Chapter 4

At last, the time came that Esmeralda had to admit to failing her assignment. She sought out her mother-in-law on the day prior to Frodo’s birthday and delivered the bad news.

“It must be someone,” Menegilda stated. “You’ve questioned all the children?”

“Yes, Mother Gilda,” Esme answered.

“Including your own?”

Esmeralda looked insulted. “I doubt very much Merry or Frodo have anything to do with this,” she insisted passionately. “Besides, I told you; Frodo helped me.”

“Naturally, if he were attempting to keep suspicion off himself,” Gilda said matter-of-factly. She patted Esme’s hand and clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Food is still disappearing and the only way that would happen is if the culprit felt himself free of suspicion, and Frodo is the only one who hasn’t been questioned.”

Esme refused to entertain the possibility that Frodo had hoodwinked her yet again. “He’s been with Bilbo this whole week,” she stated fiercely, yet even as she said it, she realized that wasn’t true. Both Frodo and Merry have been quite elusive during Bilbo’s visit, which was most odd. Plus, Sara had mentioned Frodo’s late night wanderings, which were nothing new in and of themselves, but they did tend to correspond with the nights that food went missing. They had both overlooked that fact as they waited for someone else to put the blame on. “It can’t be him,” she mumbled, a sinking cold feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

“No one is blaming him, dear,” Gilda assured, “but all children must be questioned. I can ask him myself, if you prefer.”

Esme smiled kindly but shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I shall ask him when next I see him.”

Esme left her mother-in-law’s apartment with troubled spirits, still not willing to face what appeared inevitable. She went over the last week and-a-half, since the kitchens were first plundered. She hated to consider it, but Frodo’s many disappearances did rather inconveniently coincide with the incidences of food thievery. Still, that did not prove anything. It could very well turn out to be some other child whom she had already questioned; the guilty party would not necessarily turn themselves in. No child wanted to be punished and so avoided it whenever possible.

And of all the children in the Hall, who had the most experience with stealing food, and the most reason to lie about it?

 ‘No,’ she said to herself. ‘He promised us. He meant it this time.’

She stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her apartment, to check on the current state of affairs. She found things running smoothly, if a bit harried. Ginger informed her that nothing has gone missing since the previous night’s funnel cake. After much deliberation, Ginger made the decision to cease preparing food on the night before it was needed and would instead start her staff cooking two hours earlier in the mornings, so as to ensure all the requested food was still prepared timely.

“That’s a lot of extra work for your staff,” Esme commented.

Ginger shrugged regrettably. “It can’t be helped, Mistress. We can’t keep asking the cleaning lasses to stay up all night.”

When Esme returned to her apartment, she found no one there. Her husband, of course, would be seeing to his duties to his father and so was likely to be found in the library, updating the ledgers. Merry and Frodo would likely be with Bilbo somewhere, or so she hoped. She left then herself, to see to her own duties and visit with her husband and her friends. She was in desperate need of relaxation. She went to the library first, hoping to find her husband tucked away in a corner somewhere.

What she found instead was Saradoc frowning down at bounds of annals, and when he looked up at her approach, his frown only deepened.

“There you are,” he said. “Father’s looking for you. He wants you to meet him in his study.”

“Why? What did I do?” Esme asked, then shook herself for saying such a thing. “I mean, what does he want?”

“He’s decided that you are to give the children their punishments for last night,” Sara answered. “I tried talking him out of it, but he seems to think it would be good for you.”

“Oh indeed,” Esme said curtly, then frowned herself. “So not only am I to fail in front of your mum today, but in front of your da as well.”

“Do you want help?”

Esme shook her head. “No, I’ll think of something. Wish me luck.”

“It’s already done.”

She turned around, her hopes of a quiet morning spent with her husband dashed. Perhaps if things went well with the children, she could still get some time in to speak with her friends Berylla and Alamanda before she had to approach Frodo.

She came to the Master’s study and knocked on the door once, then entered. Rory was sitting at his desk doing paperwork of his own, as the group of miscreants from the night before stood about waiting for their punishments. All eight tweens looked over at her glumly when she entered, then dismissed her to go back to staring at their feet, the walls or each other. Esme took in the culprits, not surprised to see any of them here. They were all known for their mischief-causing abilities. There were Fendi and Morti, Fiona and Tobias, and Tucker, as well as three other lasses known for their boldness, Adele, Iola and Tawny.

“You were looking for me, Father Rory?” Esme said and walked to the Master’s desk.

“Ah, yes, there you are,” Rory said, smiling kindly at her, his eyes sparkling with encouragement. “You are just the one to give these tweens a proper lesson. Their parents have agreed to comply with whatever you decide. Just let me know so that I may tell them what is to be done.” He closed up his books and stood, looking at each tween in turn as he rounded his desk. “You are to listen to Esmeralda and as far as the eight of you are concerned, her word is Law.” He nodded to his daughter-in-law, and with a quick pat of reassurance, he promptly left.

Esme couldn’t help but freeze, so unexpected this was despite her warning. She looked at the tweens, who were quietly waiting for her pronouncement, but her mind went blank. She had seen her mother-in-law in action only a couple of times before, yet she herself had never been put in this position. Menegilda always came up with brilliant and unexpected punishments that never failed to get their message across, and she never received any qualms when she handed down her judgment.

Esme forced herself to take deep breaths and remain calm. She reminded herself that she didn’t have to do things exactly like her mother-in-law. Maybe that’s all Gilda and Rory have been trying to teach her.

One of the tweens cleared his throat. “Are we going to be punished now?” he asked.

Esme looked at him sharply. “Yes, Tobias, you will.” She wrung her hands and started pacing in front of them, her mind racing. “Now, I’m sure you all understand the severity of what you were planning to do. There is a reason we have an age limit that tweens must reach before they’re allowed to drink ale, much less hard liquor.”

“We’ve already been lectured,” Adele interrupted. “Can’t you just tell us what we’re supposed to do?”

Esme bristled at this but held her resolve. She walked right up to the lass and stared her in the eyes with cold regard. “Yes. You are going to be quiet and you are going to sit down, because you are going to get tired from standing while you are listening to all my lecturing. And then, when I’m finished talking, I will tell you what your punishment is, and don’t think that you’ll get off easily because you have me and not the Mistress doling out your dues.”

“Good going, Del,” Tucker said out the corner of his mouth.

Esme turned to him next. “And you, Master Tucker, will receive twice the punishment as the others for daring to speak after I made it very clear that you were not to say a word. Now sit.”

Once she got going, Esme was pleased to discover that her lecturing could be just as long-winded as Rory’s, and that the tweens actually did seem to listen, at least to parts of it. The part about them having a responsibility to their younger siblings really seemed to hit home for a few of them, and the part about trust lost not only between them and their parents but between them and all the elders of the Hall also seemed to get their attention. But the part that got the most groans was her punishment, for while she was lecturing her mind was desperately racing to find an adequate punishment and she finally hit upon one she thought would work.

“You’re going to help the healers with a couple of their patients, residents of Buck Hill who are suffering from consumption.” She held up her hand to silence the groans. “It doesn’t really matter what I say to you, or what anyone else says for that matter. This is something you need to see for yourself. Fun and games are all well and good, but you are old enough now to realize that every action, every decision you make, has a consequence. If you choose to consume liquor unwisely, you can end up like Aster and Nolan, too weak and worn to do anything for themselves, suffering in constant pain, so much that they can’t even leave their home to feel the wind and sun on their face or the grass beneath their feet. Every time they cough they spit up blood and they can’t eat anything.”

“Nothing? Not even pudding?” said Fendi, mortified at the thought of not being able to eat.

“Nothing.”

“How horrible!” Fiona exclaimed, to which everyone agreed.

“I will arrange everything with the healers and they will call you when it is your time to serve. You can go two at a time, and each of you will serve at least one one-hour shift per day, for as long as the healers need you,” Esme said. “Also, if I hear word about any of you planning skinny-dipping again, you will all be branded with tattoos on your bums. You’re excused for now.”

The tweens stood and left, each one lost in thought. Esme watched them go, hardly able to contain her excitement at her first punishment given and received. Overall, it had gone well, though next time she had to give such a lecture, she would jump to the no-eating part first. While she may not have Gilda’s experience, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. She could grow into the role, though it admittedly was not one she looked forward to. Yet, so long as she could keep any children from dressing up a goose in a bride’s first-night undergarments and parading it through the tunnels, she would consider herself one-up on her mother-in-law.

She chuckled to herself and left the study, but she didn’t get far. She heard a couple of the tweens still nearby, talking in hushed tones as they made their way down the tunnel.

“She’s a fine one to talk,” complained Tawny. “Look at her own kids, especially that ward of hers.”

“That’s our friend you’re talking about,” Morti warned. “What has Frodo got to do with this anyway?”

“Oh please, as if you don’t know,” Iola said now. “We all know it’s Frodo taking the food from the kitchens. He’s always in there and sneaking about the tunnels at all hours, him and Merry both. That’s why no one’s said anything to her.”

“Oh, come now!” Morti started, but was cut short.

“He did ask us the other night to join him in a raid, and he did say he’s been restless,” Fendi pointed out. “Maybe it was him.”

“In that case, everyone is to remain silent then,” Morti said. “We don’t want Frodo turned out. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” the others said as they made their way around a corner.

Esme remained in the doorway, unable to move, her elated mood gone cold. No, not Frodo. Not again.

“But of course,” she said under her breath. She had told Frodo to spy on Fendi and Morti for her. That’s why he had tempted them with a kitchen raid. As for him sneaking about, well, certainly that didn’t have anything to do with the raids. Neither she or Saradoc had found any evidence to suggest Frodo was responsible for any of this, though that was only because they were steadfastly not looking for any.

“But no. He promised us,” Esme muttered. He promised.

She left the Master’s study then to search out her ward and her son, not entirely sure if she wanted to find them or not.  

“Well, that’s the last of it,” said Frodo later that day. He closed the now-empty box and helped Merry clean up the mess they had made on the stable floor. Then he sat back on his haunches to admire their work. Beside him, Merry did likewise, in perfect imitation of his cousin, right down to the satisfied head nod.

“I think that’ll do,” Merry said.

“I certainly hope so,” Frodo said. “We’ve rather run out of time, I think. We’re pushing our luck as it is.”

“I say we deserve a treat,” Merry put in.

“You ate all your sweets already, remember,” Frodo reminded. Merry’s candy from the sweet shop had run out the other day and he had been quite disappointed with it all.

“There’s still a couple of those biscuits left,” Merry now put in hopefully.

Frodo raised his eyebrows at him. “The mint chocolate ones?” he asked, trying to remember if there were indeed any left in his linen chest. He could not remember stashing any extras away.

Merry nodded. “There’s two.”

Frodo shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt anything to check. “Very well, but we’ll have to go to the River again and go swimming. A nice long swim will wear you out.”

“But it’s cold!” Merry protested.

“We can’t have you all wound up,” reasoned Frodo. “Your parents will wonder why you’re so hyper and I’ll have to come up with an explanation. It’s easier to explain why you’re worn out from playing than why you’re bouncing off the walls for no reason.”

Merry scrunched up his face at this. He was furiously trying to figure a way out of the River that would still allow him his treats, but he wasn’t having much luck. “Can we bring extra blankets?” he asked at last.

Frodo nodded. “Of course, Merry-mine. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold after all.” He gathered everything together and held his hand out for Merry to take. “Come along, Meadow. With all we’re carrying, we need to get back before anyone else, or we’ll get caught for certain.”

“For certain,” Merry echoed and followed Frodo out of the stables and towards the Hall.

Both lads looked all around the vicinity while they walked, making certain that no one important spotted them. They slipped into the Hall through one of the servants’ doors and snuck down the back passageways to the Center Tunnel. There they snaked their way back to the front of the Hall, keeping their ears tuned and eyes on the look out. They had a close call with Fuchsia but were able to give her the slip without too much trouble, and miraculously, they made it all the way to Frodo’s room without any further incidences. They sighed with relief that they had managed to beat everyone back to the apartment. They were not a moment too soon, for no sooner had Frodo closed his bedroom door behind them than Bilbo and Saradoc returned from their own daily doings.

Frodo placed his bundle under his bed, then opened his linen chest to search the contents inside. He kept his ears on the conversation that was taking place in the parlor and was pleased to hear that Bilbo and Sara were laughing over some anecdote of great humor to them. He and Merry should be safe for a bit.

He reached the bottom of the chest and his hands enclosed the handkerchief that held the biscuits. He brought them out and checked them over. They were a bit dry but still edible enough, so he handed one to Merry and joined his cousin in sitting against the wall to munch happily on the delectable treat.

Merry gobbled his biscuits within moments, but Frodo lingered over his, savoring the taste. He wondered why the kitchen staff didn’t make these more often as they were quite delicious. He was nibbling over the biscuit, pondering the matter rather seriously, with Merry leaning against his side and yawning, when a knock suddenly sounded on the door and it flew open. They jumped at the sudden interruption, then Frodo smiled bemusedly.

“Hullo, Aunt Esme,” he said casually.

“Frodo, there you-” Esme began, then stopped cold. She stared at the biscuit in his hand, a look of fury slowly taking over her features.

“Aunt Esme?” Frodo asked cautiously, standing up. Merry grunted his disapproval at losing his pillow, then stood up as well. “What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Esme said, scandalized. “What’s the matter!” She looked as though she did not know how to continue and for several moments, simply stood there staring at him in disbelief. Finally, she got her wits about her. “What do you think? I don’t believe you, Frodo Baggins! After everything’s that happened!”

By this time, Sara and Bilbo were crowded into the doorway behind her, curious and bewildered. “Esme, dearest, what is going on?” Sara asked.

Esme pointed at the still half-eaten biscuit in Frodo’s hand. “All this time,” she said to Frodo. “You knew I was investigating these kitchen thefts, and yet you said nothing. Now you stand here as though nothing’s the matter!”

“I don’t understand,” Frodo started, but Esme cut him off.

“Don’t lie to me anymore, Frodo,” she exclaimed, fury and hurt in her voice. “Always you promise and always you end up lying. You were stealing the food this whole while.”

Now Frodo looked shocked and rather hurt himself. He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“Then what is that?” Esme asked, still pointing at the biscuit.

Frodo looked down at the forgotten treat in his hand. “I got these from Hilda,” he answered softly. “I didn’t steal anything.”

“Hilda?” Sara asked, joining the conversation. “Seredic’s wife?”

Merry nodded. “She gave them to us. She said there were too many for her and she wanted us to have some because we’re always so nice to her,” he said.

“Now you have him lying and stealing too!” Esme exclaimed. She strode over and pulled Merry away from his cousin. “How could you do this, Frodo? We trusted you. After everything, we trusted you and you throw it back in our faces. I hate to say this, but perhaps it is for the best if you were to go live with someone else. We clearly do not have your respect; we have no hope of teaching you it.”

There was silence for several moments, during which time Merry looked helplessly between his mother and cousin, Esme stood seething, Sara and Bilbo simply tried to make sense of everything, and Frodo stared down at his feet, avoiding all eye contact.

When Frodo finally answered, his voice was strained with unshed tears and sounded hollow and crushed. “Yes, Aunt Esme.”

He let the rest of the biscuit drop to the floor, then pushed his way out of his room and ran through the parlor. A moment later, the apartment door slammed closed behind him.

“No!” Merry finally found his voice. He tugged himself away from his mother and glowered up at her. “We got those from Hilda! She gave them to us, said there were too many for just her.”

“Merry,” Saradoc started. “You don’t have to cover for him, and it’s not your fault if Frodo persuaded you to help.”

“But we didn’t steal anything!” Merry insisted, tears now streaming down his own cheeks. “We’ve been ever so good.”

“Then where have you two been all this time that the food’s gone missing?” Sara asked.

For a second, it seemed Merry would not answer. He glanced up at Bilbo uncertainly, then back to his parents, then back at Bilbo. “He has to leave,” he said, pointing at Bilbo.

“Merry,” Saradoc started, but Bilbo interrupted.

“That’s quite all right,” Bilbo said. “I’ll go fetch Frodo before he can get too far.” He left the room in a hurry, moving faster than he had in years.

When Bilbo was gone, Sara and Esme looked at Merry questioningly. Finally, Merry pulled the box out from under the bed and held it up to his father. “We were working on these. It was supposed to be a surprise. It’s Frodo’s birthday present to Bilbo.”

Saradoc took the box and opened it to reveal its contents. Inside were several handmade bookmarkers, some of them very obviously just made, the paper still wet underneath with glue. Without counting, there appeared to be at least thirty, and all of them were different, some drawn on, others painted, others with patterns or shapes glued onto them with different colored paper or even foodstuffs from the pantries: flour, wheat grain, sugar. They were all inspired by Bilbo’s tales of his journey: there were some of the trolls, others of Elves and Rivendell, many of the Dwarves and the dragon Smaug, and many more.

“See?” said Merry. “That’s what we were doing, but we had to sneak about it, or Bilbo would’ve found out.”

Then Esme wept herself and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Sara, what have I done?”

Quite some time passed before they left Frodo’s room, the box of bookmarkers still in Sara’s hand. Bilbo had not yet returned, and they could only guess that Frodo had been successful in disappearing. Merry glowered unhappily at his mother, who was still crying, and Sara sat her down on the settee and kept his arm firmly about her shoulders.  

“Frodo!” Bilbo called through the tunnels. “Frodo-lad!”

There was no response, as could be expected, and no one he passed had seen Frodo go by. Still, he continued on, checking all the parlors and sitting rooms he passed, calling for Frodo in the hope that the lad might come out of wherever he was hiding. Bilbo even ventured outside, into the cold, crisp autumn air and walked about the premises and the gardens, to no avail. Frodo had disappeared, and Bilbo knew there would be no finding him until he wanted to be found.  

Frodo sat before the little wading pool just north of Bucklebury, his knees drawn up to his chest. His silent tears streamed down his face unheeded as he numbly stared into the unmoving surface of the water. An owl screeched in one of the trees above and a gentle breeze touched his face. He did not notice either.

His heart was breaking, breaking into so many pieces he wondered that he was still able to draw breath at all. He knew this would happen eventually, but he had hoped it wouldn’t. He had hoped his guardians would keep their word and trust him no matter what, but he supposed he simply had not given them enough reason to do so.

This was all his own fault, unequivocally, and he knew it. He should have told Esme and Sara at least of what he was doing. Then this wouldn’t have happened. But he had wanted the present to be a surprise, not only for Bilbo, but for Esme and Sara as well. He wanted to show his guardians that he was capable of more than jests and untruths, that he could be more than a rascal and a shame to the family.

But none of it mattered. They would never trust him, and why should they? Frodo might be innocent this time, but he certainly has got away with far more than either of his guardians could begin to guess. Still, he had been trying so hard and doing so well. Did it all mean nothing then? Were they just sitting back and waiting for him to mess up again so they could be rid of him once and for all? Did they ever even want him at all?

The sorrow enveloped Frodo again, now finally succeeding in squeezing the breath out of his chest. He sobbed uncontrollably, hiccupping with his grief spent, and rocked himself back and forth, wishing for the caring, motherly caress he would never feel again. After all these years, he craved for it still, and the one hobbitess he had come to regard as a surrogate mother would no longer caress him like that either. No, instead, she had yanked Merry away from him, as if he were a deadly plague not worthy of being near the child. Frodo was to be put out, sent to who knows where and he would never have contact with Merry again.

He cried long into the night and was not aware when at last he fell asleep.
 
 
 
 

To be continued…