Chapter 10. Elevenses, and Afterwards

Ferdibrand stretched and got up from the table where he and young Rudivar had sat for the last few hours. 

One meal had, more or less, run into another, and the tween thought he might just have eaten enough to satisfy him for once, at least if he was considering the span of time since he’d become a tween. He thought back to some of the stories the Thain had told before the hearth in the great room, and shook his head. How had Pippin, as a tween, survived the journeys of the Fellowship? Of course, he had been near the end of his tween years, and so he’d nearly finished growing. Or was supposed to have nearly finished growing. For he had returned from the Outlands much taller than anyone might’ve expected. But then, so had Master Merry, and he’d already been all grown up – an adult – by the time the Travellers had departed. Yet somehow the Brandybuck had been taller upon his return. It was a mystery, to be sure, and Ent draughts were not a very satisfactory explanation.

Ferdi’s brow wrinkled in response to Rudi’s shake of the head. ‘Don’t tell me!’ he said, one side of his mouth lifting in a wry smile. ‘You’re still hungry!’

‘Very well,’ Rudi said. ‘I won’t tell you such a thing. Not, at least, for another hour or so. Well before nuncheon, more than likely.’

Ferdi hmphed, then added, ‘Since we are not supposed to arrive in Frogmorton until tomorrow evening, I’ve decided we will stay in Bywater today. There is some business of the Thain’s that I can conduct whilst we’re here.’

‘Did you want me to accompany you?’ Rudi asked.

Ferdi gave him a stern look. ‘I’m thinking to glue you to that chair, that you might not miss a single meal whilst we’re here!’ And then he relaxed and chuckled. ‘Your time is your own, lad. Use it wisely!’

‘Don’t I always?’ Rudi said.

Ferdi laughed outright at this. ‘You’re a tween!’ he said. ‘Somehow, I think that “always” does not apply in such cases.’

Rudi joined his da in laughing, and then they hugged briefly before parting ways.

***

Laurel’s shoulders ached from stirring the laundry in the wash tub, lifting it into the rinse tub with the paddle, and then lifting it out of the rinse tub again. Helping the Widow wring out each piece before depositing the clean, wet laundry in baskets for hanging out on the lines was only slightly less strenuous.

But the haying was waiting. (Not “haying” as in cutting hay, of course. At least she didn’t have to worry about the rigours of field work! ...though she wondered what her father would have said about such a thing, had she volunteered to drive the hay waggon or swing a scythe or ply a hayfork in the fields of “Uncle” Bertie’s farm, as two of her “sisters” in that family did?) And at least elevenses, eaten between her washing and haying duties, had renewed her strength and given her a second wind!

She trundled her wheelbarrow out to the haystacks. “Uncle” Bertie kept all the tools on “Auntie” Petunia’s farmstead in excellent condition; thus, the barrow felt much lighter to her than it looked. When she returned to the Manse, she ought to advise her father to make sure their workers’ tools were equally well maintained to lighten the working hobbits’ load.

She ducked into the byre to retrieve the hayfork hanging on the wall just inside the door and hummed a little tune as she shoved the tool into the nearest stack, catching a satisfying heap of hay on the fork and swinging it with a smooth motion onto the barrow.

But as she thrust the fork deeper on her next shove, the haystack shrieked...

Startled nearly out of her wits, Laurel fell back, fork still in her hands, but empty. ‘What!’ she said shakily, at a loss for words.

She jammed the hayfork safely into the soft ground and moved to the stack, pushed her hands in and pulled her arms wide to make a hole. Rather like swimming, she thought. She had no personal knowledge of swimming, an exercise that was unmentionable in polite company outside of the Buckland, but on summer visits to Brandy Hall with her father, who was great friends with Master Meriadoc, she’d seen Bucklanders cavorting in the great River, madness as it had seemed to her. (Though it had also looked cool and refreshing, somehow. Would it really be such a scandal if she were to try it herself?)

And so she swam her way into the prickly hay until she unearthed two dishevelled children. ‘What in Middle-earth!’ she gasped. ‘What’re you doing there?’

‘Being stuck by sharp things!’ the little lass said in outrage. ‘And here we are, minding our own business!’

‘Did I hurt you?’ Laurel said in alarm, discarding the question she’d intended to ask, that being, What d’you think you are doing in the Widow’s haystack?

The lass lifted her chin and looked down her nose at the tween. ‘Luckily for you, ‘twas only a scratch.’ She was holding the hem of her skirt against her arm, where the torn sleeve of her frock peeped out.

‘Let me see that,’ Laurel said, reaching to pull the fabric away.

The child put on a brave face as Laurel gently probed the bleeding scratches with her fingertips.

‘Not too deep,’ Laurel murmured, ‘but we should wash it well anyhow. Come on out of there...’

‘We cannot!’ the lass said. ‘Farry will be in awful trouble if we do!’

For the first time, Laurel looked at the lad – and recognised the son of the Thain. For the second time, she gasped and was at a loss for words. At last, she managed to whisper weakly, ‘What in the name of all that’s good are you doing in “Auntie’s” haystack, Young Master Faramir?’ And because of the lessons her governess had drilled into her, that she might be a credit to her father in interactions with the other Great Families, she made a grand courtesy then and there, even though privately she’d often thought that all the pomp and protocol surrounding the Thain of the Shire was rather ridiculous. (She didn’t know it, and wouldn’t find out for some years, but Pippin would have been in complete agreement with that thought.)

‘Please,’ the lass said. ‘He’s hurt – but he’ll be in awful trouble if word should come out that he’s been off on a lark...’

‘A lark?’ Laurel asked. ‘Aren’t you a little young for that?’ she asked the lad, then looked to the lass, extending the question to her. ‘A dozen years from now, perhaps, but...’

‘It was a matter of a wager with some of the other lads,’ Faramir said solemnly.

Laurel goggled. ‘Well,’ she said, and then she put her hands on her hips in her irritation. ‘It seems that fools are coming younger all the time.’ And then she blushed and apologised, for he was the son of the Thain, after all.

‘Please,’ the lass said. ‘Don’t tell anyone! We... we’ll go back, and no one will be the wiser...’

Laurel saw the lad look sharply at his companion at that. ‘We will?’ he asked quietly, as if there had been some question about the matter.

The lass swallowed hard, hesitated, and then nodded. ‘We will,’ she said.

‘Well I’m glad we’ve cleared all that up,’ Laurel said briskly. Instead of a courtesy, she bowed slightly and said, ‘Laurel Boffin, at your service.’

‘Faramir Took, at yours and your family’s,’ the lad said, making a seated bow. Laurel noticed with concern that the movement brought a grimace of pain to his face.

‘Goldilocks Gamgee, at yours and your family’s,’ the lass said in her turn.

‘The Mayor’s daughter?’ Laurel said, somehow feeling sceptical.

Goldilocks shook her head. ‘He’s not the Mayor at present; he’s in the Southlands,’ she said. ‘My Uncle Tom – Tolman Cotton – is acting as the Mayor whilst he’s away.’

For such a wee lass, she certainly seemed to have a good grasp of the political situation in the Shire.

‘Who ever let you children out of their sight?! Your minders ought to be...’

‘It wasn’t their fault,’ young Faramir said earnestly. ‘We tricked them.’

‘They’ll pay the penalty, nonetheless,’ Laurel said indignantly. ‘Why, I knew that when I was half your age!’

The lad’s face fell, and the colour mounted in his cheeks. ‘I made arrangements that – I hope – will safeguard them from paying the consequences,’ he said in a low voice.

There was no good answer to that, so Laurel merely hmphed. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘You cannot stay there! I’ve got to hay the goats, so that they can fill up the corners when they come in from the field! And you’re in my way!’

‘But we have to stay under cover,’ Goldilocks said. ‘At least until Farry’s ankles are better.’

‘Farry’s ankles?’ Laurel echoed.

The lad looked away, shame still colouring his face, and did not answer.

But Goldilocks forgot her wounded arm and dug busily in the hay to uncover the lad’s legs and feet. ‘His ankles!’ she panted triumphantly, a little out of breath.

‘Here now, don’t bleed all over the hay; I’m sure the nannies won’t like it,’ Laurel said, extending her pocket-handkerchief to the lass, who clapped it on the bleeding scratches once more. She then bent to examine the lad’s ankles and, unladylike though it might be, gave a low whistle. ‘That looks bad.’

‘Well, it’s not good,’ the lass agreed. 

Meanwhile, Farry remained silent, though he could not suppress a yelp of pain when Laurel gently touched the worse of the two ankles, purpling gloriously and swollen to two or three times its proper size. ‘I think I should get help,’ Laurel said, frowning in concern. ‘That looks...’ Though no healer, she thought it might be broken, but she didn’t want to alarm the young ones by saying so aloud.

‘No!’ Farry said. ‘No, Goldi, we’ll be fine,’ he added. ‘I just need to rest it for a day or three.’

‘We’ll run out of food before then,’ Goldi said, suddenly quiet. But Laurel had the feeling the little lass was more concerned for the lad than about the prospects of going hungry.

‘Let me help you then,’ Laurel urged, thinking furiously though she didn’t let it show in her face. “Uncle” Bertie was due to visit them three days from now... perhaps he’d know what to do?

‘Help us?’ Goldi queried, with an intent look.

‘Here’s what I think would be the best course for us to take...’ Laurel began.

*** 

‘...and that’s the whole of it,’ Gorbibold said.

His audience of three mums – his mum Meadowsweet, along with Mistress Pimpernel and Mistress Diamond – sighed and remained quiet for a few breaths.

At last, Mistress Diamond spoke up. ‘And Farry planned all this out with you?’ she said.

Gorbi nodded. ‘And Rudi,’ he said.

‘And the Thain knows all this, and has given his blessing?’ A small wrinkle marred her brow as she stared at him.

‘Well not exactly his blessing,’ Gorbi admitted, ‘but he said he’d let it play out before passing judgement.’ He held back a gulp at the thought of the Thain’s judgement hanging over their heads, his and Rudi’s, and then he straightened and lifted his chin firmly. At least they’d kept their fathers clear of Pippin’s wrath this time. Which was the whole point of the conspiracy. Farry did not want the minders or the escort or Ferdibrand or Tolibold to suffer the consequences for this day’s work – or any of the days that might follow before the situation was resolved. The sons of Ferdibrand and Tolibold were in complete agreement on that account.

‘And Ferdi is, even as you’ve been telling us about this, on their trail?’ Diamond said.

Pimpernel reached over and took Diamond’s hand. ‘As I told you this morning, whilst Gorbi was filling in my brother on all the details in the Plan,’ she said, and looking over at Meadowsweet, she added, ‘And as I told you, and then Tolly, only a little later, since your son is also involved.’ 

At risk, she might have said, for her brother had shown precious little restraint in previous instances when he’d got the idea that someone had endangered young Faramir, either directly or through carelessness.

‘And Rudi can guide him at any time to where the children are?’ Diamond asked. Her look hardened at Gorbi’s hesitation. ‘He can, can’t he?’

‘Not exactly,’ Gorbi said.

Diamond rolled her eyes and looked to Pimpernel. ‘I abhor it when your brother uses such language with me,’ she said. ‘I can always tell when Pippin’s evading me...’

‘What does “not exactly” mean?’ Meadowsweet asked her son sternly.

‘It means, they – we – established checkpoints, or touchpoints, where Rudi knows Farry plans to direct their steps.’

‘Which is it?’ Pimpernel demanded, and Gorbi was confused until she clarified, ‘they... or we?’

‘We – in the planning,’ Gorbi explained, ‘and they – in the doing. We are all three of us carrying out the plan that we all made together.’ He stopped speaking for a moment to survey the three mothers. ‘My part is to stay behind, to answer questions, to try and fend off the Thain long enough for Farry’s plan to come to fruition.’

‘Fend off the Thain,’ Diamond repeated quietly, and nodded. ‘You are brutally honest...’ she held up a restraining hand when the others would have spoken, ‘...but it’s true, nonetheless. My husband has reacted impulsively in the past, and though he has learnt hard lessons,’ her eyes seemed kinder, somehow, and more understanding as she spoke on, ‘I cannot say I would blame the conspirators for setting up safeguards and controlling the situation – and the outcome – to the best of their ability.’

There was real sympathy in her face as she regarded the tween standing before them. ‘I hope you understand that if any harm comes to the children...’

Gorbi blanched and swallowed hard. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘Rudi and I do, indeed.’ For they would bear the brunt of the Thain’s wrath should things go terribly wrong. Faramir, after all, was the son of the Thain.

***