“Never go into a situation without first knowing the facts. This will sometimes require the services of a secret investigator.” ~ Pervinca Took
 
  

Lesson 2: Good Detective Work is Half the Battle

The trouble with love is that it really does turn you into a fool. Any kind of hobbit sense you were born with goes right out the window as soon as you find yourself fancying that special someone. Rather than putting your energy and time towards important endeavors, you start to pine away the days over completely useless activities, such as remembering the way he looked on a certain day, or the way he says your name or even the way he laughs, a trait you once found annoying but now cannot get enough of. I must say, I don’t understand it at all, how that one realization can change so much.

I suspect, however, that people simply make it harder on themselves than it truly needs to be, if only for the sake of saving grace should the person they’re enamored with not return their feelings, which is also silly. Why anyone would choose to torment themselves with endless questions of “does he?” or “doesn’t he?” is beyond my comprehension, even after all these years of watching Estella and Merry so fabulously deny their feelings for each other.

Well, no more. It’s time I take these two by the hand and show them how simple it really is. However, considering how pigheaded those two can be on this matter, I’ll need an accomplice and I know just the one.

I wait a day or two and let the matter of Gordi’s impending visit stew for a bit. Estella does a fine job of pretending everything is normal, but Merry is decidedly less carefree and jubilant that he usually is.

My many attempts to eavesdrop on him and Pippin have been of little help: they don’t say much to each other even when they think they’re alone. Not that this is particularly odd, but Pippin being so forlorn is, even when considering his typical tween moodiness. Pippin is truly worried about his friend, just as I had figured. He won’t be able to stand watching Merry go on like this for very long.

On the third day of Merry’s visit, I make my move.

Merry likes to bathe early in the day, between first and second breakfasts, so I wait until he leaves the apartment with his washroom parcel before tapping on Pippin’s door. As Merry is usually quick about his baths, I know I’ll only have a few minutes to bring Pippin to my way of thinking.

“Come in,” Pippin says to my knock.

I enter his room, which is quite dangerous territory and a very brave move on my part, for despite Da’s many threats and the chamber maid’s constant efforts, Pippin never seems able to keep his room clean. Nearly always, it looks like a thunder storm just blew through it. Because of this, I am surprised to see that his room is currently quite tidy. I can even see the floor, which most likely hasn’t seen the light of day since last Mid-Year.

“Having Merry doing your cleaning?” I say as I close the door and lean against it.

Pippin is sitting on the floor, looking casual. Far too casual. What is he doing, just sitting there like a normal hobbit? I didn’t even think Pippin was capable of such inert behavior. I quickly glance around the room but don’t see anything amiss, other than its general tidiness that is.

Pippin looks up at me with a frown. “He isn’t. He made me clean up when he got here though. ‘I’m not sleeping on the floor with it looking like this!’ He can be so particular at times. He even made me throw away the plants I had growing on my windowsill.”

“Pip, those plants were dead,” I state.

“They were growing something,” he retaliates.

“Yes, they were growing fungus because you watered them too much after they died,” I point out.

“Is there something that you wanted?” Pippin asks now, tired of small talk and wanting me to leave.

“What are you doing?” I ask instead, delaying the purpose of my visit in an attempt to find out what exactly Pippin is up to.

“I’m sitting in my room. I thought even you could figure that out,” Pippin answers.

“Well yes, but I don’t see why. It’s quite warm out today for so late in the season and I thought you’d be out enjoying it. Or at least, getting ready to enjoy it,” I point out.

“Who says I’m not getting ready?”

“You. Just now. When I asked what you were doing,” I reply.

“What do you want?” Pippin asks now, his frown deepening.

I leave the door and stroll toward him. He glances up at me warily and his shoulders tense. His left hand twitches ever so slightly in his lap; he wants to reach for something. Oh, he is hiding something! What could it be?

I glimpse something under the bed, a bit of parchment. Hiding my smile, I slump against the wall opposite his bed and slide down to sit on the floor. Pippin knows better than to move and give himself away completely, but his frown is a scowl now and he knows I see what’s under the bed: a letter. My curiosity doubles. Pippin doesn’t often receive letters, and he almost never sends them, so it’s very odd that he would have one.

We stare at each other for a while, Pippin holding his breath, waiting. He knows me far too well and that works to my disadvantage at times, but only when I let it.

“Who is that from?” I ask sweetly.

“It’s from Hobbiton,” he says.

“From Frodo?”

No, it’s not. He would have just said as much if that were the case. He itches to reach under the bed and push the letter farther out of sight, but he refrains. It would be pointless to do so now anyway. Instead, he asks again, “What do you want?”

“Is it a lass?” I ask, not relenting. “Is she pretty? I must say, Pippin, you’re taking an interest much sooner than I thought you would. Have you gifted her with anything yet? Let’s think on this. What would you have given the lucky lass? A bottle of her favorite lotion? No, much too intimate. A lace ribbon in her favorite color? No, that’s far too practical. Oh! I know: a jar full of pond weed, and her very own tadpoles.”

Pippin breathes a long-suffering sigh. “Why are you here? Just to torment me?”

“No, that was just an unlooked-for benefit. You didn’t honestly expect me to pass it up, did you?” I ask with a sisterly smile.

“I suppose not,” Pippin says glumly, refusing to perk up. “So what do you want?”

“Fine, fine,” I say, giving in for the moment. “I’m here to talk about Merry.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed how miserable he seems of late,” I say.

“And I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that,” Pippin replies, his eyes squinted now and his lips set so thin they’re nearly invisible.

“Don’t get upset with me because he hasn’t found the courage to say anything to Estella after all these years,” I reply back. “If he’s miserable, it’s his own doing.”

“You shouldn’t be so impudent,” Pippin has the gall to chide me. “He has enough to worry about without adding Estella Bolger to his troubles. He was doing quite well with it all until your not-so-subtle hinting that he was about to lose her for good and for all.”

“Oh, really? And what troubles might these be?” I ask, trying to put this puzzle together. Maybe, the letter is Merry’s. Maybe, he has another lass, a secret lass, in Hobbiton, that’s he’s been conversing with through the post. But, he’s in love with Estella, I’m certain of it. Unless, he’s attempting to get back at Estella by giving her some of her own medicine. No, that makes no sense. Why would he keep the lass a secret then? Unless…

“That’s none of your mind,” Pippin answers now, cutting short my thoughts. “If that’s all you wanted…”

“No, it isn’t. I’m quite fond of Merry, though you would never believe that,” I rush to say before Pippin can roll his eyes. “And I’m especially fond of Estella. I want to see her happy, and if she agrees to marry Gordibrand, she won’t be.”

“Then she shouldn’t agree,” Pippin says. Well, at least he can see things as simply as I can. If only some of that would rub off on his friend.

“I agree,” I say with another smile. “I’m sure that you want Merry to be happy as well, and we both know that Estella will give him that.”

“Yes, but…”

“The problem is that Estella has convinced herself that there’s no hope with Merry. We need to show her that there is, then she’ll tell Gordi ‘no’ and Merry ‘yes’ and all will be well,” I say cheerily. “Are you with me?”

“No.”

My jaw drops. I knew he was going to be stubborn about this, not wanting to go behind Merry’s back and all that, but to flat out refuse? To not even consider? “Why not?” I ask, sitting up.

“It’s none of our business,” Pippin says.

“They’re our friends,” I say. “Of course it’s our business!”

“It’s not a good time, Vinca,” Pippin says. “And I have to say, I think Estella would be better off with Gordibrand.”

I positively gape at my brother, unable to believe my ears. How can he be saying this? He can’t honestly be this dense, and I know for a fact that he isn’t, even though he’ll pretend that he is to anyone who doesn’t know better. “Are you ill? How can you say such a thing?” I ask.

“There are things, circumstances,” he says helplessly. He lowers his voice and leans forward. “He’s of age now, you know, and his parents have been after him to take on more responsibilities. He hardly gets a moment’s rest anymore. And…" He pauses, considering his next words carefully, another behavior of which I didn't think Pippin was capable. Finally, he finishes, "Well, if it all turns out as is to be expected, then it really would be for the best for Estella to be with Gordi.”

I narrow my eyes at Pippin now, trying to hear between the words he’s saying. My mind races, trying to piece this all together.

So Merry does have a secret lass. More responsibilities would include settling down, and he has not been courting any lass since the healer, not openly. Perhaps his parents found out about this secret lass and are trying to have Merry declare the relationship openly. As the Master’s son, he would have any number of available lasses approaching him for his favor, taking up valuable time that he can’t spare, unless they knew he was spoken for.

I stand up, seething. “He’s got himself another lass, hasn’t he? He’s gone and given his heart to some coquette when he knows perfectly well it belongs to Estella! She lives in Hobbiton, doesn’t she? I bet it’s that Angelica Baggins. She’s always tagging about after him at parties and whatnot.” I clench my fists. Oh, the next time I see her…

Pippin sighs again and stands up himself. He shakes his head at me and his expression clearly says that he believes I’ve completely lost my senses. “Really, Vinca, your ability to take a simple comment and twist it about into such fantastical stories that would have the whole of the Shire wagging their chins with the gossip is quite impressive and never ceases to amaze me. However, you’re quite incorrect. This has nothing to do with any other lass,” he says calmly and sincerely.

“Then who is that letter from?” I ask.

Now Pippin does roll his eyes. “What does it matter? It has nothing to do with this. Now, if you are finished, you need to leave and put your mind to things more suiting of a lass, like knitting.”

“Knitting?!” I say, insulted.

Then I gather myself together. I’ve quite lost control of the situation, which is unusual for me, and I’m running out of time besides. I must gain the upper hand again.

I look at Pippin, considering him. He is going through an odd time of late, being in his mid-tweens and having to get used to the Thainship looming over his head. Heaven knows he can go from carefree to gloomy in a heartbeat for no clear reason whatsoever. Maybe he’s just going through one of his mood shifts. It’s harder than usual to make him see reason when he’s like this, yet there has to be some way to get through to him.

“Merry and Estella belong together,” I say, calm now myself. “We know it and they know it. If they’re not willing to do anything about it, then we have to. It’s for their own good. Don’t you want to see Merry happy? Aren’t you his friend?”

“I am, but it’s not as simple as all that,” Pippin says, then chews on his bottom lip, trying to figure out how to get rid of me without physically tossing me from the room, I’m sure.

I rush on while he’s too flustered to talk. “Look, you’re going to help, because you know as well as I do that it’s for the best.” I step closer to him and pull myself up to my full height, which isn’t much more than Pippin’s anymore, but I still know how to make it mean something. “You’re going to help, or I’m going to tell Da about your little secret under the bed.”

“You disappoint me, Vinca. Your blackmail is usually better than this,” Pippin says. “What is Da going to do about a letter? Just because I don’t want you seeing it, doesn’t mean I’ll have any problems with him seeing it.”

“True,” I say. “Very well. You’ll help, or I’ll tell Mum it was you who butchered her favorite rose bush.”

“Vinca! You mustn’t! That was an accident!” Pippin says, his face pinched with desperation, no doubt remembering Mum’s wrathful reaction at the sight of her winter roses strewn about the garden path a month ago. She’s still bent on finding the gardener responsible for the destruction.

“I won’t tell if you help.”

“You know I’ll just tell Merry that you’re blackmailing me,” he points out. “He’ll figure it out on his own even if I don’t tell him.”

“That’s also true, but it’s not a worry,” I say. “All you have to do is get Merry to talk about his feelings for Estella, then I’ll get Estella to take a walk with me and we’ll just happen to overhear. We’ll have to do this outside, after dinner, at six o’clock. Take him to the gardens, where Mum’s roses are. Wait about five minutes, then get him talking.”

“I don’t know,” Pippin says, reluctant still but knowing he has no other choice.

“This will work!” I say excitedly. “Merry will tell Estella, without him even knowing about it, and Estella will know how he feels and then Gordi will be out of the portrait. It’s perfect.”

Pippin seems ready to protest some more, but Merry chooses just this moment to come back from his bath. He takes one look at Pippin with his hands tucked into his pockets and at me with my hands clutched together, and quirks his eyebrow at us.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

“Yes, several things,” I say. “Everything, in fact.”

“I do what I can,” Merry says. He goes to the wardrobe and deposits his parcel into his pack, and that's when I spy it: another letter. Merry thinks nothing of tossing this new letter onto the writing table, then he looks up and sees I'm still there. "Is there something else I can help you with?”

“No, that's quite enough for now. Good day, lads,” I say and leave the room, a small uneasy feeling settling into the pit of my stomach. I throw Pippin a quick and pointed glance before closing the door behind me. He nods, ever so slightly, and that’s all I need.

I decide to ignore my misgivings – they’re such bothersome things and very rarely amount to anything - and make my plans instead. I have to figure out how to get Estella to walk out with me after dinner without her meddlesome mother about. It appears I will also need to attempt a peek at those letters, for good measure.

Still, I’m confident that all will go according to plan. I smile to myself and stroll away from the room, humming.  

The plan doesn’t go quite as I expect. It starts with Merry not wanting to go with Pippin out to the garden and continues with Rosamunda insisting that Estella and I join her and my mum at Nell’s to inspect her newly redecorated apartment. There is no getting out of it, so Ella and I follow reluctantly behind our mothers. I only just manage to mouth to Pippin to wait until we return before getting Merry outside. He nods miserably.

Our time spent at my sister’s is not a complete waste however. I do learn through Rosamunda’s constant gossiping that she is much more excited about Gordibrand’s pending visit than anyone, short of Gordi’s mother that is. In fact, Rosamunda is ready to wed poor Estella off right this moment. During their short visit, they’ve already been to nearly every shop in town, planning what to buy for the house and beginning to design the invitations and the wedding dress.

Rosamunda absolutely adores Gordi and has always dreamed her daughter would marry him, being as he’s the son of her lifelong best friend. This is clearly something the two mothers have been planning since they were tweens themselves and as I’ve been able to gather over the years, they have had this agreed upon since Estella and Gordi were barely more than faunts. Once Merry seemed to be out of the portrait, the families had all but thrown Estella and Gordi together, and while Gordi had gone willingly, Ella had not.

I can understand why Ella is hesitant to disappoint her parents; she’s always trying so hard to please them. She will also be crushing Gordi horribly and upsetting his parents, and she risks creating a lot of discontent between the two families if she refuses Gordi for no reason. That’s a lot of weight for her unsteady shoulders, but if she can just know how Merry feels, if Merry just tells her, then none of it will matter. The weight of those expectations will disappear and all that will be left is her joy.

Ella sits on the settee the entire time we are at Nell’s, quietly staring down at her nails or fiddling with the tassels on the pillow she’s clutching in her lap. Her mother doesn’t even notice her daughter’s dour mood, or how Ella forces a chipper smile onto her face every time her mother looks at her.

Ella isn’t doing very well at all, poor thing. The closer it gets to Sterday, the more jumpy and agitated she becomes. She keeps telling herself that she’ll say yes, keeps trying to convince herself that she can be happy with Gordi. I have to admit, they do have a fair bit of fun together, but it’s not in a manner one would expect of a courting couple. They are far too formal with each other, though all the Shire can see that Gordi has nothing but eyes for Ella.

Hm, this is all quite complicated, isn’t it? Yet the solution is still so simple, if only we can get out of here and out to the gardens.

The clock ticks by at a snail’s pace, and by the time our mothers are finally ready to leave Nell and Fendon in peace, I am all but jumping out of my skin. I yank Estella up by the hand, call farewell to Nell, and drag Estella through the tunnels to our apartments.

“Vinca,” she complains. “You’re going to rip my arm off.”

“I have to get away from them. I have to get out of here,” I say and realize this is the perfect excuse to get Estella outside in the gardens. It is not so late that Da will prevent us from going out and by now, Pippin should have figured out a way of convincing Merry to go for a stroll as well.

Only, when we get back to the apartments, all I find is Da snoozing in his armchair. I make the excuse of needing my shawl and head down the hall to my room, listening at Pippin’s door on the way. Silence. Drat that Pippin! Where are they? I open the door a crack just to be sure and the room is completely devoid of my clueless brother and moping cousin. I grit my teeth and grab my shawl and another for Estella, then retrieve her to go outside.

“It’s a bit late for a stroll,” Estella comments as we exit the Smials but she doesn’t protest any further than that. She too needs a bit of fresh air and she finds the gardens distracting enough from her worries. “If only we didn’t have to go back in so soon.”

“I know, Ella,” I sympathize as I scan the gardens with sharp eyes and listen for the slightest hint of whispering or stirring. They had better be out here, but not wanting to ignore my friend, I pause to pat her on the arm and place a supporting arm about her waist. “You’re coming along with it all quite nicely, for all that I know you’re miserable.”

“There just seems no way out of it,” Estella states sadly. “I’ll be happy with Gordi. He really is very sweet and he cares for me. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“It should be, but it isn’t,” I say and start us walking at a leisurely pace. “It’s not enough if you don’t return his favor. Surely he must know by now that you do not feel the same way as he does.”

Ella shrugs. “We haven’t spoken of it much, neither of his feelings nor mine, though his are clear enough to see.” This is another problem with lads. As long as they’re happy, they assume that everyone else around them is as well.

We walk in silence, Ella not being in the mood to talk and myself being preoccupied with trying to spy my brother and cousin. We pass the roses, seeing no one, and turn the bend around the hill. In the distance I see the barn and realize where exactly Pippin has squirreled away with Merry. I steer us in that direction, and Ella is too absorbed in her thoughts to notice or question.

Please, please, let them be in there. If they are not, I shall have to strangle Pippin when he finally turns up from wherever he’s been. Oh, Da and Mum will be upset I’m sure, but once they hear my side of the story, they will have to admit there was no other option.

We are nearly at the north barn wall when we hear them, speaking in unguarded tones around the other side of the barn. Ella pauses and attempts to turn around, but I hold her steady. “Let’s have a bit of fun,” I say in my most devious of whispers, and she sighs. I tip my head toward the voices. “Come on,” I mouth.

She nods, as always falling prey to her need to just be near Merry, whether he’s aware of her presence or not. We sneak up to the north wall and tiptoe around the west side of the barn so there will be no shadows to give us away. We sneak along the wall until we can hear what Merry and Pippin are saying; it is not what I expect it to be.

“-taken all of them with him,” Pippin is saying. He sounds worried.

“He did, that’s why Sam wrote,” Merry says and sighs. A piece of parchment crinkles. “He clearly acquired more from elsewhere: the dwarves no doubt. I should have guessed there was something amiss when he didn’t come to Yule.”

Estella and I quirk our eyebrows at each other, completely forgetting our original purpose for spying. Estella mouths, ‘Sam?’ I shrug and try to remember the name while listening to the conversation.

“You don’t really think it’s anything serious, do you?” Pippin asks.

“Sam’s worried. That’s serious enough for me,” Merry replies.

“But, he wouldn’t really do anything silly or whatnot, would he?” Pippin asks. Whatever they’re talking about, he’s being quite stubborn on accepting it.

“We’ve known for years this was coming. It was ever only a matter time and if he wants any hope of seeing Bilbo again, he’ll have to go soon,” Merry states, not much happier with the situation either. “He’ll be fifty this year, which seems to be their magic number, and all that Sam’s describing is much too familiar: the uneasiness, the wander-lust. All this talk of maps from the Outside is unsettling me.”

Bilbo? Fifty? They must be talking about Frodo then, and suddenly it occurs to me where I’ve heard that name before. Sam would be Frodo’s gardener lad, the one Nell used to tease with her attentions when she was a tween, just to see him blush. And Da calls me merciless. But why would a gardener be writing to Merry and reporting on Frodo’s activities? That hardly seems appropriate, but I am in no position to say anything about it.

“Not much does worry Sam,” Pippin admits with reluctance. “But… Frodo wouldn’t truly leave, would he? What about Bag End and all that? Maybe Sam's just overreacting like he does at times. You know how he can get when it comes to Frodo.”

“We’ll have to visit Frodo soon and see if we can get a word with Sam while we’re at it,” Merry says at length. “We’ll be able to determine more if we can see him for ourselves, and then I can decide on our next step.”

“I don’t know. He can be very close when he wants to be,” Pippin replies.

“From us, yes. From Sam… Well, Sam has his methods, hasn’t he? He’ll help us if there’s a need to. The more I think on this, the more I want to get up there. It won’t hurt matters just to check in. Besides, he’s to be coming for your birthday next week anyway. We’ll just say that we’ve come to collect him and ensure that he doesn’t shirk his familial duties like he did at Yule,” Merry states. Another long pause follows, during which more parchment – the letter – is shuffled about, likely folded up and tucked away for safekeeping. At last Merry says, rather gravely, “We’re still agreed?”

“Yes.”

Agreed? About what? To visit Frodo and bring him here? No, it seems like something more than that, but what?

“Is that why you won’t approach Estella?” Pippin asks now, and Estella stiffens next to me.

Finally! I let out a soft breath and clutch at Estella’s dress sleeve, effectively pinning her to her spot. Well, at least Pippin hasn’t forgotten his word, even if he did forget everything else, the imp.

“Merry?” Pippin asks after a long pause. “I know you’re tired of this and all, but you really should say something to her.”

Estella takes my hand and clutches it tightly, hardly daring to breathe. I hold my breath as well, waiting, hoping for Merry to say the right thing. At last, Estella will have it from Merry’s own mouth. At last, she will know without doubt how he feels.

Merry sighs again. “What good would it do? She’ll likely be married by then.”

“No, I mean, tell her now,” Pippin says. “You should try.”

“I did try once, remember?” Merry says, his voice soft, too soft. I creep up a bit closer, taking Estella with me, our footfalls perfectly silent. “By the time I got my wits about me, Gordi had got there first. He thinks the world of Estella; I will not undercut him. Besides, she doesn’t care anything for me anymore, if she ever did. Your sister probably put her up to that prank in the first place.”

Ella makes a small sound of distress at this. I squeeze on her arm just slightly to remind her to be quiet.

“Estella likes you,” Pippin presses. “I heard her say so when I was spying on her and Vinca one time, but she thinks you don’t like her.”

“Speaking of Pervinca putting someone up to something… Why are you pressing this?” Merry asks, more than a bit annoyed. “Is that why she was in your room this morning?”

“No. … Yes, but that isn’t the point. You’re in love with her, Merry. Estella, I mean,” Pippin says.

Beside me, Estella’s breath hitches and she waits for Merry’s response.

“I am,” Merry says, “but it doesn’t matter, not then and certainly not now. Besides, you know perfectly well that I cannot be making such declarations when things are so uncertain. I’m not deciding anything until I’ve seen Frodo and spoken to Sam.”

“It’ll be too late by then,” Pippin says. “Gordi will have already been here and spoken.”

“Then it’s up to Estella to do as she will,” Merry states.

I tighten my grasp on Estella. From the tension in her body, I can tell she wants to bolt, to run around the barn and tell Merry that she’s in love with him too, yet it will do no good for him to know we are listening in. I gently but pointedly place a hand over her mouth and she settles down somewhat.

“I’m sorry, Merry,” Pippin says sympathetically. “This all has come at a very bad time.”

“We should go up to Frodo’s before Sterday,” Merry says, effectively throwing a bramble into my plans. “I don’t want to be here when he comes.”

“I’ll ask Mum and Da. I’m sure they won’t mind. We’ll go first thing in the morning. A surprise attack is the best defense, after all. … What? I listen to my lessons sometimes, don’t look at me like that.”

I roll my eyes. That is the worst thing Pippin can possibly suggest. Thankfully, Merry has more sense. “No,” he says. “We can’t just drop in on Frodo, and you have essays to finish writing. I’ll send him a post first thing in the morning. That way, Sam will know to look for us also. He’ll know what our visit’s about.”

Well, this is a much better plan. I might even be able to use it to our advantage. For now, Estella knows the truth and can make her decision with this knowledge. I motion that it is time for us to leave, and I pull Estella behind me. We say nothing until we are back on the garden path, then Estella all but skips beside me, humming happily.

“Oh, Vinca, did you hear? Merry’s in love with me!”

“Imagine that?” I say, trying not to sound sour and hurt for being ignored every single time I had told her the same thing, but it’s hard to be upset when Ella’s so perfectly happy. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Ella pauses, considering. “I don’t know. Should I approach him? He’s obviously not going to make the first move. Should I let Gordi go first and then approach Merry? That would be the ideal, but if I wait to speak with Gordi, Merry will likely be at Frodo’s and I’ll have to wait even longer to speak with him.”

I laugh, every bit as giddy and happy as Ella is. “No worries, my love. We’ve till morning to plan everything out.” And we go to my bedroom to do just that.
 
 
 

To be continued…