The Girl in the Scrapbook by Carolyn Ruffles (reading women TXT) 📕

There was a brief, awkward moment and then he reached forward to give her a clumsy hug. ‘Bye then. See you soon.’

‘Bye.’ To Jennifer’s surprise, she found herself smiling as she unlocked her front door. Overall, it had been a good night.

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Chapter 8

Norah – October- December 1926

Norah laid out her most treasured possessions on her bed ready to pack in her case. There was her locket, which she’d managed to find in Hope’s jewellery box, her scrapbook of photographs and the press clippings she'd collected, including one about Lydia Turner graduating from St Hilda’s. Not much to show for sixteen years; not much to bear witness to the life she had lived at Willow Farm.

Idly, she flicked through the first few pages of the scrapbook, reminiscing at the photographs from her twelfth birthday. How young she looked and how happy! She raised her head to view her reflection in the gilt framed mirror which hung on her wall. The face staring back at her was the same but thinner, paler and so much sadder. Her green eyes had worn the same haunted look for the past ten months, ever since that most terrible of events which had changed her life for ever.

Her father was dead and her world had fallen apart. He had been killed in a shooting accident - at least, that was what she'd believed for the first two days after his death. It had only been then that the note was found, the note he must have written that evening on Christmas Day when she'd overheard him sobbing in his study. It was addressed to Norah and the words had filled her with horror.

My dearest Norah,

I am truly sorry but I cannot go on. My debts have grown and the bank is about to foreclose. Willow Farm is to be sold and I have lost everything – everything except you, my precious daughter.

Always know that I loved you and your mother dearly. My biggest regret is that I have not been the father you deserved these last few years.

Please forgive me, Nolly.

Your loving father.

She read the note over and over, unable to believe its meaning. Her father had taken his own life. How could he do that to her? Her grief had turned briefly to anger and she had raged against him. He'd left her alone in the world with no thought for her future. Obviously, he hadn't loved her enough or he could never had done such a thing. The tears flowed hotly down her cheeks as she struggled to come to terms with this new knowledge.

Eventually though, her anger subsided and she was left again with the terrible grief of her father’s loss and an overwhelming sense of guilt. If only she'd disturbed him that evening, this might never have happened. She had turned away from her father when he'd needed her the most and this was the consequence. She could never ever forgive herself for that.

The next few weeks and months had passed in a haze of awfulness. Firstly, the funeral had taken place, with Hope crying noisily throughout and Adele adopting a martyred air. Norah had felt numb until the moment when the coffin had been lowered into the ground. Then, the enormity of her bereavement had struck her afresh and she struggled to hold back the sob of despair burning her throat.

It was at that moment that Arthur had squeezed her arm. His quiet support had helped her through the rest of the ordeal and for that she would be forever grateful.

A visit from the bank manager had confirmed that Willow Farm was to be sold to cover George Dunn’s debts. If it made a reasonable price, then Adele and Norah would be left with just a small amount each, certainly not enough to live on.

Adele had been livid. How dare her husband leave her in such straitened circumstances! He was a selfish, good-for-nothing coward who had betrayed her trust. Many in the village sympathised with her; she and Hope were frequently invited to tea at the vicarage or at Chalkham Hall. Norah was also invited but refused to go. It was hard enough listening to Adele berate her father’s good name at home without having to listen to her badmouthing him to other people.

George’s friends, though, from the farming community, had expressed their genuine condolences to Norah and spoken warmly of him as a good man.

‘We’re all in the same boat,’ George Coombes had stated grimly. ‘I can understand what George did. I’d consider doing the same if I lost Chapel Farm. This place was his life. How could he carry on?’

Norah had just nodded. She knew he meant well but it was impossible for her to agree with him and she  wasn't ready to discuss her father with his friends. He, like the rest of those who had come to pay their respects, had awkwardly shaken her hand, lowered his head sadly and left her alone with her grief.

As arrangements were made for the sale of the farm, Adele swiftly made clear her own plans. She was still an attractive woman and lost no time in casting around for another husband. A candidate was found in the shape of Albert Johnson, an elderly widower who owned a successful printing business in Bury St Edmunds. Even before the farm had been sold, their betrothal had been announced and she and Hope were happily making wedding plans.

Adele informed Norah bluntly that she should be doing the same. ‘You need to find yourself a husband or you’ll be out on the streets. For goodness sake, stop looking like such a wet weekend and smarten yourself up a bit. No man is going to be interested in you when you look such a frump.’

She insisted Norah accompany her to a charity Spring ball held at Chalkham Hall and made sure that both she and Hope had new frocks for the occasion. ‘We need to ensure you both