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

shoulder. Lizzie straightened up at once, eyes snapping to the tradesmen’s entrance.

Daisy yelled back. ‘Ain’t the boy been, Mrs B?’

‘Jesus wept! You should know, you dozy girl!’

‘Been doing the carrots, Mrs B!’ She waved one to prove her point.

Mrs Banbury swore and caught sight of Eleanor.

‘Be a dove, Ella, and run and fetch the master’s mutton. That bloody boy’s not been.’

‘It’s only noon,’ Lizzie said quickly, ‘he’ll come yet.’

Mrs Banbury fixed her with a sharp look. ‘I’ve no time for “yet”. If it’s not here by one that’s dinner ruined. Go on, Ella. Get your basket.’

‘Now?’ Eleanor asked. ‘Might I wait until Aoife’s ready to collect the laundry, and we could go together?’

‘No, now,’ Mrs Banbury snapped.

‘Without a—’

She caught herself, but it was too late. She was already shrivelling under the weight of her own embarrassment. Daisy widened her eyes at Aoife and twirled a bunch of carrots in her hand like a parasol, mouthing ‘Without a chaperone?’

Lizzie snorted with laughter. ‘As if Miss Eleanor would sully herself by going to the butcher’s on her own! I’ll go, Mrs B. She’ll have a fit of the vapours otherwise.’

‘Back to work!’ Mrs Banbury snapped at Lizzie, ignoring her glare. She turned back and sighed before she patted Eleanor’s arm. ‘God above, child,’ she said, more quietly, ‘you won’t be snatched the second you step outside our door. Go on, now. Go.’

Eleanor found her old wide-brimmed hat, turned up her collar and slipped on a pair of gloves before she went outside. Ladies were like lilies, pale and lovely. She would be too, if she could help it. A veil would be better, but it would never work with her dark dress. She rather liked the thought of gliding through the streets like a ghost, the world set in shadow around her. But people might think she was in mourning (or worse, a Catholic), and the veil would only become one more thing to wash.

The heat was like a slap. Her damp dress steamed in the sun. Their street was quiet, the row of gentlemen’s townhouses blindingly white in the sunlight. The only movement came from a large ginger cat stretched out on the pavement, twitching its tail. Eleanor turned towards Marylebone – the Mayfair butchers were far too expensive for them now – and the noise pressed in on her. Brown dust stuck to her skirts, twirled around horses’ hooves, climbed up the legs of passers-by. Children crowded around a Punch and Judy show, sticky with sweets and sweat. Cabs and carriages rattled past, windows cranked wide open. Horses snuffled hopefully at trays of apples. Costermongers sold ginger beer and strawberry ices, red-faced from shouting in the sun. Milkmaids fought their way through the crowds, pails sloshing. As one passed by Eleanor caught a whiff of rancid milk, and saw a fine layer of brown dust and dead bugs floating on its surface.

Elbows jammed into her sides. Her feet skittered on the dust. A child tipped up her empty basket, then ran away swearing when nothing fell out. Horses snorted in her ears, cab drivers cracked their whips over her head, and there was shouting on all sides.

‘Apples! Fresh apples!’

‘Billy! You come back here this instant!’

‘Strawberry ices! Lovely strawberry ices! Penny for the babby, missus, and one for you besides—’

‘All aboard for Piccadilly! You, sir, you going down Piccadilly?’

Eleanor darted out of the way of an omnibus. Someone trod on her skirts. A hand reached for her purse and she slapped it away. Another hand reached for her bottom; she smacked that one with her basket. Dogs growled at her, a piper blew his whistle in her ear, flies whirled around her head and finally, she reached the butcher’s, pummelled and sweating. Not even the sight of the pig carcasses strung up in the window could dampen her relief.

She ducked inside, trying to ignore the smell of meat that hadn’t been kept out of the sun. The butcher’s boy – a young man of about twenty with dark hair and a long, thin face – straightened up and wiped his bloody hands on his apron. Eleanor had seen him hanging around the tradesmen’s entrance to Granborough House, waiting for Lizzie and looking apologetic. They’d been walking out together for almost a year, but if the arguments Eleanor had overheard were anything to go by, Lizzie was wasting her time.

‘Granborough House delivery, please.’

‘It gets delivered, you know.’ He looked up and raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re a Granborough House girl?’ he said. His eyes flickered down to her waist. ‘Ain’t seen you before. You new?’

‘No. I’ve been there a few years.’

He laughed at that, disbelief echoing all around the shop. ‘You never have! How’d a pretty thing like you last that long? The old man gone blind?’

Eleanor thought of Leah and hopelessness settled on her like a shroud. She pretended she hadn’t heard. ‘The Granborough House delivery, please.’

‘All right, all right. Didn’t mean nothing by it.’

He handed her a large parcel wrapped in waxed paper. When she tried to take it he didn’t let go. ‘Will you be there when I make my next delivery?’

‘I shall be working. Thank you.’

She yanked the parcel out of his hands and stuffed it into the basket. He grinned, showing a missing canine tooth. ‘I’ll pop up and see you, how about that?’

‘Perhaps not. Do let me know if you have a message you’d like me to give to Lizzie. She’s your sweetheart, isn’t she?’

His grin faded slightly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say sweetheart, not as such …’

‘I think she would.’

Eleanor stepped back into the crowds, mouth set in a tight line.

Lizzie was hanging around the servants’ entrance when Eleanor got back. She watched Eleanor hang up her hat and take off her gloves while chewing on a ragged thumbnail.

‘Thank the Lord,’ said Lizzie, ‘Miss Eleanor has survived a visit to the outside world without a chaperone and returned to us safe and sound. We’re all bloody delighted.’

Eleanor took a deep breath. ‘It’s sweet of you to say