THE COURTSHIP OF PEREGRIN TOOK

One - Better Late Than Never

The hustle and bustle of Tuckborough’s market had little effect on the pair of young hobbits sitting on the porch of the Oak Leaf Inn having a brew. However, the mug of beer each cousin held in his hand did much to help alleviate the wee bit of inconvenience one half of the twain felt about now. Pippin leaned back in his chair blowing smoke rings up into the blue sky with his brand new pipe as he bided his time, waiting for the extremely overdue coach. The carriage that conveyed the new nursemaid for his three young nephews was extremely late; a courier rode in a few hours ago with news that the carriage had trouble with one of its wheels. Instead of going all the way back to the Smials only to turn around and come back to town again, Pippin decided to stay put and wait.

At first, Pippin wandered aimlessly through the town market half listening to the multiple dealings going on then spied his cousin Everard inside the Leaf Shop purchasing pipe-weed and a new pipe. The proprietor had a very lucrative morning; he had sold two new pipes in stead of only one. Pippin and Everard, along with their new pipes, made towards the porch of the Oak Leaf Inn to have a mug and catch up on news. Having nothing else to do at the moment, Everard decided to keep his younger cousin company while he waited for the carriage to arrive. At present, both sat outside under the eaves of the tavern smoking their pipes and sipping beer.

“I’ll wager she’s an old gammer with grey hair whose voice is so shrill she makes the children cringe,” said Pippin, watching tendrils of smoke rise up into the air and then dissipate.

“Pimpernel wouldn’t do that to her lads,” replied Everard, grinning.

Pippin almost choked on his beer trying not to laugh. “You don’t know my sister very well!”

The elder cousin took a sip of his beer, then ventured a wild guess of his own. “I’ll say…she’s a sixty year old spinster who will pinch the cheeks off your nephews.” Here, Everard spoke in falsetto, giving his best imitation of an elder hobbit-lady's voice, “Come here, my wee darlin'-- let me pinch those hearty jowls!” As he jested, Everard reached over to nip Pippin’s cheek with his fingers. The two cousins laughed for a bit as Pippin attempted to thwart Everard’s attempts.

Everard wiped tears of laughter from his face, “Oy--I feel for all three of them--especially the youngest. My old dad must have hired three nursemaids for us children from the time I was a young lad until I became a teen.”

“Did any of them squeeze your cheeks?” asked Pippin, rubbing one side of his reddened face.

“Every single day,” Everard replied slowly, pointing his pipe at Pippin as he emphasized each word.

“I didn’t have a nursemaid while growing up,” said Pippin thoughtfully, “except Dahlia the cook--who sort of ended up being the cook, child-minder, and general all-round mother’s helper at the farm smial in Whitwell.” At that moment, his green eyes spied the carriage coming up the lane, slowly approaching its usual place in front of the Oak Leaf. “Look,” he said with a carefree nod, “it’s finally arrived.”

Everard Took looked at his timepiece. “Good heavens above--it’s about time,” he said, shutting the lid then slipping it back into his waistcoat pocket. “Three hours and twenty minutes. If it were delayed any longer, I should have to order another round of beer.”

“Now Everard,” Pippin quipped, “it wouldn’t do well to have a couple toss-pots meet and greet my nephews’ new nurse.” The lads stood up like gentlehobbits then walked to the edge of the porch to await the new hire.

Six hobbits stepped out of the carriage with assistance from the driver: a mother and her two children, a young hobbit lass, and two grey-haired old gammers. Pippin licked his lips nervously, thinking perhaps his own guess had come true. Everard inconspicuously leaned in towards the younger cousin, whispering, “Which one is it?”

“I don’t know,” Pippin replied in like manner. He noticed that the senior hobbits walked away from one another, discounting the idea that they were travelling together. Pippin stepped up to the one heading towards the dining room of the Oak Leaf. “Hullo,” he said, standing directly in her path. “Are you the new nurse for Pimpernel Brownfield?” No, she wasn’t--nearly shoving the lad aside as she made her way into the dining room. (Never come between a hobbit and the next meal!) He then caught up to the other gammer, walking towards the market. “Ma’am…” He asked the same question, but still no luck.

Pippin stood in the road halfway between the Oak Leaf and the market with his arms held out and a questioning glance in Everard’s direction. He saw his cousin indiscreetly pointing towards the young lass that stood two feet away from him on the porch as if looking for someone. Pippin didn’t get a good look at the girl before chasing down the elder hobbits, however, the fleeting look he did get made him think she wasn’t old enough to be a nurse--perhaps a child-minder who watches after children for short spells, but not a live-in nurse. Pippin shook his head sceptically at Everard. Grinning, Everard nodded. Out of time--and lasses, Pippin started back towards the porch of the tavern.

“Cousin, cousin,” Everard winked as Pippin strolled up, “while you were off pursuing the grey haired ladies, I discovered that this maiden is going in your direction back to the Smials. Apparently, she was to meet with Mistress Brownfield this morning, however, her carriage was delayed three hours in Waymeet over a broken wheel. Allow me to introduce you to one of our Northfarthing relations.” Everard took the young bachelor by the shoulders to stand him appropriately before the lass. “This is Miss Sapphira North-took of Long Cleeve.”

Figuring quick introductions went on while he was walking in from the road, he hastily bowed, “I’m Pippin--at your service and your family’s.”

“Thank you,” the lass answered as she curtsied, “and I at yours.” Sapphira shielded the sun from her eyes as she gazed at the young fellow. “I understand that you have been waiting to drive me to the Smials.” She smiled sadly, “I am sorry for your trouble; I believe I’ll only be staying the night.”

“Why’s that?” asked Pippin.

“Because I’m already too late for the meeting with Mrs. Brownfield. I hardly believe that she would suffer a new hire arriving hours past her appointment.”

“I don’t think that is true in this situation, Miss Sapphira,” offered Pippin, trying to cheer up the lass. “Pi--, I mean, Mrs. Brownfield is not so inflexible that she refuses to amend her own schedule.” He nearly snickered at all the formality.

“Well, I see cousin Ferdie finally made it here,” said Everard, watching a familiar head of dark brown curls tether his pony to the tavern’s hitching post. “I think I’ll have one last mug with him before heading home for tea. Are we still on for a game of chess after supper?”

“Yes,” Pippin replied, though didn’t see that Everard was already walking in Ferdibrand’s direction. “I suppose--” Pippin stopped speaking when he realized his cousin was no longer standing next to him. “Hmm…that was rather abrupt, wouldn’t you agree?” he puzzled, turning again to face Sapphira. She kindly smiled her reply. Pippin looked over her shoulder to a single piece of luggage sitting in the road. “I can help you with that,” he said as he strode over to it. Pippin was uncommonly tall for a hobbit, however, he still had not filled out to the proper size of an adult hobbit. (It would be a while…after he found himself a good cook and married her!) His slim frame strained every muscle upon picking up the hefty bag from the road. “The…carriage is over there,” he grunted, “in the…the shade of that oak tree.”

“Thank you, Pippin,” said Sapphira, following the lad towards the carriage, then stiffened.

“What’s wrong?” Pippin asked.

“It’s the Thain’s carriage,” she remarked, seeing the cursive red letters of T&T emblazoned on the carriage, which was painted black and trimmed with thin red lines.

Pippin continued struggling with the luggage, carrying it as he walked. “Well…yes,” he answered. Then it dawned on him that Sapphira probably didn’t realize he was the Thain’s son. Pippin grinned mischievously while Sapphira walked behind him. “The Thain affords all distinguished visitors of his immediate family the occasion to travel in elegance.”

“I’m not distinguished, Sapphira chuckled. “I work to make a living--the same as you.”

The carriage shuddered as Pippin heaved the bag onto the back ledge for stowing. “Yes, however,” Pippin replied, “the work you do for a living is not the same as what the servants do at the Smials. Some of them work long hard hours to accommodate the eccentric folk who dwell there--while other servants have nowhere else to live, so they live and board in the lower tunnels.”

“True,” Sapphira agreed, “I’ll admit I’ve had a proper upbringing, however, I do not deem myself anyone special.” Sapphira waited for the young hobbit to finish with the task of securing her luggage before she entered the riding compartment.

“Then you will fit right in,” smiled Pippin as he walked up and opened the door. “My lady,” said Pippin, bowing again.

Sapphira was smitten with the courteous lad. She took his hand, stepping up into the carriage. Believing Pippin to be a servant of the Smials, Sapphira was impressed with the lad’s eloquence. “You sound quite educated for a foothobbit,” she said, complimenting Pippin as he closed the door. “I think we shall become very good friends.” Pippin grinned playfully as he climbed into the seat next to Mat the driver.

Mat was very surprised to see the future Thain appear at his side next to the driver’s seat. “Mr. Pip--!”

“Shhh!” Pippin hushed the elderly hobbit, holding his finger to his lips. “I’m riding up here with you for this trip.” He could have sworn he heard Mat grumble something about…being up to no good again…

~ ~ ~

Territorial, was the first word that came to Sapphira’s mind as she followed Pippin through the winding tunnels. At almost every turn, another servant would approach the tall lad and attempt to take her luggage from him. She couldn’t hear exactly what Pippin whispered to them, but Sapphira assumed the words were quite firm, as he always triumphed the tug-o-war. After many twists and turns, Pippin finally stopped and opened a door,  allowing the lass to enter first. “Guest quarters--for now," Pippin grunted, "that is...until we can...freshen up…the room prepared for you.” Pippin plopped the heavy bag onto her bed.

Before he had the chance to leave her alone in her room, Sapphira blurted out the burning question on her mind. “How do I get in touch with Mrs. Brownfield, Pippin?”

“I can take you to her directly,” he answered, his arms relieved to be rid of the weighty luggage. Massaging the flow of blood back into his limbs, he added, “Please follow me.”

Not as many winding tunnels this time; Sapphira thought she could almost traverse the distance between her room and the Brownfield apartment without assistance. But not right away, of course; she followed Pippin until he halted in front of a round, yellow door. He knocked then entered without so much as waiting for an answer. Sapphira stood rooted where she was, gaping jaw and all. Where did this lad leave his manners? She heard him shout their employer’s name as if he were calling one of his friends at the pub. “Pimpernel! Come out here and meet Molena’s replacement!” Sapphira was absolutely shocked. If there was any redemptive possibilities for being late, she felt it all had gone out the window now.

“Is that you, Pippin?” came a young lady's voice from within the apartment. Pimpernel emerged from her room, still pinning up her hair, “Where in the Shire have you been? I got word that there was only a short delay, and--” Pimpernel stopped short at seeing two hobbits standing in the parlour. “Oh--hullo! Is this Miss North-took?”

“Uncle Pippin, Uncle Pippin!” came a chorus of lads on the heels of their mother.

“You were supposed to be at my recital after luncheon,” said Gelly. His disappointment showed in his voice. “I played the song you taught me last week all by myself--you were supposed to accompany me.”

With a very swift and worried glance at Sapphira, who goggled at him, Pippin placed an arm around his eldest nephew and answered lovingly, “I’m sorry Gel--Miss Sapphira’s carriage broke a wheel in Waymeet and I had to wait for her in town. Will you play your dulcimer for me later? We can play our instruments together then.” He smiled at Gelly’s nod.

Sapphira appropriately restrained her rising anger at Pippin’s unseemly jest. Her cheeks coloured at being the object of his little joke. Quickly recovering, Sapphira swallowed the nervous lump in her throat then curtsied in response to Pimpernel's greeting, “Good afternoon ma’am; I am Sapphira North-took, whom you hired to mind your sons.”

“I am delighted to finally meet you in person, Miss North-took,” said Pim, trying to put the lass at ease. These are my lads--Gelbrin, Tilbrith, and Hilfred--named for his father. They’re twelve, nine, and six as I told you in the letter--and I’ll save the rest for later. You must be completely exhausted and famished after such a long trip from Long Cleeve. Please--why don’t you rest for a little while before we start going over everything? We can take tea together in a little while.”

“Yes, ma’am--and please call me Sapphira,” she said, then smiled as she gathered her skirt, kneeling down to Tilby and Hilly’s eye-level. “And I am glad to meet you, too.”

“Very well, Sapphira,” said Pimpernel. “I shall send Miss Iris to your room to help you settle in and rest up.”

“Yes, ma’--Mrs. Brownfield,” Sapphira replied, suddenly feeling extremely weary--most likely brought on by her intense emotions. “Perhaps I shall lie down for a bit.”

“I--I’ll accompany you to your room--you may get lost,” offered Pippin.

The round yellow door shut; as Pippin walked beside Sapphira, he intuitively felt her anger. He tried to explain, “I thought--” then he felt himself shoved against the wall.

“The cheek!” she whispered through clenched teeth. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Mister Pippin Took!” As she marched on ahead, Sapphira did not see Pippin’s impish grin. She’s definitely a Took!, Pippin thought to himself as he trailed her. And I’ve got my eyes on you, too.

TBC