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

‘Thank you.'

She sat stiffly on one of the wooden chairs by the table and looked around. The cottage felt warm and comforting after her earlier ordeal and subsequent ten-mile walk.  She longed to sink down in Arthur’s battered, old, comfy chair by the crackling fire and chat with him as she had in the old days but things had changed. She had changed.

‘I was just about to brew a pot,’ said Arthur setting the kettle on the stove. ‘Would you care for a cup?’

It was as if they were polite strangers, he thought. Surreptitiously he watched her as he busied himself with cups, sugar and milk and wondered what she was doing there. This was not a happy visit; he could see that much. Her eyes were troubled and he noticed her hands were twitching nervously as they rested on the table. Something had gone badly wrong at Collingworth Hall. His stomach clenched at the thought of it.

‘This is very kind of you …’ she began.

‘Don’t be daft. You know you’re always welcome here. We’re mates, you and I. Mates look out for each other.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I know … and I’m sorry about … you know … before. I wasn’t perhaps as tactful as I should have been.’

‘You said what you felt and I respected that. You can’t help your feelings, I know that.'

He handed her his best china cup and saucer and sat down on the chair beside her. They sat in silence for a few moments while she sipped at her tea and avoided his gaze. How could she even begin to tell him what had happened? Earlier, she had not thought of anything but escape. It was only a few miles on that she had realised where she was heading. It was the only place she could go. She knew in her heart that Arthur would not turn her away. Now she was here, though, she realised she had not thought through how difficult things might be. She was going to have to tell him something but she burnt with shame at the thought of telling him exactly what had transpired at Collingworth Hall. Worse than that, he had cared for her, enough to propose marriage, and now she was damaged goods. She dreaded seeing the disappointment he would surely feel writ large on his face.

‘Are you hungry?’ Arthur’s voice broke the silence. ‘I have a bit of bread and cheese. I’m afraid I’ve eaten all the stew I had for tea.’

‘No, please don’t trouble yourself. I’m fine,’ she replied.

‘Well I can see you’re not fine but I can also see you’re falling down tired so perhaps we’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’ve rested. I’m pretty bushed myself and I’ll need to be up at five to milk the cows. You make yourself at home in my room and I’ll take the chair. That way I won’t disturb you when I get up.’

‘No, no,’ Norah leapt to her feet. ‘I couldn’t possibly deprive you of your bed. I’ll sleep in the chair.’

‘Sorry. Decision’s made,’ Arthur said firmly picking up her case and marching it through to his bedroom. ‘Things will seem better when you’ve had a sleep. They always do.’

Mutely, Norah followed him and stood by the neatly made bed as he gathered up some of his clothes and a blanket.

‘Give us a shout if you need anything. Sleep well.’

He closed the door behind him and settled down in the chair. Questions churned through his brain but patience was a virtue, his mother had always said. She would give him answers when she was ready. On the other side of the door, he could hear her moving around and he thought how lonely his life had been since she had left. Suddenly, he could not subdue the hope surging through him. Maybe he was being given a second chance with her - he did not want to blow it this time.

In the bedroom, Norah lay still, eyes wide open and her emotions in turmoil. When she undressed, she had suffered the fresh shock of seeing ugly bruises purpling the white skin of her inner thighs. She was very sore and had suffered some bleeding which she was anxious not to transfer to the sheets.

Beyond the door, she could hear the fire still crackling and, eventually, Arthur’s gentle snores telling her he was asleep. He was such a good man. She should have married him when she had the chance; then none of this would have happened. Now it was too late and her life would not be the same again. Fearfully, she wondered what had happened when Lord Collingworth had regained consciousness. He would be furious and would want revenge. Doubtless he would send men to find her and bring her to account. She could be faced with an indictment for attempted murder should he decide to bring charges. However, she could not regret her actions and, truthfully, she wished she had hit the bastard harder. The memory of his hands pinching her breasts and her bottom as he thrust himself into her and his breath, his foul breath, as he panted and gasped his pleasure made her feel sick. How could she ever forget it? At last, the tears came and she sobbed herself to sleep.

When Norah awoke the next morning, it was just beginning to get light and the birds were singing. ‘Birds are singing; all’s right with the world.’ Her mother’s words came back to her with a jolt as she realised where she was. All definitely wasn’t right. The memories came flooding back - sickening, horrible … With a burst of determination, she pushed back the covers and gingerly got out of bed. She felt stiff and sore. It will pass, she told herself firmly.

The cottage was quiet and Arthur had left for work. She found a note he had left for her by the stove.

Make yourself at