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

in place, Eleanor allowed Mrs Cleary to lead her over to a display. She had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder. Particular, but generous, she thought. Why had Miss Hill chosen those words? Could she tell that Eleanor was only tolerating Mrs Cleary for the sake of her money? Even halfway across the shop, Eleanor could feel Miss Hill watching her carefully.

What had Miss Hill heard about her?

Eleanor was always mindful not to let Mrs Cleary find out about her past, but it was an increasingly easy occupation. Mrs Cleary had been widowed almost two and a half years ago, and had retired from Society as was correct – adding to which the fact that she was a Catholic, and therefore not welcome in all corners of high society, meant Mrs Cleary had heard hardly a thing about what really occurred in her old friend’s home.

Each time a new invitation came, Eleanor floated on relief.

She was going to make sure Mrs Cleary adored her, and nothing was going to get in her way. Eleanor dismissed Bessie at the door with strict instructions to return at ten; she could not let her talk to Mrs Cleary’s servants. She made sure to wear the dresses Mrs Cleary had given her at every dinner, altered to fit the older woman’s own ideas of what was appropriate for young ladies. Mrs Cleary gave Eleanor advice which she sometimes wrote down, if she thought that Mrs Cleary suspected she was not sufficiently grateful; by the first week of April Eleanor had filled a notebook. Eleanor escorted Mrs Cleary into dinner, helped her in and out of chairs, and made sure to smile while she did it. She insisted on helping Miss Hill, too, and knew that Mrs Cleary’s companion was grateful for the respite. Eleanor was dutiful, innocent, and attentive: in short, the perfect daughter.

But it was all for nothing, because when she left the drawing room at ten o’clock one night she saw Miss Hill and Bessie standing together, whispering. They fell silent when they saw her.

The moment the front door had closed behind them Eleanor rounded on Bessie. ‘What did you say to her?’

Bessie smirked. ‘Nothing, miss.’

When she called at Mrs Cleary’s house the next day, there was no answer. She tried again the next day, and the next, and it was only when the footman told her to clear off that the truth finally sank in.

Bessie had told Miss Hill about Granborough House, and Miss Hill had told Mrs Cleary.

Mrs Cleary knew Eleanor had lied. Well, not lied – all right, she hadn’t been perfectly honest, but she’d only embellished a little. Bessie was the liar. God only knew what she’d told Miss Hill. Surely the truth wasn’t enough to make Mrs Cleary cut her off like this – no, she had to have lied. Two whole months of nodding and smiling and listening to advice she didn’t need – wasted.

Eleanor marched home, veins alight with fury. She’d lost the best chance she had of finding Leah and getting Aoife out of Granborough House, and it was all Bessie’s fault. From the moment they’d met Bessie had dripped poison into the neighbours’ ears. Now Eleanor was without friends, without a benefactor, without anything to show for herself. Well, that was fine. No more nodding and smiling and shaping her personality like dough. What did she need Mrs Cleary for, when Eleanor could wear her independence like a fur coat?

Eleanor would find Leah herself – she had her own two legs, there was no reason why she couldn’t. And she’d get Aoife out of Granborough House too, without anyone else’s help. Let Mrs Cleary sit and rot in her overstuffed house. Eleanor didn’t need her.

Eleanor’s temper was still churning through her when she reached Granborough House, sharpening the edges of all her thoughts. Every passer-by who trod on her skirts or knocked her elbow was slighting her, every costermonger calling to her had mockery in their voice. Her forearms ached from clenching her fists; she longed to draw them back and punch something.

‘Ella?’

Aoife was walking towards her, shadows pooling underneath her green eyes. Eleanor beamed at her – it was so good to see her again – but then she noticed Aoife’s expression. Her face seemed about to fold in on itself, she looked so tired.

Aoife was carrying a large parcel, wrapped up in brown paper and string. ‘Lord above, what are you doing here?’

‘Aoife! How is Charles? How are you? What’s been happening here? For God’s sake, Aoife, tell me! I’ve heard nothing for months!’

Aoife looked over her shoulder. ‘You’d better go. If Mrs Fielding finds out we spoke …’

Eleanor blocked her path and snatched the parcel out of her hands.

‘Give that here!’

Eleanor darted out of reach. ‘You shan’t have it until you’ve answered me.’

‘Keep on like that and I’ll fetch a constable!’

‘Please do. I’ll tell him it’s my parcel, and we’ll see who he believes.’

‘You … you wouldn’t. Ella, you wouldn’t!’

Shame crawled across Eleanor’s skin, but she did not give back the parcel.

Aoife glanced at Eleanor’s well-cut dress and her shoulders slumped. ‘You won’t tell anyone I saw you?’

Eleanor shook her head.

‘Master Charles was sent away. None of us knows where he’s gone. He’s coming back for the Season, though. The master says he’ll have him married before the year is out.’

Eleanor felt a lump in her throat. ‘Do you think he’ll go through with it?’

Aoife shrugged. ‘I don’t see how he has any choice.’

Eleanor scrubbed at her eyes. Aoife had the decency to look away.

‘And how are you, Aoife? You haven’t been …’

Aoife shushed her, her face flushing. ‘I’ll not discuss such things out of doors, Ella!’

‘But you are safe, aren’t you?’

‘I … most of the time. He knows about the laudanum but he doesn’t care – he has me mix it into all his drinks now. And he kept all your morphine, so half the time he can’t see straight. But …’

Eleanor led Aoife out of