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

Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose. It felt odd. She’d lathered her hands in bear’s grease to try and make them soft and supple, but she’d used so much that her fingers kept slipping in and out of her gloves. Move too quickly and she’d end up with a greasy wodge of material in the palm of her hand.

There was a knock at the front door.

Charles! He’d come at last. She never should have doubted him. St Valentine’s Day was only a few days away, of course he would be thinking of her. She glanced down at her dress – why, why hadn’t she put on something better – and slapped her skirts into submission, tugging the folds back into place. She ripped off her gloves, shoving them under a cushion – she couldn’t be seen to wear gloves indoors, what would he think? – and wiped the grease off her hands. What was she going to say? What was he going to do?

Bessie opened the door, her nose in the air. ‘Mrs Flora Cleary.’

All her hopes wilted. He hadn’t come.

Eleanor kept the disappointment from showing and rifled through her memories at speed. After a moment’s horrible blankness, she remembered – she’d found Mrs Cleary’s name in Mrs Pembroke’s address book, and best of all, she lived nearby. At once, Eleanor’s nerves exploded into life. Here was her chance to help Aoife leave Granborough House; she could not afford any blunders.

Mrs Cleary was a rounded, shiny woman with grey hair and a mass of lines on her face, leaning on a silver-topped cane. She was dressed in a black going-out dress trimmed with fur and feathers, which rather spoiled the effect of her widow’s weeds. Eleanor tried desperately to remember something about her, and came up with nothing.

‘Come here, Miss Hartley,’ Mrs Cleary drawled. ‘Let me look at you.’

Eleanor recognized the accent at once. Irish. A feeble memory twitched – Eleanor was sitting beside Mrs Pembroke while she poured the tea. Eleanor watched Mrs Pembroke, staring at the sapphire ring winking on her finger, waiting for the moment when Mrs Pembroke would ask her to hand Mrs Cleary her cup.

Smiling, Eleanor came closer. ‘Such a pleasure to see you again, Mrs Cleary—’

‘Yes, yes. Let me look at you, girl!’

Eleanor closed her mouth as Mrs Cleary swept an appraising eye across her face and dress. She hadn’t remembered this.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Cleary at last, ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. I always knew you were going to be a beauty. Of course, that comes with its own problems, but I’m glad to see you’ve not had ideas above your station.’

Mrs Cleary looked at her expectantly. Eleanor jolted into life.

‘I’m glad to hear you think so,’ Eleanor said, waving Mrs Cleary into her best chair. ‘Incidentally, Mrs Cleary, allow me to offer you my condolences. Had I known you were in mourning …’

Mrs Cleary gave her a stately nod. ‘That is kind of you, Miss Hartley, if somewhat delayed. My Alfred passed over two years ago.’

Eleanor flushed. ‘I am very sorry to hear it. Mrs Pembroke always spoke so highly of him,’ she said, remembering nothing about Mr Cleary.

‘Dear Emmeline,’ said Mrs Cleary, her face softening. ‘She was such a kind woman. She would not have taken you in, otherwise. You were very … difficult. Used to scamper about the house screeching and snapping at the servants, the first year I knew you. And you wouldn’t say a word, even when you were spoken to.’

Eleanor could hardly believe what she was hearing. She had never behaved so poorly. She gave a demure cough. ‘Well, I … I apologize for my past behaviour. I must confess, I don’t remember it.’

Mrs Cleary sniffed. ‘I daresay that’s for the best. Emmeline taught you your manners eventually, and I must say that she did a sterling job. Nobody who met you now could ever believe you were such a terror.’

Mrs Cleary, smiling, appeared to think she had genuinely given Eleanor a compliment. Eleanor fought to keep the disbelief from showing on her face. But then, Mrs Cleary’s smile slipped. Eleanor could see the memories settling on her like fallen leaves. Eleanor pounced.

‘I daresay she did,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’ve so longed for her guidance these past few months. She was quite a mother to me …’ She let her words trail off and looked away, knowing Mrs Cleary was watching. ‘I miss her terribly.’

‘Of course you do. Anyone who knew Emmeline would,’ said Mrs Cleary, blinking fast. ‘Well, Miss Hartley, if you require guidance you must write to me. I shall be more than happy to oblige.’

Eleanor blinked as if she was holding back tears, and wondered if it was too much. ‘Why, Mrs Cleary, how kind of you to offer! Oh, that shall be a comfort to me.’

Eleanor took in the sable trim on Mrs Cleary’s dress, and the diamond pins in her hair, and was charming and attentive all afternoon.

The train into London rattled past long rows of terraced houses, huddling together under a haze of smoke. Here and there Eleanor could see a thin slice of brown – a damp street, or the slick bark of a bare tree. A brief flash of colour as the train passed a market, a flat spread of mossy green as they trundled past a park and then, at last, the slug-like back of the Thames, oozing beneath them as they rattled over the bridge and into Victoria Station.

Enormous iron arches vaulted over her head, lost in a haze of steam. A pall of smoke lay over the platforms, thick and dark. Whistles shrieked. Suitcases caught against her dress. Someone trod on her skirts. Eleanor kept her composure and fought her way over to the exit. Granborough House was not far; half an hour’s walk at most. It might be pleasant if she kept alongside the parks, but she needed her wits about her. If she took a wrong