managed to sound sincere. For Eleanor, who had seen him blush and stammer since the age of fourteen, it was uncanny.

Once, just once, his charming demeanour slipped. Felicity and her father were sniping at each other in a sharp hiss that carried across the street. Mr Darling jabbed a finger under his daughter’s nose as they walked, and two high spots of colour blazed on Felicity’s cheeks as she tried to stride away. Charles saw passers-by staring after them and whispering to each other, and a flush crept into his cheeks. Eleanor felt a pang of nostalgia and pity to see him embarrassed – she hated the thought of his being uncomfortable, but he looked so like the blushing boy she remembered that she almost smiled.

He caught her eye, gave a rueful little smile and then the charm was back. ‘I understand you grew up near Chatsworth,’ he said, turning to Mrs Darling. ‘You must tell me about it. I should love to see the Peaks in the autumn, I hear they’re splendid.’

Mrs Darling, who had also noticed the argument, seized on this at once. ‘They are! Jeremiah, dear Charles is thinking of visiting the Peaks, you must come and talk to him …’

Walking into the dressmaker’s was like stepping into an aviary. Swathes of material glistened and flickered on the counters, hummingbird-bright. Lace fluttered in customers’ fingers. Rattling buttons might have been the clicking of beaks; quiet laughter sounded a little like birdsong. In her plain dress Eleanor felt like a slug, waiting to be pecked at.

Felicity detached herself from Charles’s arm and marched up to the dressmaker, barging past a group of red-eyed women looking over folds of black bombazine. The dressmaker scampered out from behind the counter to meet her.

‘Miss Darling,’ she said, ‘what a pleasure to see you again! And you’ve brought your fiancé? And your mother and father! How charming …’

‘She is not my mother!’ Felicity hissed.

‘May I interest you in something for your trousseau?’ she said. ‘Something in eau-de-nil, I think, would bring out your eyes most beautifully …’

‘I want my order,’ Felicity snapped. ‘You said it would be ready this afternoon. Where is it?’

The dressmaker nodded to a couple of shop girls, who went scurrying into the back room. ‘Of course,’ she said, leading her towards the dressing room, ‘the green silk. An excellent choice, Miss Darling …’

Mrs Darling frowned after her. ‘You, maid,’ she said to Eleanor, ‘I take it the green silk is not her wedding dress?’

Charles’s mouth fell open. Eleanor’s cheeks were hot with shame.

‘No, madam, but I believe it is something for her trousseau.’

‘Oh, dear.’

Mr Darling’s lip curled. ‘Go and make her see sense, Esther. Her mother was just as frivolous; she needs a firm hand. I’ll be in the cab.’

He left. Mrs Darling patted Charles’s arm.

‘I must say, we are