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

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Eleanor, relief flooding through her. ‘I was not the one who engaged her services. If there’s nothing else I can help you with …’

‘No, thank you. Good morning, Miss Hartley.’

He left. Eleanor watched him go from the drawing-room window, picking his way past ribbon-sellers and flower-girls and sweating dairymaids. How long was he going to keep watching her? Would he stalk through the edges of her life forever, waiting for her to make a mistake?

The woman materialized beside her, her eyes as fathomless as ever. No shine, no glimmer of moisture – nothing but blackness, as if someone had cut the eyes out of a photograph and held it above the void.

‘Such a nuisance,’ the black-eyed woman said, softly. ‘You could be rid of him so easily.’

Eleanor stiffened. If she made the final wish, she’d lose her soul. Ever since she’d made the deal, she’d wondered what she would be without it.

Perhaps it was time to find out.

On a bright and perfect morning, Eleanor inspected her hands. Clean, soft, largely unblemished – no one would be able to tell that six months ago she had been scrubbing floors. Tonight she would announce her engagement at Lady Winstanleigh’s ball, and in her silk gloves, her past would be invisible.

Eleanor spent the day making herself perfect. She avoided the late May sunshine all day, in case she burned. Her gloves were pressed, her jewels were polished, her dress had the creases smoothed out. She lined up all the forks she had and tried to remember which one was which. By evening she was a soft, scented creature, girded with whalebone and armoured in silk and lace. No one could tell she was nervous with diamonds and sapphires at her throat. The quicksilver shoes she’d wished for clung to her feet, soft and shiny satin hidden under layers of petticoats and tulle. It felt so right to slip them on; even all those months ago, she had been on her true path. At last, the mirror reflected the person she’d always wanted to be: bright, beautiful, a queen surveying her subjects.

There was a knock at the door and Eleanor rushed to the window. A cab was waiting outside.

‘Is it him? Leah, go and see who it is. Is it Charles? Quick, answer the door!’

Eleanor grabbed a blue velvet cloak and glided down the stairs, trying to think dignified thoughts and not trip over all her rustling skirts. No more walking with her head down. Tonight, she would survey high society like an Olympian goddess.

Charles was waiting in the drawing room, impeccable in black and white. When he saw her, his face lit up.

‘Good God, Eleanor. You’re an angel.’

He helped her into a waiting cab and held her hand when Eleanor started picking at her gloves. They passed over the glittering Thames, the streets widened, and soon the shape of a white stone mansion, turning copper in the evening sun, came up ahead. It was then that Eleanor noticed the strange sweetness in the air. She shoved away the thoughts of her mother before they could take root.

‘Charles,’ she began, ‘perhaps I am imagining it, but is there a certain …’

He nodded, pulling a face. ‘It’s the old churchyard, Fortescue warned me. They’re clearing out the land for a park – you know, digging things up and so forth. I’m sure it will be a lovely spot, but I can’t imagine what idiot decided to start at the height of the Season. Lady Winstanleigh was furious.’

Suddenly, the smell seemed thick enough to choke on. ‘Do you mean to say that … that that smell is coming from …’

Charles took her hands. ‘They’ve all been cleared away, Eleanor, darling. There’s nothing there any more, it’s just a big pit. Anyway, we shan’t go near the blasted place. Don’t be upset.’

‘This wasn’t in my books! Oh, what if I should make a fool of you?’

He gave her a quick kiss. ‘I don’t believe you could. If you’re your usual charming self, they’ll all be half in love with you by the end of the night. I should know.’

The cab came to a halt and Charles helped her down. The old churchyard was closer than she’d thought. Wooden barriers closed off the entrance to the third street on the left. Beyond them was a low brick wall, and dark heaps of earth and stone.

But then she saw the house, and the sweeping staircase leading up to the gleaming black doors. All the brasswork glinted rose-gold in the evening light, the white stone stained amber, pink and saffron. A liveried doorman was checking invitations, footmen were waiting inside and a butler announced the guests, voice ringing through the hall. One look at her and they’d be able to tell what she’d been. Servants always recognized each other. Oh, God, what if she’d met one of them before and not realized it?

‘There’s so many people here,’ she whispered. ‘You will take care of me, won’t you?’

He handed their invitations to the doorman and gave her gloved hand a kiss. ‘Always.’

Until she stepped into the ballroom, Eleanor had thought the Pembrokes had been rich.

High, arched windows drenched the guests in amber light. Double doors led into a courtyard filled with fountains and flowers. A chandelier sparkled overhead and a wide mirror hung above an enormous fireplace on the far wall. Whirling dancers made strange patterns of light and shade on the polished floor. Jewels and pocket watches flashed, sending refracted light sparking across the room. Gold glowed, silver shimmered. Bright flowers sprawled in the empty fireplace. Colours flashed as the dancers spun – turquoise, indigo, scarlet. Silent servants slipped through the crowds, trays balanced on gloved fingertips. A waltz wound through the room, curling around the dancers, and suddenly Eleanor’s corset was too tight and her shoes were pinching and her sapphires felt like a collar around her neck. There was wealth, and then there was