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

came back to her senses, put up the umbrella and escorted her to the door. Close to, the paint on the window frames was starting to flake, and Eleanor could see patches of rust on the iron railings. George had been dismissed years ago; Mrs Banbury said he owned a public house in Brixton now. He’d married Janie last year – she, at least, had managed to find happiness after Mr Pembroke had tried to snatch it from her. With a pang, Eleanor prayed that the same would be true for Leah. She looked around the sodden street, and hoped Leah had somewhere to wait out the rain.

Felicity swept into the hall, the damp hem of her dress leaving a faint tinge of green on the marble. She was like a slug, Eleanor thought, leaving poisonous trails wherever she went. She’d have to warn Aoife and Daisy – that dress was Scheele’s green, dyed with arsenic. Felicity was protected by her corset, chemise and petticoats, but it had given Eleanor a headache lacing it up.

Felicity waved a careless hand in Eleanor’s direction and began to climb the stairs. ‘Make yourself useful, Hartley. I don’t want to see you at dinner. See if there’s something you can do in the scullery.’

‘Yes, miss,’ Eleanor said, gritting her teeth. She was a lady’s maid, a position on the same level as the housekeeper. A real lady would never ask her to scrub pans.

Eleanor went into the kitchen and found Aoife struggling to put on her dress uniform and keep out of Mrs Banbury’s way. Aoife’s eyes filled with tears when she saw Eleanor, and fear flooded through her.

‘Let me help you,’ Eleanor said. ‘May we use your rooms, Mrs Fielding?’

Eleanor ushered Aoife into the housekeeper’s rooms before Mrs Fielding could object and shut the door behind her.

‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s getting worse,’ Aoife whispered, tears running down her cheeks. ‘He keeps asking me all these questions – things no decent girl should talk about! He says if I were a good girl, I ought to do as he says because he’s the master, but …’

Aoife dissolved into weeping. Eleanor put her arms around her and tried to keep her hands from balling into fists. How dare he, she thought, seething. Aoife was a child – how could he even think of such a thing?

‘When are you coming back?’ Aoife sniffed, wiping her eyes. ‘It wasn’t so bad before you went.’

‘Not until the wedding. Only a few weeks now.’

‘A few weeks!’ Aoife wailed.

Eleanor smoothed Aoife’s hair. ‘Aoife, listen to me. Have you given him the laudanum?’

‘Well, he’s not always in the study, so I—’

‘Then you must drug the other bottles. Mrs Banbury keeps it in the kitchen cupboard; if you’re quick then—’

‘But that’s poisoning, Ella! If anyone caught me I’d be up before the magistrate, quick as winking! Can’t you do it?’

‘I’d never get into the dining room without them noticing tonight. Next time, I promise. But until then you must get yourself a knife.’

Aoife went pale. ‘A knife? Ella, I can’t, I can’t …’

Eleanor gripped Aoife’s shoulders. ‘You have to do something!’

‘I’m just …’ Aoife’s bottom lip was trembling. ‘I’m just so scared! I don’t want it to be like this, Ella!’

Aoife sobbed onto Eleanor’s chest like a baby. Eleanor stroked her hair, blinking back tears. She couldn’t let Aoife see she was upset, it would make everything worse. Why hadn’t she refused to go with Felicity on the spot? How had she let things get so bad?

‘It’s all right,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’ll find a way. I promise.’

A fine rain of coal smuts drifted over the city, leaving smeary black marks against hats, coats, windows and painted carts. They freckled Eleanor’s face and hands until she looked like a chimney sweep. Felicity liked to see her that way. When she complained about the state of Eleanor’s appearance a smile twisted the corner of her mouth. While she glided through warm shops, running her fingers over silks and satins, she made Eleanor wait outside. Like a beggar’s dog. Through the window panes, Eleanor watched Felicity talking, laughing, smiling, and as she shivered on the other side of the glass hatred blossomed in her like a flower.

Regent Street was mired in carriages. Felicity was safe inside the dressmaker’s shop, at the final fitting of her wedding dress. Eleanor was left in a cloud of fog while cold, greasy coal smuts pressed against her cheeks. Felicity hadn’t even let Eleanor wait inside her new coach – a gleaming black brougham that would be her wedding present to Charles. She’d told Eleanor it was to preserve her modesty, in a voice that suggested she did not have any. The coachman tried to catch her eye twice before he gave up and went to buy some lunch.

Match-girls called out in reedy voices. Omnibuses trundled past, and as they went the drivers shouted the names of the stops, or swore at the traffic. Shop-boys were everywhere, wheedling one moment, yelling across the street the next. But all Eleanor could see were shapes in the fog. Voices on every side, with not a face in sight. She shuddered.

The coachman sidled back into view, clutching a cone of newspaper. He held it out to Eleanor with a hopeful grin.

‘D’you want a whelk?’

Eleanor peered into the paper. The whelks stank of vinegar and were grey from newsprint. Snails, if she was any judge.

‘No, thank you.’

The coachman shrugged and climbed back into his seat. Eleanor wondered if she should tell him about the snails, and then saw him shovel a handful into his mouth. She shuddered.

A clergyman all in black walked past, glancing at her underneath his wide-brimmed hat. A little later he walked past her again, jingling the money in his pockets. If he came past her a third time she was going to knock that stupid hat right off his head. And if he said anything, she’d scream. If she didn’t, no one would believe she was respectable. It was bad enough already.