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

gravy – crawled its way into her mouth and made her gag. She had to breathe into the tin of polish to stop her stomach heaving. When her nausea subsided, she realized the argument had stopped. All she could hear now were unsteady footsteps, and the faint hush of people listening.

The voices belonged to Charles and his father. Eleanor crept over to the fireplace and picked up the poker. Whatever Mr Pembroke did now, she wasn’t going to let him find her unprepared.

The door clattered open. Mr Pembroke staggered into the room.

‘So,’ he seethed, ‘you’ve sunk your claws into my son.’

He kicked the door shut and slumped into the nearest chair, head in his hands. Eleanor pointed the poker at him. She wasn’t going to let him get close.

‘Put that damn thing down,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘You’ll mark my jacket.’

Eleanor’s lip curled. ‘There are worse things I could do.’

He glared at her. ‘Like marry my boy.’

Her temper flared. She was a respectable girl from a good family. There was no reason why she shouldn’t marry Charles, but Mr Pembroke was speaking about her as if she were a common whore.

‘How did you find out?’ she asked, keeping her voice level.

Mr Pembroke’s face twisted. ‘I caught him in his mother’s room,’ he spat, ‘rifling through her jewels! He had her ring in his hand! To think he would bestow Emmeline’s ring on such a worthless, ill-bred—’

‘That’s enough,’ Eleanor said. To her surprise, he stopped.

‘I won’t have you for a daughter-in-law,’ Mr Pembroke muttered. ‘Do you hear me? I will see this place burned to the ground before I let you anywhere near my son.’

‘So burn it,’ Eleanor hissed. ‘He loves me. You can’t keep him away.’

Mr Pembroke sprang to his feet. Eleanor pointed the poker at him like a sword. For a long moment they glared at each other. Then Mr Pembroke loped over to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy.

‘Have you put anything in this one?’

Eleanor did not answer. Did he know about the laudanum, or was he just goading her after all the times she’d stirred his drink with a spoon and watched his face grow pale?

‘I ought to have you dismissed,’ he muttered, slumping back into his chair. ‘I ought to have you brought before the magistrate. And that boy ought to see a doctor! Gretna Green …’

‘You know that would never work,’ Eleanor said. ‘Charles is of age, he may marry who he likes. And you couldn’t get a doctor to believe there’s anything wrong with him. I am not without my charms.’

‘If you so much as look at my son again,’ he muttered, ‘I will ruin you. I’ll call back that constable and tell him you killed Lizzie. With my word against yours, you’ll be hanged before summer.’

Eleanor kept her voice level. ‘And if you do that, your son will never see you again.’

Mr Pembroke’s jaw clenched. ‘What will it take to keep you away from him?’

Eleanor pulled out a chair and sat down, thinking fast. Mr Pembroke had a point. Without another suspect, if Mr Pembroke accused her of killing Lizzie she would be arrested; he was a gentleman, he would be listened to. She wanted to marry Charles, to go where Mr Pembroke could never find them. She wanted it so much she could feel it tugging at every part of her. But she could not have that, and asking for it again would put it forever out of reach.

But there were other things she could do.

‘I know you do not want me to be a part of your family,’ she said. ‘Charles does. This does not have to be an insurmountable problem. Secure me a house and set aside an allowance for me, to be paid into my account every month. You’ll have to set one up for me, of course. I’ll tell you my preferred bank.’

He sat up straighter, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. His mouth fell slightly open and for one horrible moment, he looked like Charles. Eleanor shook her unease away. She could not afford to hesitate now.

‘How dare—’

‘I am not finished. Along with that you shall find me a maid and pay her wages – the little Irish girl will do,’ Eleanor said, trying to sound careless. ‘Let me see out my confinement as a respectable lady and I will not come here again.’

‘Mercenary whore,’ he muttered. ‘How much d’you want?’

‘Enough to cover rent, a maid’s wages and the costs of feeding and clothing myself and a child. Perhaps three hundred pounds a year, to be paid in monthly instalments. I don’t intend to go back to work once your grandson is born.’

Mr Pembroke snorted. ‘The Devil take your three hundred pounds! I ought to throw you out in the clothes you stand up in!’

Eleanor gave him the nastiest smile she could muster. ‘But you won’t. You remember the Inspector? He was quite taken with me.’

All the colour drained out of Mr Pembroke’s face. There was a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin and a tremor in his hands. Good, Eleanor thought. Let him be frightened. He deserved it.

‘All right,’ he muttered, ‘all right. I’ll give you what you asked for – but on one condition.’

‘What is it?’

‘Get rid of it.’

Eleanor froze. She’d wondered if he might ask her that but somehow, hearing him ask out loud was a knife in her ribs.

‘You’ll get your house, and your maid, and your damn three hundred pounds,’ Mr Pembroke spat, ‘if you get rid of the thing. My son will marry an heiress, and you will have no claim on him. I won’t have him paying for this mistake for the rest of his life.’

Eleanor tightened her grip on the poker. ‘I am not a mistake!’

‘I beg to differ. Are we agreed?’

Eleanor knew she had only one real choice. If she refused, Mr Pembroke could ruin her. If he told Mrs Fielding, Eleanor would be thrown out with no wages, no reference and