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

few more tea leaves in her cup. She was being silly. She hadn’t lost anything, she’d merely changed – and it was natural to worry about change because soon her life would be very different. But at last, it would be what she made it. She could bring order to chaos, light into the darkness. How could she ever doubt that?

And, of course, there were the wishes. Those had changed her. Hot fear and constricting guilt had burned away her regrets and made her into something hard and brilliant. Now, she was diamond.

Leah arrived the next day, clutching her baby. The workhouse had taken back her uniform and she was wearing Eleanor’s shawl and the dress she’d left Granborough House in. They had been cleaned, and stank of carbolic soap, but they were stained and crumpled from months in storage.

Leah took one look at Eleanor, waiting on the front step, and burst into tears.

Eleanor led her inside and made a pot of watery tea. She showed Leah around the house like a child might have done, chattering non-stop and pointing out inconsequential things. Leah cried through it all, eventually just sitting down on the stairs and howling into her baby’s shoulder. Eleanor put her to bed, still giddy from her triumph.

Next, she would find Aoife.

The next morning Leah was calmer. Her eyes were red but she was smiling, and together they went down to the dining room, baby Josiah drooling onto Leah’s shoulder. He was a still, quiet child, with eyes too large for his face, and he did not look five months old. Eleanor would have to make sure that Leah had the money to feed him up.

Leah took Eleanor’s hand as they ate breakfast. ‘I can’t tell you how much this means to me,’ she said, her voice thick. ‘I’ll never be able to repay you.’

‘I don’t want you to,’ said Eleanor, smiling. ‘I might need a little help until the wedding, but I’d be happy to pay you for it.’

Leah shook her head, grinning. ‘This place is payment enough. Look at this! A dining table of my own! I could lie right across it!’

‘Let me finish my breakfast first.’

Leah laughed. It seemed quieter than Eleanor remembered, and she felt a twist of sadness at the sound. But Leah was laughing, and she was here, and Mr Pembroke could never touch her again. The hungry creature Leah had been was gone. Eleanor had brought the real Leah back.

The atlases were spread across the dining-room table and at the sight of them, Eleanor seemed to float. She was looking at her honeymoon. First Paris, then Vienna, and from there Rome, or perhaps Constantinople. She could feel the pull of distant horizons, buried in her chest.

Leah edged into the room. ‘Someone’s here to see you.’

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s a policeman,’ Leah hissed. ‘I swear I ain’t done nothing wrong. Haven’t I been good to you? Don’t send me back there, please …’

She was crying again. Eleanor soothed her. ‘Calm yourself, Leah. I shan’t send you anywhere. Tell him I’m indisposed.’

Leah shook her head. ‘He says it’s important.’

‘Bring him a cup of tea, then. I’ll be through directly.’

Inspector Hatchett was waiting in the drawing room and clutching his hat, a fly among all her flowers. What did he want? Why was he here? His eyes widened when he saw her. Her mourning period for Mrs Cleary was over and, oh Lord, she’d told him she’d put on mourning for Mr Pembroke. He’d expect her to be in black for at least a year and now, thanks to her green and white dress, he’d caught her in a lie before she’d even opened her mouth. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she been ready?

She put on her perfect-hostess smile. ‘Inspector! This is an unexpected pleasure. How do you do?’

‘Good morning, Miss Hartley. I’ve come to speak with your maid.’

Eleanor drew back her shoulders. ‘Leah has done nothing wrong.’

‘Not her. Your other maid – Bessie, I believe.’

‘Oh! I see,’ said Eleanor, relaxing. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey, Inspector. She no longer works for me.’

‘That’s most unfortunate, Miss Hartley,’ he said, reaching for his notebook, ‘because I hoped that she could confirm your whereabouts on the night of Mr Pembroke’s death. A woman matching your description was seen in the vicinity of Granborough House close to the hour of the murder. Naturally, I want to find her.’

Eleanor felt the mask descend. Behind it, she was screaming. A woman matching her description? But that made no sense, she’d been nowhere near Granborough House on the night of the murder. Or had she? The last thing she remembered was making the wish in her own kitchen, and then she’d woken up in her own bed with money missing from her purse – no. No. Of course it hadn’t been her! She’d just had a touch too much to drink, gone out for some night air and lost a few shillings in the process. That was it. That had to be it.

‘Matching my description?’ Eleanor asked, in a carefully curated tone.

‘Fair-haired, in a dark dress.’

Some of the tension eased out of Eleanor’s shoulders. ‘I’m not sure I’d say that matches my description, Inspector. Indeed, it could match anybody’s.’

He made a note. ‘Regardless, I should like to confirm your whereabouts, and your former maid is the only person who can do that. Could you supply me with her address?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know it.’

‘Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Had she any relatives?’

Eleanor thought fast. She couldn’t let him know Bessie was Mrs Banbury’s niece: he’d go straight to Granborough House, find the cook, and then he’d find Bessie. She couldn’t let him talk to her. She had to get him out of the way.

‘I believe she said something about looking for factory work,’ Eleanor lied, ‘somewhere in the north. I understand the wages are better.’

Dissatisfied, the Inspector put his notebook away. ‘Have you no further information you can give