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

only an animal … It was a gamble, but one she had to take.

Eleanor waited until Felicity was at another dinner, pacing beside the dark windows and watching the lights of the hansom judder out of sight. Then she locked the door and spoke into the empty hotel room.

‘I wish that Charles Pembroke would choose not to wed Felicity Darling.’

Flames hung rigid in the fireplace. Raindrops froze on the window pane. For a moment Eleanor was lost in the stillness, her thoughts trickling through treacle. Then, crackling energy swept down her arms in a whole-body shiver.

She’d done it. She’d made the wish.

Felicity came home a few hours later, when Eleanor’s head was drooping over her mending. The door slammed open and she jerked awake.

‘Miss?’

Felicity’s face was contorted with anger. ‘What have you been saying to him?’

‘Excuse me, miss, I’m not sure what you—’

‘Deceitful little witch! You know full well what I mean. Charles was good enough to tell me he thinks I’ve been treating you unfairly! What have you been saying to him?’

Eleanor held out the half-finished handkerchief like a white flag. ‘I’ve said nothing you’ve not heard, miss.’

‘Liar,’ Felicity spat. ‘Your connection to the Bartram girl was bad enough, but this …’

Felicity’s hands were clenching and unclenching. Her jaw was set. She ground her teeth, and a vein in her neck twitched. But she stood like a woman confined by a straitjacket, and Eleanor knew Felicity would not hit her.

Curious, she pushed a little further. ‘I hope I have not caused any problems between you and Mr Pembroke, miss.’

Felicity’s face twisted.

‘Out. Out!’

She threw a pair of opera glasses at Eleanor’s head. Eleanor ducked; they smashed against the wall. She darted into the dressing room, closed the door and rammed a chair underneath the handle. Felicity thrashed against it, kicking and yelling like a child, and it was only after she had screamed herself hoarse that Eleanor heard her crying.

She kept the door closed.

‘Did it work?’ she whispered, staring into the corners of the room.

There was no reply.

Autumn sunlight gilded Rotten Row. A haze of orange leaves shone overhead, glowing like the embers of a fire. Society filed past. Dukes and earls preened on horseback, riding boots glistening. Barouches trundled along sedately, filled with laughing women and attentive men. Ostrich feathers rustled; ribbons snapped in the breeze. It was like a field of pennants, Eleanor thought, the kind she’d read about at medieval tournaments. For a moment she imagined herself as a princess in a box, preparing to watch knights jousting in her honour. There were even spectators leaning on the iron railings that ran on either side of the track. They were here to see, not to be seen, but Eleanor watched them all the same.

Staring out of the window was much better than listening to the silence in the coach.

Felicity sat with her notebook unopened in her lap, glowering out of one window. Charles stared out of the other, sitting like a man on trial. They could have been strangers. Eleanor would have given anything to bury herself in a book, even if it was just something to hide behind.

She went back to watching the crowd. There were sailors on leave, guardsmen in scarlet jackets, nursemaids bouncing perambulators by their hips. They passed a young family: the father had a beard like W. G. Grace, the mother had a green feather in her hat and their pudgy little son was chasing after a hoop. He flailed after it with his stick, occasionally barrelling into the knees of passers-by, but no one seemed to mind. It was hard to be angry with a boy barely out of skirts.

The boy took a wild swipe at the hoop and it disappeared into the crowd. Eleanor smiled. She edged closer to the window and looked back. It was nice to see a child at play, instead of hanging around the costermongers’ barrows, begging for scraps.

The hoop rolled through the iron railings and into the path of a carriage. The boy’s mother looked around.

‘Samuel?’

The little boy charged after the hoop.

‘Sammy!’

The horse reared. The boy turned. His parents vaulted over the railings. Eleanor banged on the roof of the carriage.

‘Stop!’ she yelled. ‘There’s a—’

The horse’s legs came crashing down. The family crumpled.

Then, there was nothing but screaming.

Eleanor leant out of the window and called up to the driver. ‘There’s been an accident behind us! We have to—’

Hooves. Screaming. A crunching sound she didn’t want to think about. Eleanor turned, and saw the horse tearing towards them, dragging the carriage along with it. It crashed into a barouche, knocking it sideways. Riders tugged their horses out of its path.

Eleanor ducked back inside as the coachman tugged on the reins, swearing. Their horses snorted, stamping their feet, and the whole carriage lurched.

‘Good Lord,’ said Charles, reaching for her, ‘are you—’

Something hit them. The carriage jerked forward. Felicity shrieked. The coachman swore, something cracked, and they all tilted sideways.

Unbalanced, Eleanor fell.

She staggered into the door. It burst open. She caught a glimpse of Felicity’s wide eyes and Charles’s reaching hand before she slammed into the dirt.

Screaming. So much screaming. And a rumbling worse than thunder that shook the ground and made her teeth rattle. The horses. She looked up and saw hooves, fetlocks and enormous wheels, flecked and splashed with blood. She threw herself out of the way, tumbling over dirt and gravel until she smacked into the iron railings.

She held tight to one of the railings and stared up at the sky, her head ringing.

‘Miss! Miss, are you hurt?’

‘You, boy! Fetch a doctor!’

Two sharp cracks rang out and Eleanor felt something slam against the ground. Someone held out a hand; she took it, and was hauled upright. Knees shaking, she slumped against the railing and stared out at the chaos.

Splintered wood. Shattered brass spokes. Blood splashed across the ground. Something was screaming, but she could not tell if it was a horse or human over the ringing in her ears. The horse that had bolted lay