“Even if you thought I wasn’t being fair,” replied Miss Maitland with emphasis. She placed her arms on the desk and leaned forward. “Try to see it from my viewpoint, Frances. Where would I be, where would Fairfields be, if I allowed every one of you big girls to decide for herself which rules she approved and which she did not? Every one of you would run wild in her own way. Of course she would! It’s so obvious that even a stupid person would understand, and with all your faults, Frances, I have never considered you stupid.”
“We don’t run wild at Jefferson High,” said Francie, after a pause.
“Whether or not you realize it, Frances, both your teachers and your parents are seeing that you abide by the basic rules. I am in the position of both teacher and parent, at the moment. But that is in any case irrelevant. You—are—not—at Jefferson High. You are at Fairfields. It is a fact which you forgot, which is regrettable.”
Francie was silent and thoughtful. “You—are—not—at Jefferson High. You are at Fairfields,” Miss Maitland’s voice re-echoed in her ears. Suddenly time turned back, and Francie was in Pop’s office on the day of the Richard the Third treat … “Don’t you ever stop to think you might be wrong, sometimes? … Not just tolerance of other people—understanding … Getting along with the other fellow on his grounds …” Funny, she could almost hear Pop speaking.
A sudden shame overwhelmed her as she remembered with dreadful clarity the whole sorry string of events of the previous day. Yes, Pop was right—and Miss Maitland was right—and she, Francie, was hideously, disgustingly wrong, and stupid, too. Oh, why hadn’t she seen it? Of course she couldn’t go around making up her own rules as she went along. It was true, Fairfields wouldn’t be Fairfields, if all the girls did that. In a flash she saw herself as Miss Maitland must see her—stupid, conceited, always sure she was right—why, just a brat, really! And all of a sudden, now that she was probably leaving, a great liking and respect for Miss Maitland surged up in her.
“Oh, Miss Maitland,” she faltered, “I see it now. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m—I’m sorry. I should have understood. Pop said I needed to understand—”
Miss Maitland’s voice was carefully impersonal. “I’m sorry, too. I must write to your parents this afternoon, I am afraid, explaining the circumstances. It would be impossible for you to remain at Fairfields now. I’m sure you both understand that.”
“Oh no! Oh, please, Miss Maitland!” cried out in anguish. “Please, Miss Maitland, it doesn’t matter about me, but—Listen, could I talk to you alone?”
Penny gave her a long look, but Francie would not look back. She kept her eyes fixed imploringly on the headmistress.
“Very well,” said Miss Maitland, sighing. “Penelope, you may go into the other room and wait.”
The door closed softly behind Penelope. “Now, Frances, what have you to say?” continued Miss Maitland.
“It’s about Penny, of course.” Francie drew a deep breath. “Miss Maitland, please do think; is it fair, even from your viewpoint, never mind mine, to punish Penny for something she never meant to do? I give you my word, she didn’t know she was going to meet those boys. I told her after we’d started out, while we were waiting for the bus.”
“Then there was still time,” said Miss Maitland, “for her to turn back. No, Frances, I’m afraid—”
“But Miss Maitland, is there a girl in the world who would have turned back just then? Would you really want anybody to be such a horrid prig as that? I know a Sunday-school book would say she should, but it just wouldn’t be human to do it. It would seem cowardly, too. Don’t you see?”
Miss Maitland did not reply.
“I never meant us to go out driving or do all the crazy things we did, like missing the bus back to school,” continued Francie, talking fast. “If Penny had known how bad we were going to be—but she couldn’t have, because I didn’t, myself. One thing led to another. She promised at the beginning that she wouldn’t run out on me, that’s all, and every time she hesitated I held her to it. It was me—I, I mean—who suggested going along in the car, and I put in the telephone call and said we’d be back later, without Penny knowing I was going to do it until after I’d done it. It was I who made every single suggestion. The boys didn’t know any better; they didn’t know how serious it was; they’re only used to the way we behave at Jefferson High. When Penny got scared I reminded her she had promised to stick by, and she kept her promise. How could she help herself?”
“Go on,” said Miss Maitland as Francie paused to look at her with pleading eyes. “Is there any more?”
“Yes, there is. Lots. I know you might say she shouldn’t have been so weak as to go along all the way, but listen, Miss Maitland. This expulsion will ruin Penny’s life. It’s not just a regular expulsion. I’ll tell you. She’s been worried and unhappy lately because.…”
Eloquently she described the situation at Penelope’s home, not sparing Uncle Jim or the fate which had seemed to be closing in on her unfortunate friend even before this disastrous episode took place. As she talked she could see Miss Maitland’s interest growing. Francie had never been so persuasive in her life. She was inspired clean through to the end.
“Why have I never heard of this before?” asked Miss Maitland when she had thought it over. “I should have thought that in an affair of this sort, any one of my girls would have come to me.”
“Oh, Penny would be afraid to come to you. We’re all terribly afraid of you, Miss Maitland. Not me, of course, not really, but the others.”
Miss Maitland’s mouth twitched again at the last sentence, but she grew grave as she considered the rest of the speech. “I should regret it if anyone else carried reserve to such an extent,” she said, half to herself. “Perhaps if I—but never mind for the present. I think,” she said, standing up, “that this situation needs more thought. I agree that we must not be hasty to condemn Penelope. For the rest of the day, you and she may be together in your rooms upstairs while I ponder all of this information you’ve given me. Oh, by the way, a letter has arrived for you, and Ella wasn’t sure if she should give it to you, under the circumstances. I think I must ask you to read it here, in my presence, as it may possibly be from your young American friend.”
But it wasn’t; it was a note from Aunt Lolly, saying that she had come back from Ireland, and asking Francie for a weekend soon.
“Whee!” cried Francie. “The Marines have arrived! I mean—oh, do please excuse me, Miss Maitland, but my Aunt Lolly is back in England and if anybody could talk this over with you, it’s her. Aunt Lolly—you know, Mrs. Barclay, my godmother; Pop told you I could go to visit her any time, remember?”
“Yes, I do remember, but under the present—”
“I don’t mean I want to go now, Miss Maitland,” said Francie, interrupting in a way that would have scandalized the other Fairfields girls. “But she could come here, you know. She would, like a shot, if you’d let me call her up. Or why don’t you, yourself? Do, please, Miss Maitland, and do please see her before you write to Penny’s mother, because honestly Aunt Lolly understands about Penny and all that. We told her in the holidays, and she talked to Penny’s mother then and managed her beautifully. Aunt Lolly is—”
“So you think she will manage me beautifully as well?”
“I don’t mean it that way,” said Francie, laughing a little. “I don’t care for myself about being expelled. It’s Penny I worry about.”
Miss Maitland looked at her curiously, and then smiled. She actually smiled. “Very well, I’ll talk first to Mrs. Barclay,” she said.
The girls never did figure out what Aunt Lolly did, exactly, to commute their sentence. Even Francie didn’t have enough faith to presume that her godmother was powerful enough by a wave of her wand to save not only Penny from her undeserved fate, but Francie from her richly deserved one.
Aunt Lolly knew, though. She wrote to Pop about it.
“This is to report to you,” she wrote, “the sto
rm which has blown up and subsided in the teacup of Fairfields School. Your daughter was very nearly expelled and sent home to you, presumably to the hotel in London if not to Iran, in blackest disgrace and I must say, Fred, that it’s a miracle the matter has died down as it has. I don’t consider that Francie, given her very different background, was really such a wicked child as appearances made out. These are the facts …” and she gave them to Francie’s father very clearly and succinctly, so that he would see the picture for himself. Then she continued with her own part in the affair.
“In response, then, to a frantic summons I went to Fairfields to do battle for Penny. Francie, and this is a triumph, recognized how wrong she was and didn’t expect any letting off. At first I must admit that my heart nearly failed me, because that Maitland woman is a redoubtable female if ever I saw one. Closer acquaintance reassured me. She’s a really fine person, human and understanding, and she does a wonderful job at that school.
“It seems Francie amused her vastly by suddenly going on the warpath and standing up for herself in a way that Miss Maitland obviously considers a novelty. English girls are very spirited, given certain conditions, but their ways are not Francie’s, it seems. Miss Maitland says that it was a new experience for her, and as soon as she realized that the child wasn’t being ‘cheeky’ she made a genuine attempt to understand the barbarian philosophy! Then, when Francie honestly realized and admitted how wrong she had been, that softened Miss Maitland further. However, if you ask my opinion, the thing that appealed to her most was the fact that she exhibited a virtue which an Englishwoman could recognize from the start. Francie was loyal in her plea for her friend Penny, and shouldered all the blame, as of course she should have done, without question. And she expected no quarter for herself.
“So much for Penny; Francie saved her friend. The unhappy situation at home carried a lot of weight when all was revealed. But as for our little girl herself, Miss Maitland tried to be adamant. Given only Francie, she kept saying, and a whole school full of girls like Francie, or with Francie’s brand of parent, she would consider some punishment short of expulsion sufficient, but she had all the other parents to think of. What if word got around that there had been such a flagrant breach of the rules? The whole reputation of Fairfields was at stake. She couldn’t afford the risk.
“I argued that Francie’s nationality ought to save the name of the school if nothing else did. To know she’s American is to forgive a good deal. And Francie isn’t a real Fairfields girl from way back; she’s a recent arrival. I had to talk bluntly, as hints won’t do with a woman of Miss Maitland’s type, and in the end I was successful. She still worried, she said, that the example might have been set, but since Francie had been caught out, this fact along with a rather spectacular punishment might take the place of expulsion. After all, no headmistress likes to admit complete failure … So Francie stays, though at a price. She is not permitted to pass through the school gates again until the end of term, and must miss whatever ‘treat’ her form may earn for good marks, including journeys to the beach for a day’s bathing. Serve her quite right, I said, speaking on your behalf as well as my own. I am sure you’ll agree.
“I was then permitted to interview both culprits. Penny looked far more woebegone and guilty than Francie, who was simply radiant that her sins had not been visited on her chum’s head. But that is what life is like; justice is always being blurred by the vagaries of human nature. I wish we could do something for that other child. It’s an unhappy situation altogether.”
Pop cabled Aunt Lolly, “GOOD JOB VERY GRATEFUL COMING BACK NEXT THURSDAY.”
CHAPTER 12
“Penny! I say, Penny, come and look. Do come!”
“Can’t you tell me? I’m so busy.”
Except when she was hard at work, Penny’s temper was angelic, but she had reason to be distracted now. It was only natural that Francie’s demands should irritate a producer whose play was just about to begin its one and only performance. In fact it should have begun already, but like most amateur productions it was late getting started. Out in front, sitting on hard benches in the Hall, the parents and special friends of Fairfields girls, who had come to school for breaking-up day, were not surprised or, as yet, impatient. They had already been through a great deal. The Dream was the last, most important event of an exhausting program which had begun in the morning with the singing of the school song and had proceeded by way of various exercises—riding, gymnastics on the lawn, recitations in French and a few musical offerings—to this, the deferred climax.
For the past fifteen minutes the curtain had been due to go up, but Penny was still hard at work on the last touches. Just as she put Hippolyta in place it was discovered that her gown hung down too far on one side, and while that was being stitched, somebody upset a pail of water on the platform, obliterating the chalk marks which were so important to show the little girls where to stand. It was all very well for Francie to be airy and carefree and thrilled, where she stood peeping out at the public from a vantage point near a crack in the curtain. Francie’s scenes were finished and complete, for better or worse; it was Penny’s job now to arrange them.
“Oh well, never mind,” said Francie in placating tones. “The thing is, your people have come in with mine and they’re sitting all together. I can see Aunt Lolly as plain as anything, and Pop next to her. I never thought I’d be so excited.” She hummed and danced a little, standing in place near the crack. “There’s Jennifer’s parents just coming in and sitting near the back, I guess so they can escape quickly in case they get bored. Mrs. Tennison is wearing the most ghastly hat you ever saw in your life.”
“Shhh! Jennifer was around here just a minute ago,” said the startled Penny. “I can’t think what’s got into her—she’s been wonderful with the little girls lately. I never thought to see Jennifer Tennison go in for art.”
Francie smirked modestly. She knew it wasn’t a respect for art that had entered into Jennifer’s soul. That day at rehearsal Francie had belittled the very foundations of Girl Guidism and Jennifer had seen to it from that moment on that the fairies learned the meaning of Discipline with a capital “D.” There had been no more rebellion in the lower ranks, much to Penny’s astonishment and Francie’s amusement.
“Everything looks perfect, simply perfect,” she declared. “Shall we ring the curtain up, Penny? I’m afraid they’re getting a wee bit restive outside.”
“Here comes—” said Francie, her back to the stage. Penny gave a hoarse cry of rage.
“Do go out to the audience, Francie, and get out from under our feet. Go and sit there for this opening scene, why don’t you? Report on how it goes. That way you’d be of some use.”
“But don’t you need me here?”
“I need you more out there,” said Penny. “Anyway, step back from the curtain. We’re beginning.”
Obediently Francie slipped off her smudged smock, and in an unadorned green tunic went out to join Pop and Aunt Lolly. The curtain did not go up immediately, in spite of Penny’s optimism. From the front, Francie could see mysterious bulges which appeared and disappeared behind its folds, and heard mysterious bumps and shuffles.
Her godmother and father greeted her in kindly fashion. “Does your appearance mean something’s going to happen soon?” asked Pop. “Because this bench is just a bit narrow for comfort. Not that I’m complaining.”
“It can’t possibly be much longer. Poor Penny is standing on her head, practically.” Francie broke off to nod and smile at Penny’s mother and dark-eyed Uncle Jim.
“We’re wondering when you get your final report,” said Pop. “Just been talking it over. Are you going to cover the Nelsons with glory, do you think? A good report would be a nice thing to show the State U. examiners at home when the time comes. I suppose you’ve already thought of that.”
“Sure I thought of it. Why else should I have worked? What do I get, Pop, if the report’s a bad one?”
“A beating, natu
rally,” said Pop.
“But if it’s good, on the average, I’ll still get that coat, won’t I? Or does you-know-what put me out of the running for that?”
Pop looked puzzled for a moment. “I know what?” he repeated. Even Aunt Lolly laughed.
“My disgrace, silly,” said Francie. “My moral leprosy. My wrongdoing. Or have you forgotten that I’ve been sent to Coventry, practically, these last few weeks?” She lowered her tone so the Stewarts would not hear, because Penny had never confessed to them about the row. Then, remembering that her neighbors must not grow suspicious of all this whispering and murmuring, she spoke aloud in a cheerful tone, “I’ll bet you don’t know where that expression came from, about being sent to Coventry. Do you?”
“No,” said Pop.
“No,” said Aunt Lolly after thinking a little. “I thought it was on the tip of my tongue, but I guess it isn’t. I’m sure I used to know, but I’ve forgotten.”
Francie sighed. “Education’s a wonderful thing, I don’t think. Really, you Americans! Well, since I must tell you, it was this way. During the civil wars of the seventeenth century.…”
It was not a very interesting story, but Pop was proud of Francie just the same. It was nice to think his daughter knew so much history, he said.
“It ought to knock them for a loop in Jefferson when they find out. What do you think, Laura?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about it; Francie has learned a good deal at school.” Aunt Lolly smiled in an understanding way at Francie, implying that her goddaughter had learned a lot more than a mere knowledge of seventeenth-century civil wars.
From the piano up near the platform, the opening chords of a march suddenly sounded. Francie recognized it for the curtain-raising piece, and settled down to watch the performance at last. Jerkily the curtains drew back. From this angle the scene looked fairly nice, she told herself, and she was suitably gratified by the spatter of applause offered by the audience.