Chapter 32. Food for Thought

They continued riding in silence, eating and drinking in the saddle, stopping when the lad whispered, ‘I have to...’ and then broke off with a fearful look at his father. There was another stop along the way as well. Isum led them off the track towards a copse of trees, stopping near the top of a little hill where a cairn of stones had been piled.

Isum dismounted and pointed. Paladin slid from his pony and walked slowly to the cairn, picking up the collar of heavy leather that lay atop the pile of stones. ‘Lop?’ he said, forgetting for the moment that he wasn’t allowed to speak.

The head of escort rubbed his pony’s jaw and dug a carrot from his pocket. ‘He made a good end, Pie, or so I heard. He hadn’t a chance against so many, but he chose to fight. He could have escaped them, a sheepdog is that fast, but instead he paid with his life to gain enough time for the lad to win to the trees.’ The pony lipped the carrot from his palm, ears twitching to take in the soft words, and then nuzzled at a pocket for another treat.

The farmer nodded, fingering the collar, then gently laid it to rest atop the cairn once more. The boy gave a gasping sob, but remembered not to speak, instead pulling a sleeve across his eyes and then sitting silent again. Isumbold walked to the copse, searching the ground until he found a suitable fallen branch. He stripped it bare, leaving a long, slender staff, and took a red square of cloth from his pocket, fixing it to the top. With this improvised flag, he turned back to the ponies and waiting hobbits.

Isumbold and Paladin mounted and on they went back to the track, all the long way to Tookbank, where he stopped in the centre of the village to announce the Ban—to the shock of the good hobbits there—and down the road towards Whitwell. Turning off the road onto the lane leading to Paladin’s farm, they saw a gathering of hobbits. A celebration was evidently in the works, waiting only the triumphant return of the rescued lad.

Isum’s jaw tightened and he nudged his pony ahead of the others, cantering down the lane to the yard. There were shouts of welcome, and hobbits hurried to the house to gather everyone for the greeting... but when they saw the red banner all fell silent, exchanging uneasy looks.

Isum waited until Paladin and Pippin rode up behind him, then cleared his throat. No need to blow the horn to gain attention. ‘Hear ye, hear ye!’ he called. ‘By order of The Took, until further notice, all who reside upon this property are under the Ban! Take heed, and take warning!’ The hired hobbits gave exclamations of shock, a murmur arose amongst the neighbours, Eglantine gasped and burst into tears, and none dared offer comfort.

Paladin got down from his pony and went to lift Pippin down, his hands tightening momentarily on the lad’s arms, but then he released his son and went to his wife, enveloping her in a great hug. Nell and Vinca joined the embrace, and Pip stood bewildered a little apart from the family until Nell reached out an arm to take him in.

Isum took the reins of Pippin’s pony, fastened them to his saddle, looked from face to face, and kneed his pony around. Holding the stick high, he rode swiftly to where the lane joined the road, stopped to jam the warning flag into the soil just outside the gate, and rode on to Whitwell to proclaim the Ban in the community where Paladin did most of his business. He did not linger in Whitwell, but continued on to Bywater, where he’d stay over until tomorrow’s market day. The Green Dragon inn had a decent brew, but quality was not so important as quantity after this day’s work. It was here that Frodo Baggins, stopping in for a mug after a long day of tramping the fields in search of Pippin, heard of the disaster that had overtaken Paladin and his family.

Most of the neighbours left at once, of course, shame-facedly turning away without parting words. It took the hired hobbits longer to leave, of course, for they had to pack their belongings, but before the Sun sought her bed all were gone save the hobbits who resided there.

In the kitchen that evening, the little family sat around the well-scrubbed table. Good smells of cooking and baking still lingered. The neighbours who had lingered in defiance stayed long enough to clear away before leaving, taking down the make-shift tables, putting away the festive food, washing the pots and pans. The hired hobbits fed the animals and mucked and gathered eggs and milked and did all the other chores they would have done before the evening meal, but supper found them gathered around the tables of the neighbours who’d taken them in.

No one was hungry, and no one thought to serve supper, nor even to light a lamp as the bright sunset light flooded the kitchen. They sat in silence as the light slowly faded, until Eglantine sobbed in the gathering gloom. ‘O Dinny, whatever will we do?’

***

Pearl walked through the next few days in a dream, mechanically carrying out her duties. Mistress Lalia was pleasant and gracious, her son sober and solicitous, Adelard the steward glum, speaking only at need. Though she was not under the Ban, Pearl did not want to talk to anyone. The other girls respected her wishes. Mrs Sandytoes clucked and fussed at her like a hen, though she didn’t want the attention. The other Tooks and servants in the Great Smials nodded when they met in the corridors, sympathy in their eyes, though of course none dared say what they were thinking. It’s a bad business, all around.

One evening after early supper the Mistress had sent Pearl to the kitchens with a message for the chief cook and then to fetch a specific shawl from Lalia’s private quarters, after which she was released from her duties for the day. She searched high and low for the shawl, enlisting the help of the servants, but the shawl was not to be found. Frustrated, Pearl left as the servants began to prepare Lalia’s bed. A sudden thought struck her and she turned back; perhaps the shawl had slipped behind the sofa! The Mistress had a habit of carelessly throwing off her wrap when she grew too warm. The servants were all in the bedroom, gossiping as they worked, and no one was in the sitting room. The oversized, ornate sofa was against a wall, and it was a tight fit as Pearl wedged her way behind it, pouncing on the scrap of fabric protruding from beneath, but just as she was about to crawl out again she heard Lalia’s sharp tones and stopped, hesitating, at hearing her father’s name. Speaking the name of a hobbit under the Ban was not done, though she supposed the Mistress and Thain could do so with impunity, though any other Took would face the wrath of the Mistress.

 ‘...serves Paladin right, I say! All these years he’s been sowing seeds of disrespect, and where would the Tooks be if they’re taught to disregard the head of the family?’

 ‘One remark, Mother, it was one remark...’ Ferumbras said tiredly.

 ‘One remark that we heard of,’ Lalia said self-righteously. ‘Who knows how much discord that hobbit has stirred?’

 ‘And so you’ve decided to punish him roundly for that one remark,’ Ferumbras persisted.

 ‘You are too soft-hearted for your own good,’ Lalia said fondly. ‘Why, you’d run the Tookland into ruin if I let you, forgiving everyone their debts and ignoring the requirements of good business.’

 ‘Is it good business to ruin folk and then take their land out from under them?’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘Now, darling boy, you are overdramatising. When Paladin’s grandfather left the Smials to take up farming, he could have gone and put his back into it, worked hard, sacrificed. He didn’t have to borrow money from your father; that’s a bad start to any venture.’

 ‘His family would have starved that first year,’ Ferumbras said, ‘what with drought followed by flood.’

 ‘Such is the farmer’s lot,’ Lalia sighed.

 ‘You’ve resented Paladin’s family ever since they had the temerity to choose to leave the Smials instead of living under you as Mistress!’ Ferumbras flared in an unusual flash of temper.

 ‘Ferumbras Took!’ Lalia snapped. ‘Apologise at once for such intolerable disrespect!’

There was a silence, and then a bitter sigh from the Thain. ‘I apologise, Mother,’ he said in a monotone.

 ‘There’s my good lad,’ Lalia said. ‘Now then, have a cup of tea. You’ve upset yourself over naught.’

 ‘Naught!’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘That’s what I said,’ Lalia answered. There was the sound of tea being poured, and Pearl held her breath. There was no way she would come from behind the sofa while they were still in the room, not after what she’d heard.

 ‘It was only a matter of time before Paladin was unable to pay on his grandfather’s debt. Farmers don’t raise gold, you know, but crops, and those are uncertain at best.’

 ‘He certainly won’t be able to make his payment this year on Mid-year’s day,’ Ferumbras said scathingly. ‘He cannot hire hobbits to help him work the land, and he cannot sell what he produces in the market.’

 ‘A pity, when he is so close to owning the land free and clear,’ his mother said in a satisfied tone. ‘I’m sure you wish to help him, soft-hearted as you are.’

 ‘How could I do that?’ Ferumbras rumbled.

 ‘If you would simply marry and produce an heir, I’ll step down and let you be Thain and Took,’ Lalia said. ‘I haven’t changed my mind, even though young Rosemary was so spoilt and undisciplined as to defy her father’s wishes.’ There was a slurping sound as she sipped at her tea. ‘When you’re Took you may reverse just as many Bans as you care to.’

 ‘I cannot produce an heir in the space of three months,’ Ferumbras snapped.

 ‘Pity,’ his mother said again. ‘Paladin will lose his farm, I suppose. He could always go to Buckland, live off the charity of his relations there. I wonder... is Whittacres a pleasant place?’

 ‘Very pleasant,’ Ferumbras grated.

 ‘Ah, perhaps I’ll remove there once I step down. A nice little home in the country, quiet and peaceful, away from the cares and squabbles of a large establishment,’ Lalia said complacently. ‘I’m old, you know, and ready for some peace.’ She sighed. ‘Of course, after I’m gone, you could always graciously restore Paladin’s land to him once again... that is, if his pride allows him to accept it.’

 ‘You’ll probably live another thirty years,’ Ferumbras said quietly.

 ‘Pass the Old Took? What a delightful prospect,’ Lalia said. ‘I shall make it my ambition.’

 ‘You do that, Mother,’ Ferumbras said heavily. ‘I’m tired.’ Pearl heard him rise from his chair. ‘Good night.’

 ‘And where is my good-night kiss?’ Lalia demanded. Pearl could just picture her tilting her cheek in expectation.

 ‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘That’s my boy,’ Lalia said. ‘We’ll have your favourite cake for tea on the morrow, after you return from the hunt, shall we?’

Ferumbras did not answer. Pearl heard the door close behind him, then the servants came out of the bedroom.

 ‘Bed’s all warmed for you, Mistress,’ Bluebell said cheerily, ‘and the fire on the bedroom hearth is crackling nicely.’

 ‘That does sound inviting,’ Lalia answered.

 ‘Come then!’ Bluebell said. Pearl heard the heavy chair wheeled out of the sitting room and the voices of the servants and Mistress from the bedroom. The servants sang the Mistress a peaceful song and then left the suite, all but Bluebell who would remain on duty through the night in case the Mistress wanted something. Pearl heard Bluebell moving about the sitting room, and the room darkened as she blew out each lamp, turning the last one low to serve as a watch lamp.

Pearl heard Bluebell settle on the sofa and sigh. ‘There’s another day gone,’ the servant muttered to herself. Soon a soft snore arose.

Pearl crept from behind the sofa, holding her breath, but Bluebell never stirred. The girl eased herself across the room to the door and slipped outside, thankful to find the corridor deserted.

Upon returning to her own quarters, she found the other girls asleep and only Mrs Sandytoes awake, on watch, darning a hole in a kitchen-helper’s apron. ‘There you are,’ the matron said with a yawn. ‘The Mistress kept you later than usual.’

 ‘Yes,’ Pearl said succinctly. ‘Yes she did. Goodnight.’

 ‘Would you like a cup of tea and a bite to eat before you retire, dearie?’ Mrs Sandytoes said solicitously.

 ‘No, thank you, Mrs Sandytoes,’ Pearl said with an unfeigned yawn. ‘I’m weary; I think I’ll just take myself off.’

 ‘You do that,’ the matron said. ‘You’ve not slept well these past few nights.’

 ‘No,’ Pearl said. Likely she wouldn’t sleep much this night, either. She had a lot of thinking to do.