The Shadow in the Glass by JJA Harwood

Author:JJA Harwood [Harwood, JJA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-12-07T17:00:00+00:00

When Eleanor opened her eyes, she realized she was not in Granborough House. There was a faded yellow quilt on the bed instead of crisp white sheets. Pale green curtains let in a wash of pond-like light. The floorboards were bare, there was a smell of new plaster, and Charles was gone.

Eleanor pushed herself upright and morphine swirled around her. The colours twisted, sharpened, melted under her gaze. She lurched over to the window and looked onto an unfamiliar street. She was surrounded by neat rows of houses, each one two storeys tall and barely stained by smoke. Carts rattled along the street, and from somewhere close by came the shriek of a train whistle.

Eleanor clung to the curtain. Where were the parks? Where were the spires of Westminster Abbey, slicing through the fog? Where were the music halls, bleary and quiet in the morning light? A church bell rang, tolling ten o’clock, and Eleanor flinched. It sounded so wrong.

She was not in Mayfair any more.

Her case was at the foot of her bed. On top of her neatly folded things was a letter. She recognized Charles’s rounded hand and a lump came into her throat.

She pulled on her shawl and went downstairs.

The house smelled of display: polish, plaster and paint. Upstairs were two bedrooms, hers and a smaller one. Downstairs was a tiled hall, a drawing room at the front and a dining room at the back, both cheaply papered. Further back was a kitchen, filled with clattering pans and the hiss of boiling water.

A short, dark-haired woman a few years older than Eleanor was standing by the stove. She grinned when she saw Eleanor.

‘Hallo, miss! Cuppa tea?’

Eleanor clung to the doorframe. ‘Where am I?’

The woman nodded. ‘They said you wasn’t well. It’s your new place, and I’m your new maid. Bessie Banbury.’

The room tilted. ‘I … what? Where’s Aoife?’

‘Who?’

Bessie took her arm and steered her into a drawing-room chair. Apart from a limp sofa and an empty bookcase the room was bare, like set-dressing in an unfamiliar play. Any minute now, a wall would roll back on its casters and Eleanor would be staring at the audience, listening to them laugh.

Bessie came in with a cup of tea and thrust it at Eleanor. It slopped over Eleanor’s lap.

‘Are we in London?’

Bessie pulled a face. ‘Peckham,’ she said. ‘Not too far from the station, though.’

‘How long have I been asleep?’

Bessie shrugged. ‘Not sure. You slept all the way here. Auntie Mary said you’d been told.’

Eleanor set down her cup with a rattle, seething. No one had told her anything. Mr Pembroke had drugged her, bundled her up like old rags and shut her out of sight.

‘He can’t do this!’

Bessie raised her eyebrows. ‘Can’t give you a nice place out in the country? Dunno about that.’

Eleanor slapped the arm of her chair, slopping tea everywhere. ‘You don’t understand. They never told me I was coming here! I’ll have him up before the magistrate on a charge of kidnap! He can’t do this!’

‘Kidnap, miss? It ain’t kidnap.

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