|
A Case of Unexpected Consequences
I stopped short in the doorway, surveying the scene
before me with barely concealed dismay. Frodo Baggins lay on the
settle, propped up on a pile of pillows, and aiming a dart at the
opposite wall of the Bag End study. On a small table next to him lay
a smouldering pipe, clearly not the first of the evening, since the
small room was filled with an aromatic brown haze. “Good heavens,
Baggins, how can you breathe this foul stuff?” I demanded testily.
“It’s positively murky in here.”
Baggins did not reply, but let the dart fly. It was only then that I
noticed the darts already embedded in the far wall of the study were
beginning to outline what looked remarkably like a map of the
boundaries of the East Farthing. “Hmmm,” Baggins did not glance up
at me. “Very nearly to Crickhollow, I should think. Gamgee, do hand
me that case, there’s a good chap.”
I gave an inward sigh, but did as requested. At least he couldn’t
smoke any more of that foul weed as long as he was scraping on that
infernal fiddle. But Baggins, after withdrawing the instrument from
its case, gave it only one plangent pluck before setting it down
again, and turned his attention back to me. “It was the Toddles, was
it not?” he mentioned, nearly indifferently. “And did they all
manage to survive?”
“Well, yes, although I’m not sure that I had anything to do with
that outcome,” I sighed, as I settled down in my favorite chair near
the fire and gratefully propped my feet up on the accompanying
footstool. “Good sturdy stock, those Harfoot. Just as well, since
they insist on making their homes in those eternally damp
riverbanks.”
“Ah, you are being much too modest again, my dear Gamgee. There is
no finer healer in all the greater Hobbiton area, as you yourself
well know.” Baggins’ voice was warm as he studied me in the
unmistakably hazy room. “The Toddles were quite lucky to have you,
whether they acknowledged it or no, old friend. And at least you had
something with which to occupy yourself. I am not nearly so
fortunate, it seems, and the criminal element in Hobbiton is either
defunct, or trying its utmost to force me to retire and keep bees in
the Wild Woods out of sheer boredom.”
“Unlikely, I should think,” I gave an amused smile at this familiar
complaint. “You’ve been bored before, my dear Baggins, and you
shall, undoubtedly, be so again, and yet here you still are. Why not
simply relax, dear chap, and content yourself with a good book, or
perhaps the paper? Something will present itself in a day or two; it
always does.”
But indeed, that proved to be a generous estimate, for not a moment
later, a fierce pounding was to be heard on the round green door of
Bag End. The rather excited piping of a young voice was heard, and
then Widow Rumble escorted the owner of the voice down the hall and
to the doorway of the study. She announced the visitor, who could be
seen peering from behind her elbow, in a dubious tone, and gave the
young hobbit a clearly unimpressed eye. “He wouldna stay in the
hallway, as he was asked, Mister Frodo, but I suppose as it’s that
important he mustna listen to his betters.”
“No matter, Mrs. Rumble, please don’t trouble yourself on the
matter.” an amused Baggins surveyed the young tween, who was fairly
bursting with the importance of his mission. “I believe the both of
us will be most interested in whatever news young Ned has to convey
to us.”
With a parting polite cough of doubt, the ample housekeeper
wordlessly expressed her opinion to the contrary, and departed back
towards the kitchen and the preparations for the evening’s meal that
had been thus interrupted.
“Now then, Neddy,” I turned my attention to the newcomer, not before
drawing a grateful sip of the mug of hot toddy with which the
housekeeper had just presented me. Capital women, I thought briefly
to myself. It was a fine thing, however, that Bag End was large
enough to accommodate her in a manner that allowed her to remain,
for the most part, quite unnoticed. With a bit of difficulty, I
snapped my attention back to the young hobbit, who was twisting a
worsted cap in his hands and looking up at me hopefully, as the more
approachable of the pair in the room.
“It’s the Missus, sir,” he squeaked deferentially. “She’s that
upset, sir, and banged me off to fetch Mister Baggins, and I was not
to have no for an answer, sir, no ways.”
“Then I expect you might want to ask me directly,” responded Baggins
mildly, examining another dart.
The young hobbit gave a convulsive gulp at the thought, and
continued to mutely beseech me for assistance.
“Oh, good heavens, my dear fellow, can’t you see the little chap is
awestruck in the presence of the great Baggins?” I gave a
comfortable chuckle. “And would not the Missus to whom the child
refers be a relative of yours?”
Baggins let the dart fly in an unmistakably peevish manner. “So she
claims,” he retorted. “I’ve never quite sorted out the Sackville
business, but I suppose there is a Baggins connection somewhere. I
assume she’s misplaced her umbrella again, or something of the sort,
but since there is little else to do in this dismal burg, I may as
well pay a visit. I’d be glad of the company, if you’d wish to
accompany me, Gamgee, but if you’ve better things to do, I’d
entirely understand.”
&&&&&
The autumn breezes were sudden and fierce, and the red and gold
leaves gusted about our legs in swirls, as we set off on the road to
Mistress Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’ smial. It lay at the far side of
Hobbiton, and was one of the finest in the area. Indeed, some
privately considered it a bit too fine, for not an opportunity had
been lost to add a brightly colored decorative eave, or a
finely-fretted window frame, and the gilded front door was indeed a
marvel to behold. Baggins gave a dismissive sniff when the edifice
came into view as we walked up the long walkway from the main road,
lined with stately lime trees which were now all nearly bare. I
quite agreed, but said nothing. Baggins’ relationships with what
remained of his closest relatives were notoriously poor, and I
thought it prudent to remain supportive but silent for the moment.
The door was whisked open very nearly as soon as Baggins could knock
on it, and a gawky stripling in an elaborate outfit of a ceremonial
nature bowed quickly to the both of us visitors. “Mistress
Sackville-Baggins’ best to you, good sirs, and please follow me, as
she is ready to see you.”
“That would certainly appear to be the case,” Baggins gave me a wry
smile, and followed the awkward footman into a room that was as
elaborately arrayed as could have been expected.
The mistress of the house, equally elaborately arrayed, rose regally
at our entrance. “Frodo,” she murmured, holding out her hand to him.
“How marvelous to see you again.”
“I am as equally enchanted, my dear lady,” Frodo briefly touched her
hand, giving it a perfunctory brush with his lips. “However, I
understand that there are matters of import regarding which you wish
to consult me?”
“Ah, a hobbit of business these days, are you not, dear Frodo?” she
gave him a frosty smile. “But excuse me, my dear sir,” she turned to
me, with a haughty glance. “I’m not entirely sure that we are
acquainted?”
“Samwise Gamgee, my friend and consultant.” Baggins allowed a testy
edge to enter his voice. “I find him invaluable on these matters of,
as you say, business. You may feel quite free to discuss anything
you wish before him.”
“Now I remember you,” she continued to study me coldly. “The
gardener’s son, I believe. Very well, Frodo, I suppose that is
entirely your own affair. You may as well both be seated.”
Baggins’ face remained impassive, but I noticed the subtle
tightening of his jaw. Fully aware of what that implied, I hastened
to take a seat on one of the ornamental and unwelcoming chairs, and
gave the mistress of the house a slight bow of deference. “Thank you
kindly, my lady, for remembering me. Indeed, that is who I am.”
Baggins shot me an undecipherable glance, but silently took my lead
in finding his seat as well.
Satisfied, Mistress Sackville-Baggins walked to a chest at the side
of the room, and pointed to it. “It’s my silver. Twenty-four
teaspoons and a silver teapot. All were present at tea time
yesterday, and this morning, when I required them for breakfast,
they were quite gone.”
At this announcement, I started trying to work out how one hobbit
could require four-and-twenty teaspoons for breakfast, but Baggins
stifled a yawn of boredom, and rose again to examine the chest.
“Locked, no doubt?” he drawled.
The owner nodded sharply. “That goes without saying, surely. One can
never trust the help. The keys to the chest, as well as the smial
itself, were in my possession and under my pillow. Everything was
locked quite securely; I checked the doors and windows last night as
I do every evening.”
“Of course,” murmured Baggins, and moving over to the window near
the chest, he withdrew a small glass from one of his pockets and
began to examine it minutely. “Nothing here,” he muttered, “solely
the normal streaks of a hasty autumn cleaning. A smallish amount of
dust, nothing out of the ordinary. Fingerprints on the glass to be
sure, but with no attempt to wipe them clean, so assumably those of
the housemaid. Footprints below, those of a female, Harfoot by the
spread of the toes, but wait…” he lapsed into silence, studying the
floor carefully. “Gamgee! You wouldn’t happen to have an envelope on
you, would you, old chap?”
I sprang up, recognizing that particular timbre in his voice. “Here
you are, Baggins.” I thrust a sheet of paper originally intended for
a bill, that I had carelessly stuffed in my pocket before setting
off for the Toddles, out to him. “You could fold that up, I
suppose.”
“Capital, capital,” Baggins exclaimed with poorly disguised
excitement. “That will do nicely indeed.” He bent over the floor
near the window, scooping up what appeared to be dust into the
paper, and then rose, giving the puzzled mistress of the smial an
animated nod and smile. “Indeed, my dear Lobelia, if I may be so
bold, I do believe you’ve given me the first stimulating puzzle I’ve
had in months. I am most indebted to you. Oh, and I shall certainly
endeavor to find your teaspoons while I’m at it. No, I beg you,
don’t bother yourself. We shall find our own way out nicely enough,
Gamgee and I. You shall hear from me before long. Come, Gamgee, we
must be off!”
And we were gone before it quite registered to an obviously dazed
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that her upstart remotely-connected cousin
had addressed her by her proper name.
&&&&&
“The first thing to be done,” an energized Baggins informed me,
undeniably puzzled as I was by his actions, as we walked out the
garish front door, “is to find out who’s been about the place. No
point in asking the haughty Lobelia herself; I doubt that she knows
half of who goes in and out of her smial. No, Gamgee, we must be
asking a more lowly member of the household, and one who is
trustworthy. What do you know of young Ned? He seems taken with you,
I couldn’t help but notice.”
“Got his mother through a bad spell of the winter fever, last year,”
I answered promptly. “Decent boy, and quite perceptive, as well. He
might indeed be the one you’d wish to speak to. Can’t say much about
the rest of the staff there, as I doubt that I’ve ever had occasion
to call on any of them.”
“Then Ned it is,” Baggins agreed decisively. “He must be the hobbit
she sends off on errands and marketing. I can hardly imagine that
she sends that footman of hers out and about much, especially
dressed the way he is. And I suspect young Ned will be sent off soon
enough to replenish the supply of wood for the fires, for it
promises to be a wet evening. She was down to her last log in the
drawing room, and I noticed the pile under the left side eave as we
entered. We may as well make ourselves at ease behind this hedge for
a bit and mark who comes and goes.”
Stepping into the shadow provided by the thick juniper hedge, we
made ourselves as comfortable as possible, I finding a stone wall on
which to perch, and Baggins leaning against the pine that
providentially stood nearby. But the first to depart from the
Sackville-Baggins’ smial was not the hobbit we had expected.
Instead, it was a young gentlehobbit, expensively clad, with a
general air of arrogance and superiority only partially offset by a
notoriously pock-marked face.
Baggins gave a low whistle. “Lotho Pimple-Face,” he breathed. “There
is a scoundrel who has not been seen about for a good many months.
Odd his mother did not mention that he was back in residence.”
Lotho stopped just outside the door and barked out an order.
Shortly, a stamping and snorting pony was brought around from the
back of the smial, with no small amount of difficulty, by the
diminutive Ned. “Took you long enough, boy,” sneered the pony’s
owner. “But I forget your sort know little of fine animals such as
this.” Despite his words, it appeared that he did not know much more
about the animal in question, for it took a good deal of exertion
and cursing on the part of the pony’s owner before he was finally
astride, and with a vicious clout to the ribs of the troublesome
beast, he was finally off. The young Ned watched him go with a
troubled look that was only partially lifted when Baggins stepped
from the shadows and motioned him over to us.
“He’s no call to go treating that pony that way,” he was still
frowning as he joined us in the shelter of the hedge. “It was
fine-tempered enough ‘til it sensed the Master was about.”
“Doesn’t look as he’s had it long,” observed Baggins quietly.
“No, I can’t say as I’ve ever seen Master Lotho with a pony such as
this,” declared Ned, losing his previous trepidation at addressing
Baggins in the face of his concern over the animal’s treatment.
“We’ve the cart horses, as the Missus uses, but they’re nobbut like
this sort of pony.”
“And when did Master Lotho come home, Ned?” I unobtrusively took up
the questioning. “Can’t say as I’ve heard that he was back in
Hobbiton lately.”
“And he won’t be for long,” Ned shook his head, “not if it’s like
the last few times. Just comes in, in the middle of the night, with
a fuss and roar, and puts the Missus into a proper fit, every time.
And then he’s gone, just as sudden, and the Missus bites our heads
off for any trifle for days.”
“How very instructive,” Baggins pursed his lips and gave a
thoughtful whistle. “The next time you’ve in town, Ned my lad, have
an extra mug at the Green Dragon on my behalf, and if any other bit
of news strikes you as something that we might find of interest,
give a message to the innkeeper that you wish to see Gamgee, here,
or I. I don’t think it would do to have you seen stopping by Bag
End, unless you were sent by your mistress, but I would very much
appreciate it if you kept that in mind. And I understand that your
mother had the winter fever last year? Here’s a bit of recompense
for helping us out today. You might want to get her something warm;
I’ve heard the upcoming winter may be a bitter one.”
“Why, thank you kindly, Mister Baggins,” Ned nodded gratefully at
the piece of gold Baggins held out. “Not that I wouldn’t mind
helping you out anyway, no mistake. That Master Lotho is a fierce
one, and naught good ever comes o’his visits. I wouldn’t mind seeing
the last o’him, and whatever the Missus might say, I wouldna be
surprised if she don’t think the same.”
&&&&&&
The Green Dragon was a-bustle with the congenial traffic of a late
chilly afternoon. Those hobbits who had had business in town were
seeking out a warming draught to cheer them on the nippy walk home,
and those who were local residents were in search of some
camaraderie before doing likewise. But the inn-keeper cocked a
friendly head as he saw us enter his establishment, and was soon on
his way over with a pair of frothing mugs to our customary quiet
back corner. “Evening, good sirs,” he greeted us cheerfully.
“Promises to be a wet one, don’t it, so may as well have something
to fill your bellies afore you head on back.”
“A perfect plan,” I concurred, with a smile, drawing my pipe and a
pouch out of the pocket of his jacket. “I say, Barleyman, you
wouldn’t happen to have some Buckland pipeweed laid about the place,
would you? The stuff my friend here prefers is a trifle too strong
for my tastes.”
“Odd as you should mention that,” Barleyman’s face fell at the
request. “I had a fair supply laid up, but bless me if I know where
it’s gone off to. I never heard that mice had much of a taste for
it, but I can’t think of who else might have been in the storeroom,
‘cepting my lads, o’course, but naught else has been touched. Right
strange, that is. I’ve some on hand from out Hardbottle way, but
nary a trace o’Buckland. I sent a lad over to Michael Delving for
more just yesterday, but he’s had that hard a time trying to find
any of it, likewise.”
“Ah, well, I suppose that will do,” I shrugged. “Nothing beats
Buckland, of course, but Hardbottle weed is fair enough in its way.”
The innkeeper soon returned with a small packet, but after I had
filled my pipe and properly tamped it, I turned to find Baggins
staring at the patrons of the inn in an unseeing manner, obviously
lost in thought.
“Odd, isn’t it,” he mused, tapping the table thoughtfully with his
long fingers. “I hadn’t heard any news of the harvest having been
less than normal. Strange indeed that the supply should be so low
that someone should decide to filch it. Perhaps I should send a note
to cousin Merry for particulars.”
“Well, I don’t think the Hardbottle is all that bad, really,” I gave
a speculative drag on the pipe, just to test it out. “Perhaps more
of the Buckland got shipped out West Farthing way than usual.”
“Possibly,” Baggins murmured, and then turned to me with a frown.
“You get out and around a good deal, Gamgee. Have you ever seen a
pony like Lotho’s before?”
I was rather startled by the question, but thought carefully. It had
been a fine animal, to be sure, but with an unusually dark and
glossy coat, and particularly long lean legs. In fact, it very
nearly had not been what one might call a pony, but what I had seen
referred to in some of Baggins’ mustier books as a horse. “Can’t say
as I have, Baggins.”
“Thought as not,” he replied, and his gaze was suddenly far away. I
knew to stay quiet, then. I had seen that expression before.
&&&&&
A word about Baggins and me. I had grown up next to the smial, Bag
End, in which I now live. My father was the gardener for Bilbo
Baggins, then the owner of Bag End. Bilbo Baggins was a solitary
bachelor, given to disappearing on long rambles for months on end,
and known for entertaining a very odd assortment of visitors from
outlandish places outside of the Shire, as well as for giving large
and elaborate parties, a trait that allowed his fellow residents of
Hobbiton to overlook the previous two. But when I was still quite
young, he unexpectedly brought a new member into his household, a
young tween who was said to be a distant cousin of his, Frodo
Baggins.
Frodo Baggins was an unusual hobbit in many ways likewise, and
initially had difficulty in assimilating into Hobbiton society. His
appearance somewhat weighed against him, being taller than most and
markedly lean, with dark hair and startlingly blue eyes that often
appeared to see more of one’s thoughts than one meant to show. In
addition, he seemed to have odd interests, he was frequently found
with his nose in the dreariest of books, and his conversation was
regularly abrupt and peculiar. Perhaps that was why he took such an
interest in me, for I was young enough to find him infinitely
fascinating, and sought any excuse to assist my father at Bag End,
in hopes that Mister Frodo would come seek me out and tell me of his
latest discoveries and theories, both of which he had a great many.
When it became apparent that my vocation lay in being a healer,
rather than following in my father’s footsteps as a gardener, he was
one of my greatest champions, giving me any book that he thought had
useful information, and even going to the extent of teaching me to
read the elvish script, to allow me to expand my knowledge to their
healing wisdom as well. And when Bilbo Baggins disappeared that
autumn night, some five years ago, Frodo Baggins soon offered me a
chance to live at Bag End as well. I eagerly took the opportunity,
and not just because my sister Marigold and her husband Tom Cotton
showed no signs of wishing to dig their own smial, but rather were
still comfortably settled at Number Three, Bagshot Row, along with
their constantly expanding young family.
So, through the intervening years, we had become quite contentedly
established together at Bag End, and he had gone from being Mister
Frodo to Baggins. He was my closest and dearest friend, and I his,
although the matter never was brought up between the two of us.
&&&&&
The next day Baggins was gone. I came back from an early morning
call (young Smollett with the scratching pox, an ailment he was
blithely passing around to his unfortunate family, but to which I
was by now most providentially immune), to find a hastily scrawled
note pinned to the study hearth. “Gone to consult cousin Merry. You
may be hearing from me sooner rather than later. Regards,” and his
scribbled signature.
I can’t say that I was entirely surprised, since he had apparently
been up most of the previous night, judging by the amount of stale
pipeweed smoke still left about the room. Seizing the opportunity to
air out the smial, I opened up the shuttered windows, and gave the
cloudy grey skies a speculative look. Rain by afternoon, most
definitely, and I hoped that he had had the sense to hire a cart in
Hobbiton, instead of setting off on foot, as was his custom. Whether
or no, it would be a few days before he would be returning, and I
gave the study fire a dejected poke. Life was always undeniably
tedious without his company, I had to confess.
&&&&&
Three days later, I was trudging up the muddy path from Hobbiton,
shivering a bit in the late afternoon’s cold drizzle and thinking
wistfully of a warm fire and a mug of the Widow Rumble’s excellent
hot brandy flip, when a stranger came out of the gathering shadows
and fell into step with me. He was a weathered old hobbit, stooped
and lean, roughly clad and with a gait that spoke of a hard life on
the Water. However, he was a chatty old soul, and I was glad enough
for the company, so we fell in talking about one thing and another,
until we turned the last bend in the road, coming into sight of Bag
End with its welcoming smoke barely discernable in the darkening
sky.
“Well, it’s here I must leave you,” I stopped and held out my hand
for a farewell shake. “Do you have far to go?”
“One never knows where the road may lead us,” he replied with an odd
laugh, “but I would be glad enough of a hot cup and a bit to eat
afore I went my way, if you could see your way to it, good sir.”
Well, it was not a night to be on the road, there was no doubt about
that, so I replied without hesitation, “Not only shall you have just
that, but a warm bed in which to sleep tonight as well, or my name
isn’t Samwise Gamgee. Come along then,” and led my willing companion
up the path to the front door of Bag End.
“Come in, come in,” I urged him, as he seemed to pause in the
doorway with a strange reluctance.
“Ah, this’d be too fine for the likes of me,” he muttered harshly,
stepping back into the shadows.
“I thought as much myself, once,” I answered, with a sudden
sympathy, “and yet here I am. Come on in, my good fellow.” I turned
to remove my sodden cloak and hung it on the hook in the front
entryway, giving him a chance to gather his courage, and then turned
around again to see Frodo Baggins standing there, giving me a warm
smile.
“I never knew that,” he murmured, and reached out to clasp my
shoulder as he saw my confusion. “I’m sorry, my dear Gamgee, I
didn’t mean to startle you so, really, I didn’t. I just couldn’t
resist the chance to playact a little longer. Besides, I’d really
rather no one in Hobbiton knew I was back, not quite yet, but that
was no excuse to trick you. I’ll just let Mrs. Rumble know I’m back;
I don’t think she would take nearly as well to being surprised as
you.”
He would not tell me much about where he had been, as we sat in our
customary cozy corners in the study that evening, other than
admitting that he had paid a quick visit to Brandy Hall, and other
locations as well. But as we rose, to retire to our respective rooms
for the evening, he put an arm around my shoulder in an unusual
demonstration of affection. “You’ve the kindest and truest heart
I’ve ever known, my dear friend,” he said softly, giving me a
searching look. “And this smial is all the finer for your presence
in it. Good night, my dear Gamgee.” And he was off down the darkened
hall, candle in hand.
I found it difficult to fall asleep that night.
&&&&&&
I was in town the next morning, replenishing some of my supplies and
trying my best to avoid dripping eaves and sodden muddy streets, as
the rain had let up for only a short while, when Barleyman’s boy
found me exiting the apothecary’s small shop. “It’s that young Ned,
as belongs to Mistress Lobelia,” he explained, guiding me toward the
tavern with a firm grasp on my jacket sleeve. “An’ since Mister
Frodo ain’t about, it’d be you as he needs to see, or so he says.
An’summat about a free mug on Mister Frodo too, but I ain’t payin’
no mind to such nonsense as that.”
“Well, he is right on the mug business,” I laughed, as I allowed
myself to be steered in the direction of the Green Dragon, “and I
suppose it was I who should have mentioned that to Barleycorn. But
have a care, my lad, I’d rather keep this jacket in one piece, if
you don’t mind. I’ll not give you the slip, you needn’t worry about
that.”
Ned was waiting patiently at the long polished counter, and gave the
innkeeper a triumphant look when I confirmed Baggins’ request, and
paid for it myself. Matters of business having been satisfactorily
concluded, Ned and I found a secluded table, and he took a deep sip
from the mug. “Mister Lotho’s taken off again,” he then announced, a
white froth still covering his upper lip. “My, but that is a fine
brew! Anyroad, he and the Missus got into it something fierce afore
he left this time, and I heard her throw summat against the door,
soon as he left. Don’t rightly know what it was, but it’s in a
couple score pieces now.”
“You didn’t hear any words?” I asked, wishing that Baggins had given
me an indication of the sort of information that he was expecting to
hear. “Names, mayhap? Of people, places, anything of the like?”
Young Ned shook his head regretfully. “No, Mister Gamgee, none of
the sort. But there was one more thing. He had me fetch that pony of
his, and as I led it out, it made this odd sort of noise, not loud,
but sociable-like. An’ I swear I heard something answer it back.
Mister Lotho, he took off in that big of a hurry, but it seemed t’me
there were others in the dark, on the same sort of ponies as that
one Mister Lotho has.”
“Hmm, very interesting,” I responded thoughtfully. I really wasn’t
sure at all what it meant, but certainly Baggins would know. “Very
good, young Ned. Finish your brew, and I’ll make sure that the next
time you come to town, you won’t be such a stranger to Barleycorn,
whether you are on our business or not.”
&&&&&
Ned’s information was more informational to Baggins than to me, for
when I found him that afternoon, foraging through some dustier than
normal volumes, usually packed away in a chest in the hallway of Bag
End, he immediately stopped his search and contemplated me with a
thoughtful look. “Ah, so it’s come to that,” he commented
cryptically, and turned back to the study, hands clasped behind his
back and staring through the window out into the drizzly afternoon.
I followed, of course, and patiently awaited the outcome of his
ruminations. But it wasn’t long at all before he turned back to me
with an air of decision, and curtly muttered, “The pieces are
falling into place, old friend. But this isn’t the usual lot, not in
the least.”
That unsettlingly brilliant blue glance searched me once again, and
he added, almost reluctantly, “I’d be much obliged, Gamgee, if you’d
accompany me. I’m asking you to take a very great risk, however, and
I cannot pretend otherwise.”
“You know you needn’t ask, Baggins,” I replied immediately, with a
slight smile. “Just give me my instructions, my friend, and I am
ready to follow you anywhere.”
For just the briefest of instants, his face softened. “I know, my
dear Gamgee,” he murmured, and then the moment was gone. “It’s to
Frogmorton that we must go, and there’s not a minute to waste,” he
declared determinedly. “And Gamgee, these are desperate sorts. Do
bring a weapon, won’t you?”
&&&&&
It was already beginning to darken as we left Bag End that late
autumn afternoon, and the rain had progressed from a drizzle to a
steady determined downpour. But there was no point to wishing it
otherwise, so we made the journey to Hobbiton wrapped as warmly as
we could in our traveling cloaks, while there was still light enough
to do so. We managed to catch the stable on the outskirts of town
just before they shuttered up for the night, and Baggins hired a
couple of spirited ponies, suitable for a fast ride. “This might be
a difficult mount,” he apologized, handing me the reins of one of
the animals, “but time really is of the utmost importance. If we
cannot catch up with them at Frogmorton, it is most likely that they
will slip from our grasp, and it may be many months, if not years,
before we have another chance at them. And there will be much harm
they can do in that time.”
Who these parties, to whom he was referring, were was a mystery to
me, but I had learned to ask my questions only when Baggins was
prepared to answer them, and now was most certainly not that time.
So I nodded, gave my pony a rather trepidant pat, and hoisted myself
on its back. Fortuitously, it gave a snort of assent as it fell in
behind Baggins’ mount, and we were soon making good time on the
great road east.
Hour after hour seemed to pass as I was jostled on the back of my
beast, and yearned for the end of our journey, no matter what
dangers might lay ahead. I am not a skilled rider, I must admit, and
could not help but be envious of the manner in which Baggins, riding
ahead of me, seemed to float above his pony, no matter the rough
terrain underfoot. The ponies had been fresh and well-fed, and
apparently eager for the chance to be out and stretch their legs, so
we rode tirelessly on, well after dark. The rain had continued, so
there was no moon to guide us, but the road was wide and
well-established, and our ponies seemed to have no need of its light
as they bore us to Frogmorton.
&&&&&
It was well past midnight when we reached the small hamlet of
Frogmorton, on the banks of the Water. The smials that lay along the
upper bank were dark and shut up tight against the rain, and even
the small inn, the Golden Perch, had left no lantern lit for the
stray traveler, for who could be expected on such a night? Baggins,
who had slowed his pony as we entered the town, drew it to a halt,
while we were still some distance away from the inn, and then turned
back to a clump of trees that grew near the road. He motioned to me,
as best I could tell in the gloomy fitful light that shone, from
time to time, from a break in the clouds. I followed, and dismounted
next to him.
“We cannot risk bringing the ponies any closer,” he murmured, ‘but
we may well have need of them suddenly. I must awaken the local
constable, but I’d rather you find a secure place for the animals,
somewhere out of sight, but close by the road.”
“Why, certainly, Baggins,” I agreed at once, “but surely it’s rather
late to be waking up anyone?”
I saw a brief smile, as well as the flash of bright metal, as he
adjusted the cloak around himself again. “My appearance, at such an
unusual time of night, will not be entirely unexpected by the good
Brownlea,” he mentioned quietly. “These have been troubled times for
the village of Frogmorton, and the local arm of the law has every
reason to wish to assist us.”
With another searching glance along the road into town, he laid his
hand upon my shoulder. “Now heed me well, Gamgee, it is essential
that you do. Once I have Constable Brownlea and his hobbits in
place, I will shine a light in front of the entrance of the Golden
Perch once, for five seconds only. When you see that, mount your
pony, and wait under the trees. Should anyone ride this way, follow
at a distance, and make sure that you are not seen. We will be
flushing them from out of cover, and I must know if there is another
lair nearby, as I suspect there to be. But have a caution, Gamgee,
do not allow them to see you! These are desperate sorts, and I
suspect quite unlike any sort of minor ruffian we have hitherto
seen. Keep your knife at the ready, my dear fellow, and take care.”
With a certain amount of foreboding, for it was quite unlike Baggins
to warn me in such a manner, I nodded, and gave his shoulder a
return clasp of acknowledgement. With a last stern glance at me, he
turned toward town, and soon vanished into the shadowy streets.
&&&&&&
I secured his pony, and stood patiently next to mine, awaiting the
signal light, and trying to puzzle the matter out. How Lobelia
Sackville-Baggins’ missing silver had led us to this sodden flight
into unknown danger was quite beyond me. But Baggins was on the
trail of something and that something, I was forced to admit, was
apparently fraught with peril. I had never seen him so apprehensive,
and very nearly fearful.
The rain continued to fall, that dark night, as I shivered in the
shadows, awaiting Baggins’ signal, but it was more fitful now,
blowing in sudden chill flurries. The clouds had begun to part, and
the silver light behind them shone through just in time to reveal
the outline of the inn, in the distance.
And there it was, the sudden flare. Five seconds the light shone,
and was gone, and with an unconscious shudder of apprehension, I
clumsily mounted my pony as I had been instructed. Just in time too,
as dark riders, cloaked in shadow and the night, swept by me. There
was something amiss, though, a growing fear I could not place, in
the sight, but now was not the time to think upon the matter. I had
my directions, and I followed them without hesitation, quietly
urging my pony behind theirs, keeping back and to the dark as best I
could.
It was not long, though, before I saw a dilapidated barn of some
sort ahead, well-hidden in an old abandoned orchard and far from the
road. Overgrown hedgerows indicated that a farm of some sort had
once been here, and even still there was the wreck of an old cart
under the trees, and the forlorn remnant of a kitchen garden gate
swaying in the wind and the rain. Somewhere in that dark hillside
there had probably once been a cozy smial, but it was not to the
hill that the riders had gone, but rather the barn. I drew my pony
to a sudden halt still several yards away from it as the riders
disappeared from view. The entrance was to the back, so I never
caught sight of those whom I had been pursuing, but light was
showing through shuttered windows and it was time for me to retrace
my steps and let the others know of this place. Baggins’ warning, I
must admit, still continued to alarm me, and I had no intention of
facing these culprits alone.
I had just gotten back to the main road when I found Baggins,
standing by his pony, and a group of hobbits with him, supposedly
Constable Brownlea and company. “Did you follow them, Gamgee?”
Baggins called to me quietly, but with his voice taut with
excitement. “Do you know where they are holed up?”
“Aye,” I replied, dismounting and joining them at once. “That I do.
Appears to be an old farm, deserted now, but with what once was a
fine plum orchard.”
“The Barker place,” Constable Brownlea replied without hesitation.
“Aye, they’ve been gone five years and more, and the son would have
nothing to do with the place, nohow. Not a body’s been that way in
many a year, I’d warrant. A fine hidey hole, and no mistake.”
“Then now is our moment,” Baggins exclaimed, with a nearly
imperceptible quiver of excitement in his voice. “We certainly have
the element of surprise on our side this stormy night. And remember
what I suspect, my good hobbits. Weapons at the ready, lads. These
are dangerous times and may indeed call for desperate measures.” In
the fitful light of the one lantern that he had allowed, I caught
sight of his face, eager and alive with the thrill of the chase. Any
trace of the bored cynicism that he sometimes affected was
absolutely not to be seen, and his eyes met mine with a silent
acknowledgement that it was moments like this for which he lived. I
had no idea what the danger was to which he referred, no concept of
what sort of thoughts that could be racing through that fevered and
brilliant mind of his, and yet that one glance was enough to serve
me with the opportunity to return his smile, and acquiesce. I was
there for him, however and wherever he needed me to be, and I knew
that he knew that.
There was no time now though for thought or hesitation, for we were
off, riding silently and stealthily through the rain and the fitful
moonlight that the shifting clouds allowed. I followed behind
Constable Brownlea, at the head of the company, to confirm that the
place of which he had spoken was actually the hideout we sought.
Upon reaching it, we dismounted as silently as possible, and waited
but for the moment. Then on Baggins’ signal, we stormed the door of
the barn.
I do not remember that much more of what occurred, other than my
shock at who we found inside. Lotho Sackville-Baggins, as I had
anticipated, but most of the rest were far too large, great hulking
shapes, and it took more than a few minutes before I realized that
they were men, creatures from travelers’ tales and the like of which
I had never seen before. There was yelling and the flash of bright
steel, and Baggins was ahead of me, his glinting blade in his hand
as he engaged the leader of the ruffians in fierce combat. I had my
short sword out as well, but I was a poor fighter under any
circumstances save in fist-to-fist engagements, and I never saw the
man who came up behind me in the confusion of the fray. All I
remembered is a sharp red-hot burst of pain in my left side. As I
began to fall, I saw Baggins whirl around and come racing to my
side. With a ferocious blow, he sent my assailant reeling against
the wall with his weapon dropped heedlessly at his side, screaming
with pain as he clutched his suddenly bloody arm.
Then Baggins’ arms were around me, and he was crying out, “Gamgee!
Samwise! You are not hurt? For the love of our Lady, say you are not
hurt?”
It was worth a wound – it was worth many wounds – to know the depth
of loyalty and love that lay behind the cool mask as I caught a
glimpse of a great heart as well as a great mind. In the midst of
the chaos, and in spite of the searing pain, I remember smiling at
him, to reassure him, and reaching toward his face above me. Then
all went black, and I remember no more.
&&&&&
When next I opened my eyes, it was Baggins whom I saw. But his back
was towards me, and he was pacing in front of a fire burning within
a rustic hearth. I did not recognize where we were, but for the
moment lay quietly, enjoying the warmth of the room. I was in a bed,
comfortably wrapped in a rather rough blanket, and I had no memory
of how I had come here, nor even indeed what had happened to me,
until I stirred slightly. I must have gasped, for Baggins whirled
about at the sound, but it was the unexpected biting pain that
caused me to close my eyes and bite my lip.
He was at my side in a moment, his hand soothingly on my forehead,
and his voice gentle despite the concern that he did not try to
conceal. “How are you doing, my dear Sam? Is it very bad, my dearest
friend?”
It was hearing his voice say my proper name, something I had not
heard from him in many a year, that pierced through the pain, and
opened my eyes again. “No,” I managed to whisper, with the best
smile I could muster up. “Nothing that won’t heal, I expect.”
His returned smile was tentative, to say the least, and quickly
vanished. “There is no healer in this accursed village, and I dared
not leave you to find one. The leader of the men is still at large,
and I cannot trust to the local constabulary to protect you if I
should go out in search of someone to help you.”
“Well, fortunately enough, I just happen to be a healer myself,
although it is quite inconvenient that the wound happens to be in a
place where I cannot see it,” I muttered, gritting my teeth as I
tried to sit up slightly. “A rather nasty slice, I presume, but it
must not have hit anything vital, since I am apparently still here.”
Baggins’ arms were around me in an instant, holding me up while he
adjusted the pillows behind my back. “Are you quite sure you want to
be sitting up?” he asked with a worried frown.
“Not entirely,” I had to admit, “but let us just see how it goes for
a bit. Has anything been done to it? The cut, I mean, since that is
what I assume it to be.”
Baggins shook his head, the frown deepening. “Not really. I didn’t
know what to do, Sam, other than washing it out as best I could, and
tie the cleanest cloth I could find around it to stop the bleeding.
It did bleed so horribly, you see, and I really didn’t know what to
do, but I had to get you away. The constable knew of this smial. He
mentioned that it was snug enough, and available, since it is only
used by fishermen in the summer, and so here we are. And if I have
guessed wrong, my dear Sam, I really don’t know what I shall do,” he
added, with a definite quaver in his voice and unmistakable fear in
his eyes.
My heart went out to him in that moment, and without thinking, I
reached out to him. “Frodo, my dearest Frodo. There’s nothing more
you could have done. I’ll be quite all right, you’ll see. Gamgees
come tough, and it’ll take more than a villain who sneaks up from
behind to keep me down, you know. Don’t you worry, my dear, no, not
a bit.” But his look of trepidation, so very unlike his normal
collected countenance, was not assuaged in the least by my
assurance, so I sought to turn his attention to more practical
matters.
“It seems then, Frodo, that you must be my eyes in this case,” I
attempted to keep my tone light as I gingerly leaned to the side,
and pulled off the blanket. “Let’s just unwrap me, and then tell me
what you see.” My efforts at conversation, however, had to come to a
halt at this point, since I was forced to bite my lower lip fairly
hard. The movement, slight though it was, suddenly caused a fiery
pain to jolt up from my side, and I began to consider the
possibility that finding another healer might be the best idea after
all, no matter the danger I might find myself in the meanwhile. But
I was very unwilling to imply that my companion’s choice had not
been the correct one, so I resolved not to say anything of the sort
if at all possible.
Then I felt Baggins’ hands on me, cautiously and gently pulling away
the bloodied cloth, and I realized, with some surprise, that no
healer could have handled it better. His touch had a surety that his
expression had not had, and he did not need any further instruction
from me, after all. So I relaxed in his capable care and let him
finish the task without interruption.
“Is it still bleeding?” I asked, staring into the flames that were
still warming the once chilled room, when the undertaking appeared
to be complete.
“Yes,” he replied tersely from behind me, “but slowly now.”
“Hmm.” I considered my options, and the factors that must be
considered in a wound of this nature. It was devilishly hard not to
be able to see it myself. “And the edges of the cut. Are they
coloured normally, or are they brightish red or blackened?”
“Normally coloured,” he replied crisply, his voice gaining
confidence once again with the opportunity to use his judgment.
I could not help breathing a shallow sigh of relief at that
information. “So it does not appear to be infected, nor poisoned.
That certainly is reassuring, to say the least. Then it would merely
be a matter of keeping the wound cleaned, and moving it as little as
possible for a few days, to allow the healing to begin.”
Baggins said nothing for the moment, but I felt his hand on my
shoulder, giving it the briefest of clasps, and I nodded. “Then I
suppose we’ll be needing some warm water?” he asked, rising from
beside me on the bed, and coming into my view. “I found a kettle on
the hearth, so I may as well set that to boil. But I’m afraid I am
rather out of clean cloths other than the rest of your shirt.”
At my look of bewilderment at that remark, he gave a short rueful
chuckle. “I rather made a hash of it, you know. It was all I had at
hand for a bandage, and since I had already ripped it off…”
I couldn’t help give a weak laugh at this image.
“I didn’t have time for the buttons, you see,” he retorted, a ghost
of a smile beginning to creep across his sharp features.
“Quite resourceful,” I commented lightly, glad to see his spirits
beginning to rise again. The smile didn’t exactly reach his eyes, as
he studied my face a moment longer, but it was a start, as he turned
and set to his task.
It did not take long at all for the water to reach a comfortably
warm state, and then he was on the bed behind me again. The wound
was cleaned in an efficient manner, but his touch was careful and
gentle on me. Once the cleaning was through, the injury was bound up
once again, with the cloth wrapped snugly about my chest, and
expertly tied off. However, the ordeal was, despite Baggins’ best
efforts, painful, and I couldn’t help giving that fact away with the
occasional sharp gasp and stifled moan. So it was a great relief
when the process was complete, and I was able to sink back onto the
bed once again.
“Fancy some tea?” I heard his voice say softly, but I was already
starting to fall into an exhausted sleep. I faintly heard myself
mumble something about that being lovely, but I don’t know if I was
in the least intelligible as I fell nearly instantly into a sound
sleep.
&&&&&
The days that followed, for it was more than half a week before I
was able to be on my feet again, quickly fell into a comfortable
routine. Constable Brownlea came around the next day with the
welcome news that the leader of the band of scoundrels had been
apprehended, so there was no further concern on that score. Lotho
seemed to have vanished, but I had no doubts but that bad penny
would pop up once again when least expected and even less wanted.
The constable also brought some supplies by and offered to send a
lad around once a day, just to see if there was anything we might be
needing. In addition, he volunteered to send a messenger to the
nearest village for the services of a healer, but I judged that
there was nothing to really be gained by that, since it was now just
a matter of time, and waiting for the healing to start, so I
declined his kind offer. He had also recommended the services of a
cart and pony to carry us back to Hobbiton, but the thought of that
jouncing journey was not at all appealing, at least at the moment.
Indeed, the most attractive alternative was just to remain where we
were, at least for the next several days, and I must admit that I
was finding that prospect more than attractive.
May I confess? I was quite aware that many of my acquaintances, not
to mention my family, always found it rather odd that a fine young
chap such as myself never found the proper lass to complete his
happiness. More than one name had been mentioned, and I believe that
of Rosie Cotton had come up more than once. But the years had
managed to slip away, and the matter had never exactly been
resolved, and I couldn’t have been happier when it came to that. For
I was already living with the hobbit I loved, above all others, a
fact that I had kept absolutely to myself. I had no illusions as to
my feelings being fully reciprocated, at least, I had had none up
until now. But lately I had unexpectedly been given cause to
question my assumptions. There were, all of a sudden, indications
that my hypothesis was not, in point of fact, entirely accurate.
I never would have credited Baggins with the least inclination
towards nursemaiding, yet no one could have been more diligent in
taking care of my needs, nor more attentive in regard to what might
make me more comfortable, restricted to bed as I was. The smial, as
I found when I took more of an interest in my surroundings, was
quite small, scarcely more than a room. The weather without
continued to be unrelentingly wet and dismal, so the both of us
found ourselves together with little in the way of resources with
which to amuse or distract ourselves. And yet the days flew by
somehow, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, painful wound
notwithstanding.
I could see the difference in Baggins as well. I had never really
thought much on the matter, hitherto, but he had gradually been
building a carapace of disengagement, very nearly cynicism, about
himself that was rarely cracked, even by me. Yet in our sudden
solitude, that shell quickly faded, and Baggins was once again the
introspective, gentle soul who had entered my life as a young tween.
The honorific seemed unnecessary these days, so it wasn’t long
before I had unconsciously found myself addressing him as Frodo once
again, without the veneer of worldliness that a last name alone
implies. And, needless to add, I was his Sam.
&&&&&
The fire had burned nearly to embers on that third night as I lay as
usual on my unharmed side, trying to fall asleep. I knew that the
healing process had now begun in earnest since the pain had gone
from being deep and burning to merely annoying, and even a bit
twitchy. None of my usual methods of falling into slumber were of
any use this night apparently, as I listened to the still heavy rain
drumming down of the roof of the smial, well buried and cozy though
we were. I gave a sigh, quickly stifled, or at least so I thought,
and shifted restlessly once again. Next to me, however, came a low
chuckle. I glanced over my shoulder, as best I could, to see Frodo
watching me with an amused smile, and his eyes glinting in the
flickering light.
“Maddening, I’m sure, my dear Sam,” he murmured softly when he
caught my glance. “You’ve always been so full of energy and life. It
must be immensely frustrating to be trapped in here for days on end
with only my stodgy self to entertain you.”
Some imp of the perverse made me check my normal impulse to
immediately disagree. “It is frightful,” I admitted with a gusty
sigh, looking as plaintive as possible. “Particularly at night, the
hours do seem to drag so. If I only had a way to take my mind off of
this bothersome side of mine, matters would be so much less vexing.”
Frodo’s smile deepened at my response. “Merely a distraction? That,
I think, I could manage.” He was lying next to me on the bed, for I
had insisted on his doing so the first night that I was conscious of
the fact that he had been sleeping on the floor rather than disturb
me. I rolled cautiously onto my back as he propped himself up on his
elbow next to me. “What did you think of me the first time you saw
me, Sam? I’ll tell you what I thought of you.”
How to respond to that? I was not entirely sure, and purposefully
kept my tone light. “Well, you were a far cry from the Cottons,
Proudfoots, and Sandymans that had made up the bulk of my
acquaintances thus far,” I admitted, with an answering smile.
“Something definitely less along the plodding vein, so to speak. But
then you were a gentlehobbit, and I didn’t really know enough of
them to go by. I’m astonished that I was even noticeable to you at
all at that point.”
“Oh, but you were,” his voice deepened, and there was an odd light
suddenly behind those striking eyes, lit gold in the firelight. “A
mere fauntling, to be sure, but even then, there was something about
you, Sam.”
“Was there really?” I faltered, not quite knowing where we were
heading, but never dropping my gaze for a moment.
“There always was,” he answered softly, and leaning over me for a
moment, quickly brushed his lips against my forehead.
There were so many responses I could have had to that brief moment.
It would have been immensely easy, if either of us had cared to, to
pretend it had never happened, or that it was merely an affectionate
gesture from a good friend. But my heart had already leaped within
me, and my response was immediate and instinctive. Throwing my good
arm up and around his neck, I drew him to me, and met his willing
lips with mine.
I’m not sure quite how long that kiss lasted, but well past the
point where either of us could have pretended that it had been
accidental, if we had ever cared to do so. But when he finally drew
himself back up, he looked quite as astonished as I’m sure I did. “I
suppose that was distracting enough,” he breathed, in a voice that
was unmistakably a bit shaky. However, I noticed that one of his
hands, almost as it had a mind of its own, had brushed deliberately
against the side of my face, and was absentmindedly tucking an
errant curl behind my ear.
Emboldened, I kept a firm grip on his shoulder. “I’m not entirely
sure that that was sufficient distraction,” I took an involuntary
gulp at my boldness. “Perhaps we might try it again.”
His tender answering smile was all the response my heart needed, and
his mouth was on mine in a moment as we wrapped ourselves in a
loving embrace. It was not long before clothing was removed, and our
bodies were tightly entwined. Since my dreams had never quite
progressed this far, I had never suspected the depths of tenderness,
had never imagined his loving touch and his delicious sighs of
pleasure. Always cautious of the need to ensure that I was not hurt,
he led me through the patterns of the dance of love. I had no such
compunctions about myself, however, and gave myself fully and
gratefully up to him. There are some moments that words cannot do
justice to, and my first night in Frodo Baggins’ arms was one of
those. Suffice it to say that the memory of that night is even now
locked in my heart as my most treasured of possessions, and will yet
be on my dying day.
It was much later, when we lay curled together in the dark, the last
of the embers finally having expired, that I heard him softly
murmur, “It was your eyes, my dear Sam. You’ve always had the
kindest eyes, you know. I was frightfully lonely and nervous, and
fond as I was of Bilbo, quite frankly, I was terrified. But you and
your father were there the day I arrived, and even as young as you
were then, just one glance let me know that I would have a friend at
Bag End. And so you were, but now you are so much more to me. I love
you so, my dearest. Even if I am rubbish at letting you know that.”
“Nonsense, my dear Frodo,” I turned to him in the dark and kissed
him once again to prove my point. “I’ve always known that, really.
You aren’t quite as inscrutable as you might think sometimes, my
darling. But do try to convince me of that any time you wish, love.
I quite possibly might need to be convinced on a regular basis.”
“Ah, Sam,” I heard a rich chuckle just before a lingering kiss at
the base of my throat made me groan helplessly with reignited
desire. “A daunting task, to be sure. Fortunately, it appears that I
just might be up to that challenge.” And indeed he was.
&&&&&
The next day the rain had cleared out, but since it appeared to be
but a temporary respite, we thought it best to try to make our way
back to Bag End while the good weather lasted. I had firmly ruled
out traveling via either animal or animal-drawn conveyance, trusting
to my own two feet to get me back with a minimum of jostling, wobbly
though I was. The journey, which normally could have been
accomplished in a good day’s walk, therefore took two, but
fortunately, I was acquainted with a kindly farmer who dwelt
approximately at the half-way mark, and we spent an evening with him
and his extremely hospitable family. However, privacy, I regret to
say, was not to be had, and it was with relief that we set off the
next morning, determined to arrive at Bag End before afternoon.
It was only then that the thought came to me that I had never
inquired as to Lobelia’s missing teaspoons. Indeed, the whole affair
was a bafflement to me, and now that I had the opportunity, I asked
Frodo about it. “How on earth, my dear Frodo, did the missing silver
ever lead you to Lotho and his band of thugs?” I asked, as we walked
slowly down the least muddy side of the Great Road. “Did Lotho nic
it?”
Frodo gave a short bark of a laugh, and gave me an amused side
glance. “I never did explain much of that, did I? I suppose I was
too distracted. No, indeed, Lotho had nothing to do with the missing
silver. Actually, I am quite sure the silver was never really
missing at all. I have no particular plans on visiting Lobelia upon
our return, and I would not be surprised if the matter is never
brought up by her again.”
“But then where was it?” I questioned him, puzzled.
“Oh, without a doubt, the maid had it out to clean, and neglected to
get it back in time. Lobelia, as you might remember, was in even a
nastier temper than usual, and I don’t blame the poor lass in the
least for not revealing that she was at fault. I assume she has had
plenty of opportunities to replace it since then.”
“Then what exactly led you to Frogmorton, and how did you guess what
was going on there?” I was now completely at a loss.
“I never guess, my dear Sam, surely you know that by now,” he
replied, with a quirk of a smile. “No, it was the ashes by the
window that led me off on this unusual adventure. Ashes from
pipeweed, but of a very different sort than what one normally finds
about these parts. Indeed, a sort of pipeweed that isn’t even grown
in the Shire. Did I ever mention to you I had written a short
treatise on the subject? Ah, well, it was a year ago or so. But
that, along with the most unusual pony that Lotho had suddenly
acquired, led me to conclude that my dear cousin had managed to get
mixed up in some sort of trouble that was rather a step above his
normal mischief. The fact that his mother was apparently furious
with him seemed to confirm that.”
“But it wasn’t until the proprietor at the Green Dragon mentioned
the missing Buckland weed that it struck me as to what sort of
trouble that might be. Merry had mentioned to me, in a recent
letter, some recent difficulties his father had been having with
undesirables in Buckland. That’s when I decided to pay them a visit,
to learn a bit more. Oh, do take a care, that’s a deep one, you
know.”
He stopped me with a quick grasp of my arm just as I nearly went
ankle-deep into a particularly muddy puddle. I had been far too
wrapped up in his explanation to pay any attention to where my feet
were going. “Well, then what did you find out?” I prompted him,
noticing happily that the grasp had now been converted to an arm
being tucked snugly around one of mine.
“Seems as if Uncle Saradoc had had repeated visits from a series of
men, asking to purchase a large shipment of Buckland weed. But he
had not liked their looks, nor their rough manners, and had
declined, having more than sufficient business within the Shire. It
was after that refusal that stores of Buckland weed had begun to
vanish, and indications were that it was being smuggled out. Since
the thefts were occurring within a certain radius of Hobbiton, and
Frogmorton is the logical point at which to arrange shipment out of
the Shire via the Water, I made enquires there and found Constable
Brownlea most eager to unite forces with me and rid the town of the
undesirables that had been plaguing them, cousin Lotho not
excluded.”
“Ah,” I mulled this explanation over. “Well, of course. It does seem
remarkably obvious, now that you have clarified it.”
“The facts were always there,” he pointed out with a smile. “One
simply needs to put them together. Facts are something with which
I’ve never had a problem. Emotions, on the other hand… Tell me,
Sam,” he declared abruptly, stopping both of us in our tracks. “You
understand the feminine mind so much better than do I. Will Widow
Rumble be terribly put out if we convert your bedroom into a spare
guestroom?”
I laughed joyfully at the thought. “My dearest Frodo,” I responded
merrily, hugging him closely and quickly leaning in for a resounding
kiss without a care for who might come about the bend in the road.
“I suspect that you have never noticed that the good Widow dotes on
you and would not care a fig if you took to wearing a teapot on your
head and nothing else.”
“Let us restrict that to our own room, then, and I do believe I’ll
forgo the teapot, dearest Sam,” he grinned. “At least, only unless
you think it especially fetching.”
“We shall have to experiment then, won’t we,” I smiled happily back.
The rain had begun once again, and my side was starting to ache
unmercifully, but the drops had plastered down his dark curls and
were dripping off his nose in the most enticing way. It was at least
a good ten minutes before we could manage to pull ourselves apart
again, and what with the necessity of frequent stops for those
delicious kisses, still so new and startling and entrancing, it was
indeed quite nightfall before we reached Bag End.
Feedback
BACK to The 221B Bag
End Index
BACK to Fanfic Index
BACK to Main Page |
