The Girl in the Scrapbook, Carolyn Ruffles [iphone ebook reader .TXT] 📗

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Boxing Day dawned cold, crisp and clear and Norah felt considerably cheered as she hastily pulled on her clothes. After being cooped up all day yesterday, she could not wait to get outside.

Downstairs, Mrs Morris was busy in the kitchen and Norah called out a greeting before fastening her coat and pulling on her hat, gloves and boots. No one else was about and she took great delight in stamping her footprints in the fresh, glistening snow. It was like a magical world, eerily silent and still, and she tramped slowly across the lawn and towards the front of the house.

Another trail of larger footprints led from the front door and down the drive. Her father was already up and she decided to follow his path. Maybe, away from the house, they would be able to have a proper chat. It was always so difficult indoors with Adele, Hope and the servants ever present.

The footprints led past the stables and the farm buildings and down into the village where there were a few more signs of life. A small group of children, in brightly coloured hats and scarves, were busily building a snowman and Norah stopped to admire it. Then, around the corner, she met a young lad sprinting as if his life depended on it. The next second a snowball whizzed past her head.

‘Oops, sorry Miss.’ A small boy, bare-headed and rosy cheeked, gave her a rueful grin. ‘I was trying to get Charlie Dawkins.’

The first boy emerged from behind her. ‘Missed!’ he yelled and plunged his hands back into the snow.

‘Just hold fire boys until I get out of range,’ Norah smiled.

The footprints continued past the church, the shops (which were all closed for the holiday) and on beyond the mill. There, they became muddled with other much smaller footprints and eventually they disappeared up the small slope which served the village children for sledging. They had stamped down on the snow to make it more slippery and there were already four makeshift sledges precariously sliding with varying degrees of success.

Norah stood and watched, remembering how her father used to pull her around on the wooden sledge he had made for her. It was heart-warming to see the sheer joy on the children’s faces as they shot down the slope and the squeals of delight when they toppled over into the snow.

After a while, she circled around the mound, trying to spot where her father had headed next, but it was hopeless. Instead, she decided to walk back the other way along by the old chalk pits.

She had not ventured this way for a while and walked briskly, keeping well clear of the edge of the pits which were steep sided and very deep. There was something about them which had always given her the creeps when she'd been younger and, even now, when she knew there was nothing to be afraid of, the sight of them, stark and menacing, gave her chills down her spine.

Shrugging off her foolishness, she marched on and, when she turned the corner, she could see, in the distance, Willow Farm, smoke billowing from its chimneys. Immediately, she thought of breakfast and realised she was starving. The fresh air had given her an appetite. In no time at all, she was back inside the warmth of the kitchen and chattering to Mrs Morris as she tucked into her eggs.

‘Have you seen Father at all this morning?’ she asked.

The cook shook her head. ‘No. He was already up and out before I surfaced.’

‘I expect he’ll turn up shortly,’ Norah continued. ‘Now, you and Elsie need to take today off as you couldn’t get home yesterday. I know where everything is and I can take care of things just for the day.’

‘Ah, thank you, Norah. I was hoping to spend Boxing Day with them. Elsie’s already headed home as it’ll take her a while to walk.’

Elsie’s family lived in Newham, five miles away, and she had her own room at Willow Farm whereas Mrs Morris did not live in. She usually walked the mile and a half from the house she shared with her husband and two sons in Little Chalkham.

‘Right, I’ll be off then. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘You have a lovely day, Mrs Morris. You deserve it.’

Norah finished her breakfast and began washing up her plate and cup. Adele and Hope were notoriously late risers and she knew that it would be some time before they appeared. It would be an ideal time to talk to her father, if only he were to return.

However, George failed to put in an appearance throughout the morning and, by lunchtime, Norah was seriously worried.

‘Did Father mention to you where he was headed this morning?’ she asked Adele as they sat around the dining table eating soup which Mrs Morris had left for Norah to heat through.

‘Of course not.’ Adele’s tone was sharp. ‘He never tells me anything. I expect he’s having lunch with one of his cronies … or he’s off gallivanting around the countryside somewhere.’

Her words gave Norah an idea.’ I wonder if he’s gone shooting,’ she pondered aloud. ‘It would be a fine, clear day for it. I’ll see if he has taken his gun with him.’

She leapt from the table and walked through the house to her father’s gun cabinet, which was kept in his study. Sure enough, his gun was gone. Relief flooded through her. At least now she knew what he was up to.

Norah decided to go out again in the afternoon rather than sit and make conversation with Adele and Hope. First, she headed back to the kitchen and surveyed the well-stocked pantry. She could take a few leftovers from yesterday’s goose to the Partridge family. Bernard Partridge had been unable to find work since he 'd been laid off by George Coombes in the autumn and his family had been suffering more than most.

With a small paper bag in her hand, she headed out of the