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

Eleanor’s head snapped up. ‘What? You said you were sure!’

‘Pack that in,’ Daisy hissed. ‘I saw him go. Now would you get on and write those bloody letters.’

Eleanor bent over the desk and tried not to think about all the painted faces watching her. It was a bad idea. It was illegal. Anyone who’d seen Mr Pembroke’s handwriting would know that he hadn’t written these letters; her own hand was nothing like his.

Eleanor took a deep breath. It wouldn’t matter that her handwriting didn’t look like Mr Pembroke’s, she told herself. If they applied to somewhere out of the neighbourhood, no one would know what Mr Pembroke’s handwriting looked like. No one ever needed to find out that she’d been the one to write the references.

To whom it may concern, she wrote, I write to recommend Miss Aoife Flaherty in her services as a housemaid …

Eleanor hesitated. ‘You’re sure that no one’s—’

‘Yes!’ snapped Daisy. ‘Now will you get on with it!’

Eleanor had never even seen a letter of reference before. Doubt curled at the edges of her thoughts. What if the person reading it could tell? What if there was some secret phrase that she’d left out? Worse – what if the letters got back to Mr Pembroke?

Eleanor blotted the letters as quickly as she could, desperate to get them into envelopes and out of sight. She sealed them, put the desk back in order and handed one each to Aoife and Daisy.

‘Here,’ she whispered, ‘I did the best I could. Don’t go for anywhere nearby. My handwriting is nothing like Mr Pembroke’s, so anyone who knows him will be able to tell.’

Daisy shoved hers inside her bodice immediately. Aoife looked doubtful. ‘Isn’t it dangerous?’

‘Yes,’ said Daisy, chucking Aoife under the chin, ‘so be careful with it.’

Charles did not return for two days. Eleanor tried her best not to notice, but Granborough House seemed different without him. Every footstep sounded unbearably small in the silence, and the cobwebs clustered around the high ceilings like clouds heavy with rain. Eleanor chewed her bottom lip. Did he miss Felicity that much?

‘He’s gone after her,’ said Aoife, as she fished out a clean rag. ‘You mark my words. He’ll have flowers, and chocolates, and a gypsy fiddler …’

Daisy smiled as she scrubbed out a pan. ‘What kind of flowers?’

‘Sciolla earraigh,’ Aoife sighed. ‘I’ve not seen them here. Blue as Irish eyes.’

‘I’ll find you some,’ said Daisy, flicking suds across the floor. ‘But he’s not gone after her. Out drowning his sorrows if you ask me. He’ll be back right enough, and stinking of gin—’

‘Daisy!’ Mrs Fielding snapped.

When Eleanor went up to clean Charles’s surprisingly neat room, every souvenir carefully put in its place, she found an empty envelope addressed in Felicity’s hand. There was no sign of the letter inside. She tucked it away where the other maids could not find it, guilt rolling over her in waves.

She only found out he had reappeared when she was up to her elbows in a bucket of soda and water, cleaning the cutlery, and Mrs Fielding laid a hand on her arm. ‘Ella? You’re wanted in the library.’

Eleanor dried off her stinging hands and went upstairs, as a convict ascends the scaffold. Had Mr Pembroke heard from Felicity? Had she told him her suspicions about Eleanor? What would he do if she had? Eleanor remembered Leah again. Don’t let him touch you. Her stomach twisted. Where was Leah?

But when she opened the library door, Charles was waiting for her.

He looked terrible. There was a thin layer of stubble across his face, shadows smudged under his eyes, and his hand was swathed in bandages.

‘Your hand!’

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ he said, waving her towards a chair, ‘it’s entirely my own fault. I’m afraid I made a fool of myself, and must suffer the consequences.’

Eleanor sat down. ‘What happened?’

‘I can’t remember,’ he confessed. ‘I bumped into some of the old Oxford fellows, and when they heard what happened they took it upon themselves to lift my spirits. I gather it involved rather too much brandy, no one’s quite sure of the details. I’m afraid that this has left me somewhat incapacitated, and there’s a lot of correspondence, now that … now that the wedding has been called off. It’ll be dull work, and I’m afraid it will keep you from your other duties, but if you would assist me I’d be most grateful.’

Eleanor tried not to feel too pleased that she wouldn’t be scrubbing floors all day. ‘On one condition.’

‘Name it.’

‘You must tell me what you taught me to say in French when you were—’

Charles went scarlet. ‘No. Absolutely not!’

Eleanor laughed. ‘Oh, come now. Was it really that bad?’

‘I was fifteen! I thought it would be amusing …’

‘Then you’re a scoundrel, Charles Pembroke.’

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘That sounds rather charming, coming from you.’

‘Messrs Ashdown and Rowe, I am writing to request the cancellation of the Pembroke account with your establishment. Any purchases made after the fourth of October should be charged to Miss Felicity Darling at the following address …’

Charles was standing with his back to the fire, his hands clasped. As he recited Felicity’s address the lines around his mouth tightened. Guilt pricked at Eleanor’s thoughts. Had those lines been there before she’d wished away his engagement?

Eleanor finished the letter as neatly as she could and Charles sank into an armchair, one foot tapping restlessly against the floor.

‘Are you quite all right?’

He tried to smile at her. ‘I’m a little apprehensive this afternoon.’ He rang the bell for tea and started fiddling with the button on his shirt cuff. ‘I have to write to Felicity.’

Eleanor remembered the empty envelope she’d found in his room, almost a week ago. How many letters had he received since then? She imagined Felicity’s parents coming to collect her from the Langham. What would they say when they saw her jewels, her silk and satin dresses, the gilt-framed mirrors on the walls? Eleanor’s guilt spread like a blush.