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

‘Well,’ said Eleanor, suddenly aware that there were inches between them, ‘then I’d cross the Alps, make a brief tour of Switzerland and then on to Italy. I’d want to linger there, I think – certainly in Rome, Naples and Milan. And Florence. Oh, and Bologna. And Venice, of course – but you’ve been, haven’t you?’

‘I have,’ he murmured, ‘there’s nowhere else like it. The whole city seems to be floating. It’s astonishing; you’ll turn a corner and an unassuming little church will have a Tintoretto or a Titian tucked away. I could live there for the rest of my days and never uncover all its secrets.’

Eleanor looked up at him. The candlelight shone on the planes of his cheekbones, illuminating a fine layer of golden stubble. If she moved her hand, Eleanor thought, her arm would brush against his, quite by accident. ‘Does it really seem to float?’

‘If you stand in the right spot,’ he said. ‘In the centre of the city it feels solid enough, but around the edges there’s nothing on the horizon but the sky and the Adriatic. It’s incredible. You can be walking along a busy street, buildings on every side, and then suddenly all you see is a vast expanse of blue.’

She was leaning towards him as though he was magnetic. ‘Do they still have the Carnival?’ she whispered.

‘Eleanor,’ he said, his blue eyes fixed on hers, ‘they’d never let you hide away behind a mask.’

They were so close now. Eleanor could count every one of his eyelashes. She shifted closer, her face turned up to his – and suddenly, the light lurched as the candle fell over. She’d knocked the edge of the atlas without realizing.

Charles pushed her out of the way and snatched up the candle. The edges of the atlas were smouldering. He smothered the flames with the sleeve of his dressing gown before they could catch.

‘Be careful!’ Eleanor hissed. ‘What about your hand?’

‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said, inspecting his cuffs. ‘The material is a little singed, but that’s all.’

Eleanor closed the atlas and stood up, wincing as she lifted it. ‘You could’ve hurt yourself.’

Charles got up and helped her take the weight of the book. ‘But you could’ve been hurt too, Eleanor,’ he said, ‘and what kind of man would I be if I allowed that to happen? I … I want you to be safe.’

He was blushing. Eleanor could feel the heat under her skin. ‘Well … thank you, Charles. I – I suppose I’d better go to bed.’

‘Of course. Of course,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. He opened the library door for her. ‘Goodnight, Eleanor.’

‘Good night.’

She lingered. Just for a second, she wondered what he would do if she reached out and pushed the library door shut, keeping them both inside. But she went through it as she knew she ought to. As she passed she saw Charles’s hand twitch, as though he wanted to touch her, but had thought better of it.

The nights were drawing in, and Aoife claimed the evenings for her storytelling. She gathered Eleanor and Daisy around the kitchen range, and, eyes gleaming, told them tales of faceless ladies eternally searching for mirrors and headless horsemen who travellers would be lucky to escape with a blinding. Now that she was no longer afraid of Mr Pembroke, Aoife had made fear something to be played with.

Charles and his father were having dinner, and while the maids waited to clear the plates Mrs Banbury served up slices of ham pie and cold potatoes. Aoife was holding court at the end of the table, half a potato speared on her fork.

‘But of course, he’d not set store by such things, for he was a gentleman and knew more than you or I. But the very next night—’

Daisy snorted. ‘I’ll tell you what gentlemen know all right.’

Mrs Banbury laughed. ‘Don’t let Bertha catch you saying that. You’re lucky she’s after another housemaid, she wouldn’t be waiting at table otherwise.’

Aoife glared at them. ‘The very next night, I said, the knocking came again, this time from right outside his bedroom door …’

Daisy rapped her knuckles on the kitchen table and winked at Aoife. Aoife blushed.

‘So … from outside the door. The bedroom door. So. But he knew this could not be possible, for there was no one about and—’

There was another knocking sound. Aoife pointed her fork at Daisy. ‘I know that’s you.’

‘It’s not,’ said Daisy, picking up her plate.

‘It is!’ Aoife insisted. ‘Ella, tell her she’s—’

The knocking came again. Daisy was carrying her plate, Eleanor was holding her knife and fork, Mrs Banbury froze halfway through pouring a glass of water. All of them looked at each other, dread uncurling in the pit of Eleanor’s stomach.

Aoife laid down her fork. ‘Did you—’

The knocking came again. Aoife shrieked. Eleanor started up, groping for a kitchen knife.

‘It’s the door, you pigeons!’ snapped Mrs Banbury.

‘I’m not answering it,’ Aoife said in a rush. Mrs Banbury stared at Eleanor meaningfully until she went to the tradesmen’s entrance. Eleanor’s hand hesitated on the latch. Surely there wasn’t anything to be frightened of.

It was Leah.

Eleanor could see the shape of her skull in Leah’s heart-shaped face. She was wearing the same dress she’d left in, only now it was ragged and stained. It gaped around her shoulders and strained across her stomach. When she saw Eleanor, she smiled, and the flash of familiarity made Eleanor’s stomach lurch.

‘Little Nell,’ she said, ‘I was hoping it’d be you.’

‘Leah!’ Eleanor gasped. ‘My God, I – come inside, come inside!’

Leah headed straight for the range. She let out a sob when she held her hands to the heat. Eleanor dragged out a chair. Leah sank into it.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Leah. ‘I didn’t know where else to go.’

Mrs Banbury started making up a plate. ‘Don’t apologize, pet. Wash your hands.’

Leah dunked her hands in the sink and grabbed the plate with dripping fingers. She made grunting noises as she