For Dreamflower’s birthday.

Rated PG for a prank and mild innuendo. 

Tit For Tat

Wedmath 1410 SR

Robin is 31, Tom and Sam are 30, Marigold is 26

It was Ted Sandyman who spilled the milk, as it were. He came into The Green Dragon like he was the King returned, and it was no coincidence that he sat in the table just behind ours, his back to Sam’s so as he wouldn’t miss a word. He ordered his drink, toasted the Shire’s good health, and went on to yammering about everything he’d done that day to anyone who would listen, as if anyone of us was interested in hearing about him tagging along after Mr. Lotho like a whipped mutt. 

It weren’t for Sam’s benefit that he said it either, and that’s a guarantee, or my name ain’t Tom Cotton. It certainly weren’t out of any respect for Marigold. Ted would just as soon take Goldie’s hand as he would slap it away, temper depending. She or any other lass would be naught more than a decoration to him; he never could tell the true worth of anything without a scale to tell him its measure. Whatever his purpose, and whatever he thought would come of it, he certainly weren’t expecting this!

Between the three of us, Sam took it best, much to my surprise. Robin looked ready to dump the nearest cask over Ted’s head, though that’d be a poor waste of ale and that’s about all that stopped him. I had to clench my fists round the edge of the table to keep myself from getting up and cuffing Ted over the ear. Only a shake of Sam’s head kept me in my seat.

Ted was regaling his audience with a recounting of his and Mr. Lotho’s trip to the market earlier that day. The story started innocent enough, but Ted’s a crafty fellow, for all he’s a nuisance to decent folk. We weren’t paying much attention to him, truth be told, till he leaned back and clapped his mug on the table.

“That’s when sweet young Marigold Gamgee came through,” Ted said. He sounded boastful, and that got our guard up in an instant. “She was looking right pretty, as usual, wearing that flowery dress of hers, though she’s getting a might big for it 'cross the top if you want my opinion. She was in something of a hurry, so Mr. Lotho, to slow her down some, pretended interest in some weaving. When she was passing behind him, he stepped back as though to get a better look at the weaves hanging from the doorframe. She bumped right into him, she did, and when her wee basket spilled over the ground, he just stood there and watched while she knelt down to pick up her things, apologizing for being so clumsy as to run into him. He helped her up at least, acting cordial as you please, even if he held onto her hand overlong. Then she was off again, onto wherever she was headed. 

“Mr. Lotho just smiled after her and you know what he said? He said, ‘Ted, my lad, if it were proper, I’d marry that lass.’ ‘Would you?’ I said, surprised to hear him talk so. I’d never heard him talk so before, though with a mother like his, one can understand why he’d be hesitant to take a wife. ‘Aye, I would,’ he said, ‘and I’d give her aught she wanted.’ ‘Would you then?’ I asked, wondering what this was leading to. Mr. Lotho just nodded and said, ‘Shame she’s just a laundress, though I can think of some things I’d not mind her washing, if you taking my meaning.’ Oh, I took his meaning all right. Figured it best to pretend as I didn’t. That’s all that’ll get him to give up a conversation, if you want to know.”

Our part of the inn had gone real quiet by the time he was finished, and it was at this point that Robin was searching for something other than ale to dump on Ted and I was losing grip on the table. That’s when Sam shook his head, subtle like, for all eyes were now on him, waiting to see what he’d do. He stood up and after only a heartbeat made up his mind about something. He pivoted on his heel to come face to face with Ted, crossed his arms and said, loud enough for all to hear, “I’m that sorry, Ted, but I don’t think I do get your meaning.”

“That’s no surprise,” Ted said. “What’s confusing you this time, Sam?”

“The part where you’re speaking ill of your betters,” Sam said, surprising us all, “not to mention spreading false rumors about a proper maid’s virtue. If Mr. Lotho’s done somewhat to offend you, I suggest you take it up with him and leave my sister out of it.”

Well, as you can imagine, Ted didn’t know what to make of this, nor did anyone else. We all just sat there looking at Sam like he’d grown himself a second head. It weren’t till later I realized what he was doing, making Ted look the fool rather than the other way around. No one really believed aught that Ted said anyway and by calling him out on it, it would make it that much more difficult for Ted to get anyone else to listen to the tale, much less believe it. 

Oh, but that tale was true all right. Sam went straight home that night and asked Goldie if she’d had a run-in with Mr. Lotho and what all had happened. Goldie’s side of the story was more innocent that Ted’s had been, and no surprise. Goldie wasn’t yet of an age where she saw things in such a manner, bless the stars. According to her, she’d been on her way to the fabrics store for some lace when she bumped into Mr. Lotho. She’d apologized immediately, of course, and Mr. Lotho had been more than generous, accepting her apology and even helping her up after she cleaned up her mess. It had never crossed her mind to expect Mr. Lotho to help her gather her things, of course, what with him being gentry and all. As far as him not letting go of her hand in a proper manner, she had just shrugged it off to him wanting to make sure she really was all right. That was the end of the matter, so far as she was concerned, and Sam was determined to keep it that way. 

Robin and I were able to confirm the second part of Ted’s tale. The weaver was an old gammer with poor hearing, but next to her shop was the stationer’s shop. The stationer’s daughter, a poor homely-looking thing he’s always trying to marry off to Mr. Frodo, had been sitting outside when all this happened. She’d seen and heard everything, and she was right eager to tell someone about it.

“He’s such an awful chap,” Lila said, eyeing Robin. “I couldn’t believe what he said, even so! Thank the stars that Goldie didn’t hear it, nor anyone else.”

“What of Ted?” I asked.

“Did he say aught untoward about Goldie?” Robin asked.

“He didn’t, and that’s the truth,” Lila said, pinking a little under Robin’s gaze. “He looked right shocked, if you ask me. When he didn’t respond, Mr. Lotho just went on his way home as though naught had happened.” She leaned towards Robin, doing her best to look becoming.

“Well, that’s something at least,” Robin said, missing Lila’s interest, so preoccupied he was with Goldie. “Thanks, Lila. Tell your father hullo for us, won’t you?” 

“All right then,” Lila said, deflated. She went back to organizing the invitation cards. 

Robin and I were nearly to the farm when Robin stopped me. “We have to do something about this. Mayhap we should go to Mr. Frodo, if Sam hasn’t already.”

“What can Mr. Frodo do?” I asked. Sam might think the Shire of Mr. Frodo, but even he admitted that the Baggins had his limits. “We best talk to Sam.”

It weren’t till Highday next that the three of us were able to get together again. We met on the road to Tookland and hiked over the Green Hill Country to the Woody End. As children, we’d often come out here to help Sam hunt for Elves. We never did find any, though he thought he’d spied one once. Later on, he couldn’t be sure if he had dreamt it or not. Nowadays we went there just to get away from prying eyes and perking ears. It was the best place to go to plan a conspiracy. 

Naturally, Sam was just as determined to make sure that Mr. Lotho paid for his remarks about his sister as we were. As it turned out, he even had a plan already as to how to go about avenging Goldie’s honor. Obviously, we couldn’t do aught as would make folk suspicious. Sam’s confrontation with Ted had worked wonders. Ted was too ashamed to go repeating the story where anyone with plain sense would hear it, if he repeated it at all. It would be more than counterproductive to start the gossiping now.

“I’ve been watching him as much as I could the last couple of days,” Sam said. We were sitting in the hollow off the road where we used to go to wait for Elves. We sat around a tree, leaning against the bole to keep an eye out in all directions. “Course, it’s a busy time of year, but I was able to find out that Mr. Lotho always takes his tea outside in his garden. I also know that he’s planning to return to Sackville soon to start preparing for the harvest.” 

“How did you find out all this?” I asked. Sam was right about mid-summer being the busiest time for gardening. I found it difficult to believe he could have found enough time to spy on Mr. Lotho to discover all this.

Sam smirked. “Mr. Frodo had him over for tea the other day, and I just happened to need to change the flowers in the vases and tend the house plants at the same time.”

“What does Mr. Frodo have to say about what Mr. Lotho did?” Robin asked. 

“I figured it best that he not know anything,” Sam said. “Just in case.”

Robin and I glanced at each other upon hearing this. Sam had that tone in his voice that suggested this was no mere romp through the woods he had planned. By the time he got through telling us his plan, we understood why he’d want to keep Mr. Frodo out of it.

“I don’t know,” Robin said uncertainly. “That’s a tall order, Sam. Tom and I would have to be quick to not be caught.”

“We’re supposed to get caught, the way I understand it,” I said. “I’m in.”

Sam grinned. “Knew I could count on you.”

“Forever, cousin,” I said, and we both turned to Robin, waiting. 

Robin frowned but we both knew he’d give in. Of all the things Sam had talked us into doing over the years, this was by far the riskiest endeavor, but as it was for Goldie there was no way of turning away from it. We gave Robin a few more minutes to come to that realization. 

Finally, he nodded. “I’m in, too, though if I get beat, you’re going to have to explain it to my mother,” he said.

We put our hands together. “For Goldie,” we chorused and finalized our plans as the sun waned.

It would be another four days before we could make our move. Sam had found out, during Mr. Frodo’s tea, that Mr. Lotho would be returning to Sackville on the evening of the fifteenth. Mr. Lotho preferred traveling at night, so that he could sleep in his carriage while the poor coachhobbit had to stay up and get him to wherever he wanted to go. With tea being conveniently close to his departure time, Sam had deduced that would be the most opportune time to seek our revenge. 

The plan was simple really. Mr. Lotho took his tea outside on his lawn, as Sam had reported. Robin and I had each seen him outside at that time to believe this to be a fact. Robin and I were to distract him by acting like a couple of drunkards and stumbling into his mother’s prized garden. Never mind that Mistress Lobelia ain’t been to Bywater since Mr. Bilbo took off for the Blue, that didn’t stop Mr. Lotho from making sure her garden was well-tended the year round. 

While we were doing this, Sam was going to come from the other side, sneak into the garden and slip some medicaments into Mr. Lotho’s tea. He had recently acquired a couple of springs of sacred root from Miss Camellia, claiming to be backed up.

“Won’t he taste that?” Robin had rightly asked.

Sam had shaken his head. “It doesn’t taste harsh, for all that, or so she assured me. She said to seep a half-sprig in a couple of cups of water. I figured on boiling the two sprigs in half-cup and let it get good and strong. We’ll let nature do the rest.”

So come four o’clock on Wedmath the fifteenth, Robin and I left the farm and headed towards the home of the Sackville-Bagginses. Even knowing that Mistress Lobelia was far away in Sackville, we were plenty nervous about our role. 

“What if she’s here and we just don’t know it?” Robin asked for the hundredth time that hour.

“Trust me, we’d know it if she were here,” I said.

“What if Mr. Lotho tells her we trampled her asters?” Robin asked next. “She might just decide to come for a visit after all, if only to box our ears.”  

“Posh. She’d not waste her time on that,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. She’ll just write our gaffers instead,” I said, smiling cheerfully. 

“That’s a comfort,” Robin said wryly. 

We rounded the bend in the hill. Up ahead, the S.-B.’s home came into view. Mr. Lotho was just settling into his chair. A small table next to him held a book and his tea service. 

“What about the servants?” Robin asked. Besides Ted, Mr. Lotho kept only a couple of servants on hand at all times to see to the running of the home and garden.

“If Sam’s right, and I’m betting he is, then one of them would be fixing Mr. Lotho’s dinner, and the other will be sleeping so he can stay awake while he’s driving the old pimple to Sackville,” I said. “Ted’s working at the mill today, so there’s naught to fear from him.”

We were close enough now to make out individual flowers on the bushes. I grabbed onto Robin’s elbow to keep him from bolting. He’s game for most anything but this is asking a lot. If I were honest with myself, I’d admit to wanting Robin to bolt so I could go with him. Barring that, I don’t want to have to do this alone. 

We come nearer the smial and soon are at the garden. We each take a simultaneous breath. It’s no or never.

Robin shoves me and laughs hard, as though we had been sharing a joke for the last half-mile. “No, you don’t say! That don’t - hiccup - sound right to me,” he said, making his words run into each other. He staggers a little, as much from nerves as pretending.

“I do say, I tell you! I said I say it,” I said, shoving him back and slurring my s’s. “He really was that big!”

“No, that’s a lie, that is. It’s got to be!” Robin said and giggled. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was drunk myself. “No hobbit’s as big as that big. How does he... how does he... how does he get out of his house? Ha!”

I snorted and waved a hand with abandon. “How does he get into it, more like,” I said.

Robin bent over, slapped his knee and wheezed so hard I thought for certain he’d make himself pass out. Instead, he just toppled into me, making me lose my balance and we both fell over into the garden. We did our best to prevent any lasting damage to the flowers (neither of us were looking forward to even a letter from Mistress Lobelia, after all) but we were undoubtedly in the flowers all the same.

“HEY!” Mr. Lotho shouted a half-moment later. We looked up to find him marching towards us, his face clouded like a thunderstorm. He glared down at us, hands on hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“He’s as big as smial!” Robin squeaked breathlessly.

“He really is!” I said. For added effect, I burped and tried to look bleary-eyed. 

Mr. Lotho stepped back and studied us. He didn’t like drunkards and would do his best to avoid them, unless they were currently squashing his mother’s prized asters. Seeing as we’d likely cause more harm trying to get up on our own, he eventually decided that helping us us was the best course for all. 

“Break it up, now,” Mr. Lotho said. “Wait until you’re in your own gardens to continue this discussion.” He reached down and from just behind him, I could see Sam darting over the lawn from the other side of the smial. Robin and I took as long as we could to get up, even falling over a couple of extra times for good measure. Not that Sam needed the help, as he didn’t take more than a moment to sabotage the tea and disappear, but just for the fun of seeing Mr. Lotho trying to keep his temper.

Once we’re stood on the lane, Mr. Lotho crossed his arms. “You should be at a teahouse at this time of day, lads, not drinking it up at the inn. I’ll be sending a word to both your fathers.”

“Yes, sir,” we said, hanging our heads in supposed shame. We could only hope that Mr. Lotho would soon be so out of commission from the tea that he would neglect to send the posts. 

“Be gone with you then,” Mr. Lotho said after another minute passed. He stood there watching us as we bumbled down the lane and out of view. 

As soon as we were out of view, we made a dash for it, running over the hills to the spot where Sam was waiting for us. We took cover there behind some bushes and peeked through the branches for what we hoped would be a grand show. Mr. Lotho was already seated and sipping his tea again by the time we got ourselves settled. It seemed for a long time that naught would happen after all.

“Patience,” Sam said when Robin huffed impatiently. “Miss Camellia said it could take up to an hour to work. I’m hoping with the stronger dose, it’ll take effect sooner.”

An hour might seem like a long time to wait for something to most hobbits, but we’ve waited far longer for Elves that never showed up. We took turns watching the road behind us and Mr. Lotho in front of us, until finally after a half-hour Mr. Lotho sat up. Slowly, he put down his book and set his hand over his belly. He sat frozen for some time after that, and we held our breath as we waited to see if anything else would happen. A few moments later, Mr. Lotho was scrambling out his chair and to the privy, where he remained for some time. 

It was everything we could do not to burst out laughing. We were safe enough in our refuge from being spied ourselves, but sound traveled well down this hill. We were settling down to snickering when Mr. Lotho returned from the privy, looking pale and possibly sweat-browed. He took his seat again and, bless Sam and his brilliance, took another drink of his tea. We doubled over with silent laughter again, tears streaming down our cheeks and stitches forming in our sides. 

It was clear that Mr. Lotho didn’t connect the tea with his sudden case of trots. If anything, from the way he started downing cup after cup, it seemed as though he thought the tea would help move the illness along.

Sam grinned and winked. “He likes peppermint tea,” he said, sending us into giggles again. Peppermint was well-known for curing stomachache. 

Mr. Lotho’s dance between his chair and the privy continued for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. He would just get to settling himself back in his chair when up he’d get again. By the end of the hour, he was all but running to the privy, doubled over and agitation written so clearly on his face we could see it from our perch, and as the privy was shared by the other smials on the lane, it didn’t take long for others to notice Mr. Lotho’s ordeal. A handful of them suddenly found things as needed doing in their gardens or gossip that needed sharing over the fence posts. 

Sam, Robin and I were laughing so hard at times, we could have sworn ourselves overheard. Finally, we had to leave, for our families were expecting us. We went back to the Bywater Road, congratulated ourselves on a job well done, and promised to meet up later at  The Green Dragon for a celebratory quart.

Robin and I reached the Dragon first. Not surprisingly, news of Mr. Lotho’s trots reached the inn before us and it remained the talk of the night. 

“Your Gaffer was right,” Robin said to Sam after we downed our second mugs. “Knowing your betters will lead you to no good, but I think in this case, it’s worth it!”

“Thanks for helping, lads,” Sam said. “I’ll take the blame with your fathers, if Lotho does send those letters.”

“No you won’t,” I said. “Only one to blame here is that pimple. And Ted. Ever figure out why he told us that story?”

Sam shrugged. “Just wanting to cause trouble, I suspect - and he did!”

“Aye!”

“To Ted,” I said, lifting my mug. “May his trouble always be as entertaining as this!”

We clicked our mugs together and drank deep. The ale never tasted as good as it did that night.

Of course, it turned out, as it so often did, that we needn’t have bothered with our revenge. Mr. Ponto had been in the stationer’s shop the same time Mr. Lotho was harassing Goldie and had seen and heard everything. He later told Mr. Frodo about it, who promptly wrote Mr. Lotho a missive telling him to stay from Goldie at all costs. We also found out, again from Ted, that Mr. Lotho had got to Sackville after a ride that included not a wink of peaceful sleep but plenty of emergency stops on the roadside. That news was icing on the cake for us. 

Our prank on Mr. Lotho quickly became a local legend, for it wasn’t long before our friends put two and two together. They whispered amongst themselves in the fields as we worked. We told it often, but as all such stories go, it was kept out of the ears of the gentry.

And as far as Goldie was concerned, it all remained naught more than an innocent encounter in the market.

GF 7/2/2010