Francie (18 page)

“Why—yes, I could do that. Right now, you mean, while you wait?”

“That would be best, wouldn't it?” said Glenn. “Run along and I'll hang on at this end. I'm sitting in a big leather chair, so I don't mind.”

Francie went rushing through the passage in search of her form mistress. As though Fate were determined to save time for her, she encountered Miss Maitland just around the first corner; that was fortunate, she felt, as Miss Maitland was in any case the final court of appeal. Too much absorbed in her own affairs to pay due attention, she failed to see the wrinkle of disapproval that marred the headmistress's brow. Miss Maitland did not like her girls running in the house.

“Oh, Miss Maitland! A very dear old friend of mine has just arrived from America. I wanted permission to go out with him, and maybe to ask one of the other girls to come as well. That will be all right, won't it? I'm sorry it's so sudden, but I wasn't sure until just now when he was arriving.”

“A dear old friend?” Miss Maitland stood very still, repeating the words. “A friend of your father's?” she added.

“No, that is, he knows Pop too of course, but he's my friend really. You see he's only a young boy, my age.”

Miss Maitland stared, rather stupidly, thought Francie. “Just what was it, then, that you wished to do for him, Frances? Invite him here? If so, I—”

“Well, of course I'd be awfully glad to see him here too,” said Francie insincerely. “I'm sure he'd be delighted to call. But right now I'd thought that as it's sort of short notice we might go out driving instead, so I could show him a little of the country. You see this is his first trip to England and he hasn't got much time.”

Miss Maitland said nothing for a moment. She didn't seem to know what she wanted to say. At last, “Hadn't I better get in touch with your father about this?” she asked brightly. “Yes, I think that would be best, before we make any rash decisions. I quite realize that in America this sort of thing might be—”

“Oh, that will be all right as far as Pop's concerned, Miss Maitland. He knows all about Glenn's coming over. I wrote to him about it a long time ago.”

“Perhaps, but nevertheless—”

“He
does
know,” insisted Francie, who was irritated by that “perhaps.” It sounded as if Miss Maitland didn't believe her. “Pop's always known Glenn. Glenn comes from my own home town, do you see; my aunt knows him and thinks he's a very nice boy, and she plays bridge with his people and everything. I tell you he wrote to me months ago about coming over this spring, and I told Pop about it then.”

Miss Maitland smiled. “In that case it is quite simple, Frances. You need only get written permission from your father, and I shall make no further objection to your seeing this young man. Ordinarily I would not approve such behavior in one of my girls, but I do realize you have been accustomed to a greater amount of freedom than most of us here, and as it is such an unusual occasion—”

“I'm afraid that wouldn't do at all, Miss Maitland.”

“Wouldn't
do?”
Miss Maitland's voice rose incredulously.

“No, because Pop's in Iran or maybe Iraq—I forget which it was to be this week—but there wouldn't be nearly time enough to get a letter to him and another one back.”

“In that case, Frances, there is nothing to do about it. Another time, when you have received a letter of permission—”

“Another time?” Francie's voice, too, was rising. “But there won't
be
another time. Glenn's only got three days in England. There isn't even time to send Pop a cable.”

Miss Maitland did not reply. Her expression was unyielding.

“I don't see why you can't believe me,” continued Francie. “I've assured you—”

“Those are the rules, Frances. I'm very sorry, but there it is.”

“But—” Francie struggled with a mixture of incredulity and rage. It was, really, too humiliating and exasperating! She tried again, this time in dignified tones. “Miss Maitland, I'm not accustomed to telling lies to people. When I've assured you, over and over again, that my father does really know and like this boy—”

“And I, Frances, am not accustomed to being questioned on my rules of discipline.” The headmistress's voice cut like a knife.
“I
am head of Fairfields School, a fact you have evidently forgotten. We will now drop this discussion, if you please.” She swept off down the passage.

Francie stood there as if frozen. She was not frozen, however.

On the contrary, she burned with pure temper; she was feverish. Never, never in her whole life had anyone spoken to her like that. Never before had her word been doubted (she was convinced that the headmistress had doubted her word). Never had she been so abruptly thwarted.

At first she forgot the cause of the dispute, and was aware only that she hated Miss Maitland and detested the school, and that she must without more delay get out of Fairfields. She clenched her fists, obsessed with a vision of immediate flight. Second thoughts made her pause. She was friendless in England just at the moment—Pop was out of touch, and Aunt Lolly was away. There was only Glenn.

Good heavens, Glenn! He must still be there, patiently hanging on to the telephone. At least she earnestly hoped he was; she must explain and make some excuse. What was she to say? It was necessary to think of something on the instant. She would tell a lie, she would do anything rather than risk another, worse humiliation such as having him arrive all trustful at Fairfields only to be turned away by Miss Maitland.
Oh!
It was too awful!

The thought of explaining the true state of affairs crossed her mind, but she dismissed it immediately. She simply could not go back to the telephone like a little whipped puppy and confess that she wasn't allowed to see him—she, Francie Nelson, forbidden to see her own boy friend! All the way from America, too!

Dimly she felt another emotion, a perfectly natural, grief and frustration at the thought of missing Glenn's visit. She had depended on it more than she realized. As soon as she knew he was coming she had felt more cheerful about all the pinpricks of existence at Fairfields. Nothing sweetens a long trial so much as the knowledge that there is a limit, a known date one can make a ring around on the calendar to mark a break in the tiresome routine.

Moreover, it was all so unjust. No one knew better than Francie how really all right it would have been for her to go out with Glenn. When had anyone before told her that she should not? Pop was far less easy in these matters than Aunt Norah had been, but even Pop liked Glenn and took their companionship for granted. It would have been so easy, too, to get his written permission! How was she to know that such a silly, unnecessary complication would arise? Pop would feel so sorry for her; Francie nearly burst into tears as she thought of Pop's pity.

In the meantime, here were the minutes ticking off and Glenn still waiting. What to do?

Down the corridor at this moment came Penelope of all people, so sunk in troubled thought that she saw nothing unusual about Francie's flushed cheeks and stormy eyes. She only said absently, “There you are; I wondered what had become of you. Don't forget we're catching that three o'clock bus.”

“So we are!”

Penny went on down the corridor and Francie remained where she was, looking as if she had made a discovery, as indeed she had. Salvation had suddenly opened before her. The bus and the town!

She ran back to the telephone at last. “Hello,” she said breathlessly. “Are you still there?”

“I am, sugar, but only just,” said Glenn. “Where did you go? Did you take a bath, or what? I must owe about ten dollars or pounds sterling or something on this call.”

“I'm sorry, but it's hard to fix things up over in this country. Nobody hurries.”

“I'm finding that out,” said Glenn.

“Well, listen,” said Francie. “I've got it all figured out now. It just happens Penny and I have got to go in to Farham this afternoon, so we might as well meet you there instead of here. Farham—F-a-r-h-a-m. Got it? It's only a short run from Kingston and anybody will tell you. Penny and I are taking the bus and we can meet you at the local pub, the Crown. Outside, not inside; we wouldn't be allowed to go in in our school uniforms.”

“That's funny,” said Glenn.

“Yes, maybe, but let's not talk about it now.” Francie's ears had detected a footstep near the telephone booth. “We'll meet you there about three-thirty,” she said hastily. “'Bye now.”

CHAPTER 10

“I'm afraid I don't really understand even yet,” said Penny at last. “You'll have to begin over again, this time at the beginning. Do try not to get so excited, Francie. Half the time I can't make any sense out of it at all.”

The two girls stood near the gate of Fairfields in the bright afternoon sunlight, waiting for the bus. They had been there for several minutes and all that time Francie had been talking with feverish indignation. At these words she groaned.

“I wish you'd listen carefully,” she said. “We won't be able to talk in the bus if there's anybody else there. Even now—” She paused and looked over the fence cautiously. “Somebody might be around in the bushes, listening,” she explained. “It's terribly hard to tell anything in confidence around here.”

“But where
are
these boys? Why all this secrecy?”

“They're driving over in their car to Farham and meeting us there.”

“Why are they doing that?” asked Penny calmly.

“I've just told you, Miss Maitland said I couldn't go out with them unless I had Pop's written permission, and I haven't got it and she knows I haven't, and I can't get it either, not until Glenn's gone. Written permission, did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? After I told her and told her that it
would
be all right with Pop! Wouldn't you think she might take my word?”

Penelope thought about it. “She might, but she's not used to parents like your Pop,” she decided at last. “She's more used to parents like my Uncle Jim. Besides, Francie, those are the rules. You wouldn't find many headmistresses who'd be any more indulgent than Miss Maitland.”

“But it means I'd have
missed seeing Glenn!”

“Yes, but just the same—”

Francie turned away angrily. “I thought
you'd
understand. You, anyway. Out of all these people …”

Penny struggled with herself for a moment and then said, “Yes, I do understand, Francie. I can see why you're so furious. I'll even admit that if I were American I'd be furious too.”

“Then you don't mind that we're going to meet them?” demanded Francie. “You're not angry?”

“Oh no. Not angry. Just—well, I realize you might not understand what it's like, defying a headmistress.”

“You're right I don't.
I'm
not afraid,” said Francie loftily, and Penny in spite of herself laughed. “But I'm worried for you,” added Francie. “I don't want to get you into trouble.”

“You needn't be; I can take care of myself,” said Penny.

“Then you don't feel I've dragged you into something?”

Francie's anxious tones touched her friend deeply. Penny replied on impulse, “I'll see you through, Francie. I'm with you, no matter what happens.”

The American girl's grateful smile was enough to make Penny forget her misgivings. But she looked thoughtful as the bus came in view and they climbed into it.

There were a few other passengers, and the girls did not dare to talk about the affair on the way in to Farham. Francie, staring with unseeing eyes at the summer fields they went bowling past, tried to imagine what Glenn would think of all this uproar if he knew. Should she tell him in a joking way, or would it be better not to confess anything? That would depend, no doubt, on how much confession would be necessary; unknowing, he might expect to be asked into the school when the meeting was accomplished. She decided to wait and see what happened.

It was an uneasy business altogether. If Penny had not suggested that they fill in the waiting-time buying their butter-muslin, Francie would have bitten her nails to the quick. As it was, they did not linger too long near the pub, an exercise which Penny felt would make them dangerously conspicuous, dressed as they were in their uniforms and straw hats with school ribbons around them. The girls had just crossed the street, Francie carrying the butter-muslin in a bulky brown-paper parcel, when a gleaming American car, an open model, drove up to the curb.

“Whoopee! There they are!” cried Francie, forgetting all caution and breaking into a run. Glenn stepped from the car, and when after the second look he recognized her he rushed forward and hugged her in full view of the High Street.

“How are you anyway? Gee, it's good to see you!” he cried. “I wasn't sure it was you for a minute in that outfit.”

Bob Chapman, a tall young man with an attractively solemn look and rather curly dark hair, was out of the car on Glenn's heels. He and Francie exchanged quick greetings and then Penelope had to be introduced to the boys, while excitement ran high all around. Glenn interrupted his own chatter at last.

“Why are we all standing here?” he demanded. “Can't we go somewhere and sit? Isn't there anywhere at all you girls are allowed to rest?”

“Oh, we could have tea in the hotel, I suppose. It's just the pub I've got to keep out of,” explained Francie. “Or we could go to the tearoom down the street. It's a potty little place, but—”

“Honestly, Francie, I don't know about that.” Penelope was trying to signal her friend tactfully as she spoke. “Everybody around here knows we're from Fairfields. Just in case there's any trouble do you feel we ought to give them something more to talk about? They'll have plenty as it is.”