Chapter 4. A Man in the Kitchen

It seemed an age that Eglantine sat at the stricken Man’s side, wringing out the cloth in icy water (Paladin had chipped some ice from one of the blocks in the ice-house, and added it to the basin) and alternately wiping the hot face or laying the cloth over the Man’s forehead. He gave no sign of noticing her attentions, lying pale and still, only the rapid breaths betraying life.

The hired hobbits had gone back out to the haying. Paladin hovered in a nearby chair, mending harness to keep his hands occupied. Pearl, Nell, and Vinca had been told to hang the Man's wet clothes on the clothesline, and now were off on a picnic, that they might not be underfoot, with strict orders not to return until teatime.

It was a good thing they’d already baked the cakes for tea this morning! It would be a quick thing to assemble sandwiches and lay them out with vegetables and hard-cooked eggs and the teacakes – though it would certainly be a strange thing, for the family and hired hobbits to be taking tea with a blanket-wrapped Man lying before the hearth! It was not something Eglantine could remember ever hearing of before, not even from Bilbo when he got to telling one of his outlandish tales.

Pippin crouched nearby, wrapped in a blanket, as close as his mother would allow him to approach, his eyes enormous in his face. He tried to speak several times, swallowed hard, and finally managed to squeak, ‘Is he… is he going to die?’

Eglantine spared him a glance and scolded herself for not paying him more attention. Poor little lad, he’d risked his life to save this fellow, and all her frowning intensity was frightening him. She deliberately smiled at her brave little son, while stroking the Man’s hair back from his forehead. ‘Not if I can help it, laddie-mine,’ she said. ‘We’re doing all we know how to do, and your Da sent for the healer, and a Quick Post message to Bilbo. Surely that hobbit will know what to do, even if Woodruff or Mardi don’t!’

Pippin nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes off the Man.

Eglantine began to croon, a soothing melody, for all their sakes. It steadied her own heartbeat, and she saw her young son subtly relax, sitting back in his nest of blankets on the floor partway across the room. The Man gave no sign, but surely he must be able to hear… While there was breath, there was life, after all! …or so the old saying went.

She dipped the cloth and wrung it out again, then pulled the covers down to find one of the overlarge hands. She grasped it between her own two hands and pulled it out from under the bed linens. The Man’s hand was so very hot… ‘Do you hear me?’ she said softly, ‘Hallo!’

The quick breaths continued.

‘You’re among friends here,’ she said, squeezing the hand gently. ‘You’re safe. Rest easy.’ She released the hand to dip the cooling cloth again. ‘P’rhaps we ought to sponge him,’ she said. ‘It’s what I’d do for a hobbit… If only…’ She bit back the words that hovered on her tongue, lest she alarm her young son further. What if I do the wrong thing?

The clatter of pony hoofs was heard in the yard, and she sighed in relief. Nod was back, and hopefully he’d brought one of the healers with him, either Woodruff or her apprentice. Of course, if they were both out on calls… No, she told herself. He’d’ve been much longer, if he’d had to hunt one of them down. Though it had seemed an eternity from the time the hired hobbit had galloped out of the farmyard, Eglantine had marked the time by the chiming of the dwarf-made clock in the parlour. It was likely that Nod had found at least one of the healers at home in Whitwell.

‘Well, well, what have we he—‘ came Mardi’s voice as he came through the door to the kitchen. He’d been about to say here, Eglantine knew, but his voice stopped at the same time as his footsteps.

She looked up to see him standing frozen, just inside the door, bag hanging forgotten from his hand, eyes wide and mouth working soundlessly.

‘I’m glad you’ve come so quickly, Mardi,’ she said in welcome. ‘He’s in a bad way.’

‘A Man…’ Mardi gasped at last, not taking his eyes from the visitor. ‘You’ve… a Man in your kitchen!’

‘That’s what I like about you, Mardi,’ Paladin said in an acid tone, rising from his chair, laying down the harness he was mending, and crossing to take the healer by the arm. ‘You always have such a quick grasp of the situation.’

‘A… Man! …in the Tookland!’ the healer said, turning to stare at Paladin. ‘I thought…!’

‘Perhaps he didn’t know that Thain Ferumbras takes a dim view of Men in the Tookland,’ Paladin said, ‘or more properly, Mistress Lalia does.’

‘Perhaps he has a Pass,’ Eglantine said, ‘unlikely, I know, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment. We’re not going to call for a Muster of Tooks to escort him to the border, at least not this very minute!’

‘Come along, Mardi,’ Paladin said, for all practical purposes dragging the hobbit across the room to the hearth, and the Man lying there. ‘You’ve work to be doing.’

‘High fever, your Nod said,’ Mardi said faintly, and then he looked to Paladin in accusation. ‘He didn’t say anything about Men!’

‘No need,’ Paladin said, ‘seeing as it’s not Men we’re dealing with here.’

‘Just the one,’ Eglantine put in. ‘Just one Man.’

‘Who is he?’ Mardi said, shaking himself loose from Paladin’s grip and bending to look closely at the visitor.

‘He’s a Tallfellow!’ Pippin piped from his nest of blankets.

Mardi shook his head. ‘He certainly is!’ He knelt down and took up the pale, limp hand. ‘High fever,’ he said.

Eglantine shared an exasperated glance with Paladin, but managed to hold her tongue.

‘Do you want me to stay, my dear?’ Paladin said, bending to touch her shoulder. ‘I’m sure Nod’s cooling out the ponies, but then he’ll be going out to the field…’

‘No, no, you go on,’ Eglantine said. ‘I’m sure that Mardi and I will be fine here.’

Mardi looked up as if to say he wasn’t entirely certain, but then he looked back to his patient. From all indications, the Man wasn’t going anywhere, and he wasn’t going to present any danger or difficulty, except maybe to himself.

‘Before you and Nod go off,’ he said, pulling down the bedcovers to bare the Man’s chest. He bowed to listen to the labouring heart and lungs.

‘Yes?’ Paladin said.

‘Water in the lungs,’ Mardi said. ‘We’ll need to sit him up, to help him breathe. Lying as he is, he’s in danger of drowning.’

‘That’s how we found him!’ Pippin said. ‘But we pulled him out of the stream! We did! He oughtn’t to be drowning now, ought he?’

‘Bolsters,’ Mardi said. ‘Cushions… anything you can think of, to raise his head and chest.’

Paladin helped Eglantine up from the floor. ‘I’ll get pony rugs from the barn,’ he said. ‘Together with bolsters from the beds and cushions from the parlour…’ He was gone immediately after, jogging across the yard, for Mardi’s tone told him there was no time to lose.

‘Pip, you stay there in your blankets,’ Eglantine said, before hurrying out of the kitchen.

‘So, young Pip, were you in the stream as well?’ Mardi said. ‘I’ll have a look at you in a moment.’

‘Just take care of Robin,’ Pippin said. ‘Please?’

‘I’ll do the best I can, young hobbit,’ Mardi replied. Looking down at his patient, he shook his head. He took the warm cloth from the forehead, dipped it in the icy water, and began to sponge the Man’s chest, neck, and shoulders. ‘I’ll do my very best.’