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

glad Felicity has found such a steady young man. Do let us know if you require any advice.’

She bustled off towards the fitting room. The second she had gone, Charles turned to Eleanor.

‘Eleanor, you must let me apologize on behalf of …’

‘I’m sure Mrs Darling meant no harm.’

‘But to speak to you so!’

‘Please don’t concern yourself with it. I’ve heard worse.’

Charles’s face sharpened. ‘What do you mean by that?’

Eleanor slipped on her servant’s mask, the blank expression that served her so well. Charles noticed. When her shutters came down, his eyes flicked to the dressing room and back.

‘Eleanor, is Felicity … civil towards you?’

Eleanor’s cheek still stung. She ached all over from sleeping on the floor and there was a crick in her neck she couldn’t stretch out. Her boots rubbed, her new dress was scratchy along the seams and her corset suddenly felt like iron bands. Charles was looking at her as if he knew all of this. Eleanor blushed. It had been so much easier when they were younger, when he hadn’t been tall and broad-shouldered and with lips that seemed fuller than she remembered. She could not imagine confiding in him without it feeling intimate, and he was going to be marrying another woman in a matter of weeks. But despite that, and even though they were surrounded by strangers, Eleanor wanted to tell him everything.

She licked her lips, wondering where to begin.

Then, the door to the fitting room was thrown open. Felicity emerged, tightly laced into an acid-green dress with a cuirass bodice, pleated ruffles and a luminous gold trim. Her stepmother followed, pursing her lips. Both of them were red in the face.

‘Well?’ Felicity snapped. ‘What do you think?’

‘Lovely, miss,’ whispered Eleanor.

‘Yes,’ said Charles, his voice hard, ‘it’s lovely.’

Felicity glittered. Her pale hair was smoothed into elaborate curls. The swooping layers of her golden skirts were trimmed with sparkling beads. Lace frothed at her neckline, her diamonds shone orange, white and yellow, and the light itself seemed to spark and curve around her.

She looked like a candlestick.

Eleanor had spent the whole afternoon running after Felicity. Polishing her jewels, twisting up her hair, discreetly buying a pot of rouge and smuggling it back up to the hotel room. Her fingers were raw from tugging on laces, there was bandoline lodged under her fingernails, and she stank of Felicity’s perfume. In all the excitement Eleanor had forgotten to tell the hotel staff that Felicity wouldn’t need her dinner. In fact, she’d been so forgetful that she’d told them to send it up to the room after seven o’clock, along with some ice. Felicity had slapped her for spilling oil of violets across her gown, and her cheek still hurt.

Felicity would be dining at Granborough House, sparkling at the foot of the table as the guest of honour. Eleanor had expected to accompany her – a lady always needed a chaperone – and was looking forward sloping off to the kitchen to check on Aoife. She was itching for a chance to talk to her away from Mrs Fielding, but Felicity had seen the shine in her eyes and said, ‘I shan’t be needing you, Hartley,’ and watched Eleanor’s reflection falter as she stood in front of the mirror.

Felicity’s parents would be chaperoning her instead. They had been waiting for her in the lobby. About halfway down the stairs Felicity had hesitated, her gloved hands scrunching her satin skirts. Then she’d squared her shoulders and strode defiantly into the lobby.

When Eleanor got back to Felicity’s room, her dinner was waiting under a gleaming silver cloche, the ice tucked discreetly behind a chair. Eleanor lifted the lid and a pair of mutton chops emerged from a cloud of fragrant steam.

She sat down and smoothed the napkin across her lap. Perhaps Felicity was right to be defiant.

Eleanor allowed herself one perfect hour.

She sat at Felicity’s table, in Felicity’s chair, and ate Felicity’s dinner. She’d had a hot bath, using Felicity’s array of soaps and lotions. She stood in front of Felicity’s wardrobe in her chemise, tying up her hair in Felicity’s ribbons, holding Felicity’s dresses up against her reflection and stroking all the silks and satins. She’d even lain in Felicity’s bed. It had felt so good to touch something soft that she did not have to mend.

But then the hour ended. Eleanor dressed herself in her own plain wool dress. She’d stacked up the dirty plates and cutlery outside someone else’s door and opened the windows to let out the smell of mutton. She’d put the dresses and ribbons away, cleared away the bath things and slapped the dent out of Felicity’s mattress, her eyes stinging.

To make herself feel better, she flicked open her battered suitcase and tried on the shoes she’d wished for. They fitted perfectly, although they looked a little strange peeking out from under her coarse, dark dress. Eleanor put them away. She didn’t want them to be spoiled, when they had cost her so much.

Now it was ten o’clock, and Felicity would be back at any minute. Eleanor didn’t even have a book to occupy her; she hadn’t had a chance to raid the library at Granborough House before she left. Their absence itched and scratched at her thoughts, making her restless and jittery. All she could do was hold the ice to her cheek and wait.

It hurt less, but it still stung. Charles would never know; Felicity would keep her away from him until the mark faded. It was only a matter of time before she was dismissed; Felicity had already started looking for another lady’s maid. When Eleanor was out in the cold, who could she rely on?

No one. Apart from herself. Or the black-eyed woman.

She stalked through Eleanor’s thoughts, dreamlike and sharply real at the same time. The wishes she’d granted had come true. Eleanor could make another, but someone else would die if she did. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Not for the first time, Eleanor realized how little she knew about