Chapter 38. Suspicions

With First Day behind them, Yule was officially past; even the calendars of the hobbits who kept such things now displayed 'Afteryule' at the top of the record of days to come. After the feasts and parties and balls and celebrations, life settled back into its usual mundane lines. It didn't help that the weather continued frigid and snowy.

'...and it's so cold, the snow is too dry to pack into a ball for decent throwing!' Bilbo grumbled in disgust to his cousins, and more than once. At this moment, he was reiterating the thought to his close cousin Sigismond. 'What good is a fresh snowfall if one cannot even throw snowballs, I ask you!'

'We could go shooting,' Siggy answered, blowing on his fingertips with a shiver as if imagining the prospect of more outdoor exercise. As it was, the tweens had come in from the snow with faces bright red under their mufflers and fingers that were almost too numb to undo their mufflers, much less their coat-buttons, despite the thick mittens of good Tookish wool they had worn to play outside.

Flambard's mother had been the one to call them in, and reluctant as they were, the sharp note in her voice had been compelling. As the half-dozen tweens who had ventured out in a hopeful group this morning had sheepishly trooped in, in response to her abrupt summons, Poppy had yanked her son aside from the rest, pulled the lad's muffler away from his crimson cheeks, and jerked his woollen hat right off her astonished son's head.

'Just as I thought!' she'd scolded, taking firm hold of a cold, reddened ear. 'Out in the elements without a by-your-leave – catching your death, no doubt—!'

'We were just playing, Mum!' Flambard immediately followed his protest with a yelp. 'Ouch! You'll break it off, pulling so hard!'

'Your ear's not made of ice, though it's cold enough to be such!' his mother retorted. 'Now come along! It's bath and bed for you, my boy, for the rest of the day, to ward off the chill you've taken...'

The other tweens had looked at each other in dismay as Poppy dragged her erring eldest son away by his ear, scolding all the way. 'We'd best scatter,' Bilbo said to the remaining cohort. 'Before any more worried parents should think to look for us – and pounce!'

Almost everyone nodded and quickly made themselves scarce, leaving snowy footprints in their wake (which soon transformed to damp marks on the well-swept floors). The exception was Sigismond, who still stood hesitating on the mat as Bilbo joined the general exodus.

Something made Bilbo stop and turn his head, and seeing his closest cousin standing dejectedly just inside the door, he turned himself completely around and returned to the minor entrance they'd just passed through, one that let out directly onto the courtyard. 

No one in his or her right mind would have used the Great Door this day, and risked slipping and falling down the stairs there, not in this weather. Why, even Flambard's mum had left the more rarefied atmosphere where the gentry lived and pursued their activities and come down to one of the lower levels that housed servants and workers and workspaces and provided access to the outdoors with no stairs involved. 

(In practical terms, the lowest levels in the Great Smials did not count as "downstairs" in terms of "sleeping upstairs" – which hobbits do not do. In those days, the gentry did not consider the lower levels as proper levels, stairs or no stairs. No, but the entryway guarded by the Great Door defined "ground level" in the Great Smials, from which corridors led to the great hall and the apartments and guest quarters set aside for the gentry. The sprawling manse boasted higher levels as well as lower ones. The apartments on the higher levels in the Tooks' ancestral home escaped the off-putting notion of being "upstairs" due to the gentle incline that characterised many of the corridors in that many-tunnelled mansion. The quantities of large, round windows shining from the front of the Great Hill, whether reflecting sunlight during the day or beckoning travellers with their lamplight after dark, revealed to even a casual observer that the entirety of the Hill had been hollowed out to provide living quarters for hundreds of hobbits, with those set higher in the face of Great Hill offering a spectacular view of Tuckborough and its surroundings.)

'Is it well with you, Siggy?' the young Baggins asked his Tookish cousin solicitously. Sigismond had, after all, turned an ankle in that last foot-race they'd run. Had he done some damage to himself?

'My mum's even worse than Flam's,' Siggy said miserably in response. 'She might just keep me in bed for two days if she takes it into her head that I've caught a chill.' He sighed and added, 'She's a Boffin, you know.'

Bilbo nodded wisely. The Boffins were notorious for sheltering their offspring to the extent that children might remain under the oversight of one or more minders well into their tweens. 'Come with me,' he said, taking Siggy's arm. 'How's the ankle?'

Siggy grimaced. 'Passable,' he said.

'Well, we don't want your mum to catch you limping, or she's likely to keep you in bed for a week! And we're leaving after Highday to go back to Hobbiton, which would certainly put a spoke in all the plans we made for the rest of our visit...'

His cousin gave him the helpless look of a mouse in a trap. 'What am I to do?'

'Come home with me!' Bilbo urged, but he was talking about the Bagginses' guest quarters and not Bag End. 'Here, put your arm about my shoulders, and I'll put my arm around you as if we are telling each other hilarious jokes, and we can laugh as we go along, and no one will be the wiser...'

The plan had worked as he'd formulated it, and now the two cousins were seated comfortably on a rug before the hearth, more than halfway through a game of Kings. Where all the adults had taken themselves off to was anyone's guess, but the tweens congratulated themselves on their good luck as Bilbo settled his cousin in front of the hearth, hung up their wraps and outer garments (even while visiting the Great Smials, his mother and father eschewed the convenience of personal servants), and fetched the bowl of fruit from the table to hearthside for easy access.

'Brilliant,' Siggy said for perhaps the fourth time since the game had started. 'Did I ever tell you, cousin, how I admire your knack for seeing a problem and working out a solution?'

'You only say such things when you're winning and I'm losing,' Bilbo observed, and yawned as he waited for his cousin to make his next move.

'Do I?' Siggy said absently, removing his hand from one piece that he had almost moved to another, and squinting as he scrutinised the pieces on the board. And then his face brightened, and he lifted his hand again and seized yet a different piece, moving it confidently to its new position. 'Hah!' he finished. 'Your king is in danger.'

But almost before the words were out of his mouth, Bilbo had made his move, smoothly and without hesitation.

'What!' burst from Siggy.

'My game,' Bilbo said. 'I capture your king; I take the kingdom and all the spoils.'

'How did you do that?' Siggy demanded. 'How many moves ahead are you able to look, anyhow?'

Bilbo only shrugged. 'I don't, really,' he admitted. 'I just see which way to go, and I take it.'

'It's maddening,' Siggy grumbled, shaking his head, and then he looked up and amended the words to 'You're maddening!' And then he lunged at Bilbo, scattering the board and its pieces, and the two had a grand wrestling match before the hearth – which had the benefit of warming them further and dispelling the lingering chill from their earlier outdoor play.

By teatime, Siggy's ankle was still tender; but he was able to put his full weight on it, just so long as he didn't roll his foot to one side or the other. All would be well.

*** 

Even though the cousins had left the Bagginses' guest apartments early in order to allow plenty of time to come to tea on time, Bungo and Belladonna were already in their seats when Bilbo joined them in the great room.

'Let me see,' Bungo said, holding out his hand for the notebook tucked under Bilbo's arm.

A little late for that, aren't we? the tween thought to himself but had the better judgement not to say such a thing aloud.

Nonetheless, his expression must have given him away, for his father gave him a sharp glance before turning the pages over to the current entry and perusing the writing. 'Still looking rather spidery,' Bungo murmured, then closed the book and handed it back to Bilbo. 'I thought you were practising nice, round lettering?'

'It cramps my hand,' Bilbo complained, rubbing his writing hand as if he felt a cramp coming on at that very moment.

'Did you hold the quill as I showed you...?' Bungo began in an undertone, then stopped short as a general rustling filled the great hall at the entrance of the Thain and Mistress. The visiting Baggins family rose with the rest, and bowed to acknowledge the "founder of the feast", and then it was time for Bilbo and a few of his cousins to bring their journals to the head table on the dais for their grandfather's approval before the Old Took would declare that teatime had officially begun. Of course, none of the tweens dallied but hurried to the head table as quickly as decorum would allow.

They were hungry, as was everyone else, after all. And the platters and tea trays were, as usual, practically groaning under the weight of the delicious foodstuffs they bore!

As he made his way from his seat to the head table, Bilbo found himself shoving down a feeling of resentment that surprised him by arising inside his mind and heart. Did I hold the quill as you showed me, you ask? Well maybe I didn't, but as you weren't there to help me, nor Mum, nor even Uncle Isen – that last was unfair, for Isengar had been spending much time with his mother when he had not been dancing attendance on the Old Took and, with him, Isengrim, all in hopes of currying favour and assuaging any worries his nearest and dearest might have about his future conduct in the interest of winning some breathing space if he must take up residence in the Great Smials once more. Which seemed inevitable.

Nearest and dearest, Bilbo grumbled to himself. We would be his nearest and dearest, Mum, and Dad, and I, and not those hidebound Tooks who would lock him away to prevent even the suggestion of a scandal! They could use a little livening up, to my mind! But at Flambard's curious look as he passed the seats assigned to Isembard, Poppy, and Flam and his younger sisters, the Baggins tween hastily wiped all emotion from his face, for it wouldn't do to raise questions or speculation simply based on his facial expression, unfair as it might seem. Evidently Flambard had been able to persuade his mum to allow him to come to high tea in the great room rather than staying in bed until the morrow. Or would she pop him back into his bed as soon as teatime was over?

Bilbo found himself third in line for inspection. He opened his journal in readiness and presented it to his grandfather when his turn came but maintained silence as the Old Took examined his work. At last, Gerontius muttered, 'Passable,' and Grandmama Adamanta beamed at her Baggins grandson and said brightly, 'Why, you're making good progress, dear Bilbo!'

Bilbo received his journal back from his grandfa's hand and bowed. 'Thank you, Sir; and I thank you, Grandmama, for your kind words,' he said, just as Belladonna had trained him to do. For some reason, his face burned as he heard Gerontius say behind his retreating back, 'Coming along nicely,' and the inexplicable resentment he'd felt earlier returned.

As they ate and drank and chatted casually with their tablemates, Bilbo turned to his father and asked, 'So where were you all, earlier...? I wanted...'

But Bungo merely shook his head at him, only the slightest movement, enough for Bilbo to perceive but quite possibly too subtle for anyone else to notice.

'But...' the tween said, and then he felt a gentle pinch on his elbow and looked towards his mother in surprise.

But Belladonna wasn't looking at him, much less bringing him up short with the look that most mothers have in their arsenal; instead, she was smiling as she agreed with Cousin Beryl, sitting across the table from the Bagginses, that the weather was indeed frightful, but Bungo's driver would be coming to fetch them in a sleigh, driving across the fields, and so the snow was really a good thing after all since they would not have to take the long way round to return to Hobbiton. No, she added regretfully in response to Cousin Adelbert's query, though she would love to stay longer, Bungo had matters of business to attend to, and so...

As the hobbits around them tch-tched at the thought of having to leave the elegance and refinement of the Great Smials behind to attend to business, Belladonna glanced at her son and raised one eyebrow, then lifted her chin higher and laughed heartily but genteelly at something Cousin Bellarosa had said.

The nagging disquiet that had dogged Bilbo since First Day now coalesced into full-blown suspicion. The adults around him were hiding something from him! Plans were being made without him knowing anything about them, a state of affairs that was wholly unfamiliar (except for nice surprises, of course); indeed, the feeling of exclusion was unprecedented as well as unwelcome. Why, Bungo and Bella – and Isen, of late – had always talked openly before him, had even consulted him in planning some future action or event, including the conspiracy to lull the Tooks into complacency on Isengar's behalf!

Bilbo plastered on a smile and forced out some cheery, inane observation to the effect that the last currant bun he'd taken had been more bun than currants, and had the cooks run short? 

All the while, in the back of his mind, he was wondering... What are they keeping from me? What is this awful secret?

The same instinct that allowed him, all unthinking, to best his cousins at the game of Kings was clamouring deep in his consciousness, trying to tell him something. But what?

For some reason, he could not convince himself that a nice surprise was in the offing. And whatever it was his parents were anticipating, something told the tween now that it would have to come about between now and the day after Highday.

He must keep a close watch, now and henceforth, until whatever was happening became clear to him. Otherwise, as that alarm chiming somewhere deep within himself suggested, something disastrous might result.

A disaster might happen anyhow, whether he had full knowledge or not, but he had to do his best in any event, didn't he?

Bilbo nodded to himself. He was honour-bound to do his best, for his parents had raised him to do no less. 

Or die trying... into his thoughts came a memory from one of the stories Isen had told, sitting at the kitchen table with Bilbo while Belladonna put the finishing touches on breakfast.

Where did that come from? he wondered to himself in surprise and dismay. That was just a story Uncle Isen told, about an adventure he had – and didn't enjoy all that much, from the sound of it. Adventures... nasty, uncomfortable things. Mum and Dad must feel reassured that I'll never run away to Sea as Uncle did!

But the thought persisted.

Or die trying.

***