Pearl of Great Price

Chapter 1. Guess Who's Coming to Tea?

 ‘Pearl!’ At her mother’s cry, Pearl emerged from the byre, wiping her hands on her apron. Milking was nearly done, and then it would be time to shut up the biddies that scratched in the yard, and then it would be time for tea and one of Da’s stories. They’d take tea in the garden, no doubt, with this glorious autumnal weather.

There was a cloud of dust from the direction of Whitwell. Shading her eyes from the westering sun, the eldest daughter of Paladin Took made out a group of riders following the path that meandered through the Green Hills towards Tookbank and Tuckborough. ‘Mum!’ she called. ‘Visitors!’

Eglantine emerged from the kitchen door, young Pip’s ear in her firm grip. ‘I was just about to ask you to take charge of your brother,’ she said grimly. ‘He’s been in the dough again... it’ll be a wonder if I get tea on this day at all!’

 ‘Ow!’ Pip protested. ‘You’re tearing my ear off!’

 ‘I am not tearing your ear off, young scalawag!’ his mother said. ‘Go to Pearl now, and mind what she tells you or I’ll take you over my knee and no biscuits for tea!’ As she released him, he staggered dramatically, rubbing his ear with a martyred expression.

 ‘Come along, scamp!’ Pearl laughed, extending her hand. He scowled but she raised her eyebrows at him. Reluctantly he put his hand into hers and she exclaimed at the dirt. ‘You’ve been at the dough with these? No wonder Mum is upset!’

Pervinca emerged from the byre, an aggrieved expression on her face. ‘There’s three more to milk and you standing about,’ she scolded.

Pearl smiled down at Pip. ‘How’d you like to milk this day?’ she said.

 ‘Really?’ he asked, eyes lighting up.

 ‘Really,’ she nodded. ‘But you’ve got to wash first.’ Raising her voice, she said, ‘ ‘Vinca, take the scamp and wash him up and let him milk!’

 ‘He wastes more than he gathers,’ Vinca grumbled. Pip loved to direct a stream of milk into the cats’ waiting mouths. Secretly Vinca enjoyed the game as well, but she was much too “old” to admit it.

Pearl shooed the biddies to their pen. They squawked in protest, as it was early yet, but she sweetened their mood with a scattering of grain, laying a trail into the coop. She shut the door behind the last straggler and looked towards the road again. The riders were moving slowly. They’d probably reach the farmyard around teatime.

Her mother had made the same calculation. Pearl heard her voice from the hole. ‘Nell! Set extra places at table, it looks as if we might have visitors to tea!’

Relatives, more likely than not, returning from Bilbo’s infamous Birthday Party. Paladin had whisked his family away a few hours after the disappearance, for there was the farm to tend and he hated to impose on his neighbours any longer than he had to. After he’d eaten his fill and had another glass of the excellent vintage Frodo sent round to assuage the disturbed guests, he’d roused his sleepy son, nodded to his wife to collect their daughters, and made his way to the waggon. Though he might be able to afford a coach if the harvest went well, he saw no reason for the expense of a vehicle just for comfort in travel when a waggon would do.

Driving slowly through the darkness, the parents discussed the goings-on while the children slumbered in the waggon bed, tucked up well against the brisk September night air and replete with good food. ‘He’s off again,’ Paladin concluded. ‘I always said he was a cracked pot, and now he’s shattered completely. I doubt we’ll ever see mad Baggins again!’

Although they reached their yard in the depths of middle night, the family were up at the usual time several hours before dawn, for cows will be milked at the same hour daily, and they recognise no holidays. Eglantine let young Pip sleep himself out (“He’s growing so fast these days…”) but the lasses had their chores to do, and so the milking was done, the eggs were gathered, the ponies and goats cared for, sweeping finished and second breakfast made. (Early breakfast was just a few slices of bread-and-butter, perhaps with honey or jam, and a bracing cup of tea before going out into the pre-dawn chill.)

As it was, young Pip arose barely in time for second breakfast, blinking at the sunrise, coming to table with tousled head. Sternly his father sent him back to wash himself and put his curls in some semblance of order, and then of course the youngster got a scolding for being late to table, though it rolled off him like water from the backs of the ducks paddling in the pond, working at their own breakfast.

 ‘How many places?’ Nell shouted, and Pearl was brought back to the present moment.

She yawned. There would be no trouble about “early to bed” this night... The riders were close enough now she could make out their numbers. ‘Four!’ she called back. She hurried to the hole, splashed water on her face and arms, ran a brush over her curls and pinned them up more neatly, then donned a fresh apron. There, she was ready to greet visitors.

There was the sound of pony feet on the stones of the yard and she heard her father calling greetings, then her mother’s sharp summons. As she emerged from the smial with Pimpernel, she understood the sharpness. The Thain! Thain Ferumbras had come to tea!

The Thain’s escort of three had jumped from their ponies and were assisting Ferumbras from his saddle. Fat and ungainly, he made hard work of dismounting. Though his pony was bred more for sturdiness than looks, Pearl pitied the beast. ‘Pip! Take the beasts and water them,’ Paladin ordered and his son took the reins of the four beasts to lead them away.

 ‘A moment,’ Ferumbras said, staying Pippin. He patted his pony’s lathered neck. ‘Fine work, lad. A smooth ride as you always give me. We’ll see you get a good tea as well as us.’

 ‘Certainly, Sir,’ Paladin said with a nod for Pip. The lad understood; he was to feed the travellers’ ponies from the farm’s own stock of good grain, not simply untack them and turn them out to graze. ‘Come in, Sir, come in! Tea’s just on.’

Pearl sighed. No tea in the garden this day, sprawled upon a coverlet, laughing and listening to Da’s stories. Instead it would be tea in the best parlour, on their manners, stiff and proper. In point of fact, she’d be serving the tea to her parents and their distinguished guest and having her own tea in the kitchen with her sisters and brother...

...and the escort, as it turned out. The three tall hobbits (the head of escort was over four feet in height!) sat round the well-scrubbed table, drinking their tea and talking quietly. They’d not been at the private family dinner, though they had accompanied the Thain to Bilbo’s party and enjoyed the refreshments and diversions there. Young Pip, a born storyteller, regaled them with the goings-on at the dinner, while Vinca sat mute, shy and awkward before these dashing strangers. Pearl and Nell were up and down, serving both tables, until Ferumbras declared he couldn’t manage another bite (indeed, he’d managed enough for three!) and Eglantine offered him a guest bed to rest whilst his tea settled, before going on to Tuckborough.

Once she’d seen her guest comfortably tucked up, Eglantine returned to the kitchen. ‘Sit, lasses, eat! I’ll clear away,’ she said briskly. ‘You too!’ she said to the escort, who’d risen out of respect as she entered the room. ‘Sit! There’s plenty more where this came from!’ She bustled about the kitchen, cutting more slices of cake for her daughters and the Thain’s escort, buttering bread, opening and setting out a fresh pot of jam.

 ‘Our thanks, missus,’ the head of escort said. He had a deep, pleasant voice; Pearl thought he might be a bass-baritone when he sang. He caught her looking at him and she blushed and looked away.

 ‘What’s it like to ride on the Thain’s escort?’ Pip asked eagerly.

The escort laughed, and their leader said, ‘It’s not all you’d think, lad.’ He took another bite of cake, washing it down with a sip of tea. ‘The escort is just tradition these days. I cannot think of the last wolf or wild boar that menaced the Thain as he rode...’

 ‘Ah, but Isum! Do you not recall the boar you shot just the other week!’ one of the escort said with a wink and a grin. ‘Charging full at us, he was, foam dripping from his tusks, eyes red with rage...’ He glanced at the lad out of the corner of his eye. Pip was breathless with excitement.

Isum slapped his forehead. ‘Ah yes, how could I have forgotten?’ he said. ‘Huge, that one was. Enormous large tusks he had, and tall! I thought he’d tear the belly of the Thain’s pony!’ He spun an exciting tale, ending with pork pie for late supper, while Pip and Vinca listened spellbound and the mother and older sisters hid their smiles.

A loud rumbling shook the smial and Eglantine started up from the rocking chair where she’d sat to enjoy the story.

 ‘All’s well, missus,’ the head of escort said reassuringly. ‘It’s just Himself, you know, sawing logs.’

As the snores settled into a steady rhythm, Eglantine relaxed, while Pip and Vinca smothered their giggles. They knew it was unseemly to giggle at the Thain, but were set off again as the second hobbit of the escort muttered, ‘There’ll be no dearth of wood for fire this winter, I warrant.’

The head of escort rose from the table, bowing to Eglantine. ‘My thanks for a fine, refreshing tea, missus,’ he said politely, ‘and please convey our thanks to your husband.’ The other two rose and bowed as well.

 ‘I will,’ Eglantine said. ‘Is there aught else you’d be needing?’

 ‘Nay,’ the head of escort said. ‘We’ll be saddling our ponies... the Thain will be wakening in the next half hour, I expect, and we had better be ready to proceed.’ He looked at the lad. ‘Young Pip, would you like to help me saddle the pony of the Thain?’

 ‘Would I?’ Pip breathed.

 ‘Come along, then,’ Isum said with a grin. When the tall hobbits and their small shadow had exited the kitchen, it seemed larger somehow.

 ‘Let us finish the washing-up,’ Eglantine said to her daughters. ‘If we all put our backs to it, we’ll be finished in time to sing the Thain on his way.’

Chapter 2. The Grim Reaper

It was harvest-time. Paladin grumbled more than once about folk who were so imprudent as to have their birthdays in the midst of the harvest season, and if they had to be born at that time they might at least have the common decency not to celebrate their birthdays in subsequent years. His children had all been properly sensible in timing their arrivals; none had come during planting or harvest. Paladin had been quick enough to accept Bilbo’s ornate invitation, however. He rued the loss of the day, though harvest was actually coming along nicely with the extra hands he’d hired this year.

It was doubly a surprise, then, for his children to arise one morning and find his place at the table empty. ‘Is Da ill?’ Pearl asked her mother as she buttered Pippin’s bread and poured out the tea.

 ‘No, he was called away,’ Eglantine said, her voice strained though she strove to keep it calm. Her daughters looked at her sharply, seeing now their mother’s reddened eyes and nose.

 ‘Are you coming down with a cold, Mother?’ Pimpernel asked in concern.

Eglantine seized on this excuse to pull a handkerchief from her sleeve and blow her nose. ‘Very likely,’ she said. ‘Now you children eat up, you’ve your chores and here it is half-past four already! You’ll have kept the cows waiting nearly an hour at this rate!’ When Nell would have stayed to help with second breakfast she shooed all the children out, saying that the more hands they had at the milking, the sooner the cows would be satisfied.

Pippin followed his sisters out to the byre, his eyes dancing with secrets. Pearl put him and Vinca to work on the gentlest of the cows while she and Nell took on the two most difficult. ‘We’ll be done in no time at this rate,’ she called. ‘Vinca, you collect the eggs whilst Nell helps Pip with the pigs, and...’

 ‘Good catch, Mouser!’ Pip crowed as one of the cats neatly caught a stream of milk from his cow.

 ‘...and I’ll help Mum with breakfast for the helpers,’ Pearl continued. ‘From the preparations she’d already started I think we’re making griddlecakes.’

 ‘Yum!’ Pippin shouted in delight. ‘Hot cakes from the griddle with fresh apple compote!’

 ‘Don’t dawdle in your egg-collecting, Vinca,’ Pearl said. ‘We’ll have to fry up several dozen at least to strengthen the helpers for their tasks... and didn’t Da say he wanted us to dig potatoes and carrots from the kitchen garden today?’

 ‘That he did,’ Pippin said cheerily.

 ‘And no contests to see who can fling a potato the farthest,’ Nell said sternly. Pippin turned an angelic look on her and she couldn’t help laughing.

 ‘Mind your milking, Pip, I’ve a bucket full already and you’re only halfway along!’ Pearl scolded.

 ‘I know something you don’t know,’ Pip answered as he once again directed a steady stream into his bucket. He was silent, concentrating dutifully on his task until he was sure his sisters were sufficiently maddened with curiosity.

 ‘Well, are you going to enlighten us before the milk turns sour?’ Vinca asked acidly.

Pippin grinned in an irritating manner, but at Pearl’s frown he said, ‘There was a quick post rider last night.’

At his sisters’ exclamations he regained his grin. ‘That’s right!’ he said triumphantly.

 ‘Why didn’t we hear him?’ Nell asked.

 ‘You were asleep,’ Pippin said, putting on a superior air.

 ‘What were you doing awake?’ Vinca challenged, but Nell shot her a pained look. Everyone knew how hard it was to get Pip to go to bed, much less keep him there.

 ‘Sleeping is such a waste of time,’ Pippin said reflectively.

 ‘None of your nonsense, now, Pip,’ Pearl said. ‘What do you know?’

Pippin shrugged, managing to keep the milk streaming steadily into the bucket. ‘That’s all,’ he admitted. ‘A quick post rider came riding into the yard on a lathered pony, left a message, Da read it, crushed it in his hand, said something I couldn’t hear to Mum, threw on his clothes and flung himself out the door.’

 ‘Flung himself?’ Pearl questioned. ‘Don’t over-dramatise, Pip.’

 ‘He did!’ Pippin defended. ‘You ought to have seen him.’ His grin faded and a serious look took its place. ‘And then Mama put her head down upon the table and wept for a long, long time. I wanted to go to her, rub her back, but then she’d’ve known I was out of bed, so I went back to bed instead.’

 ‘Someone’s died,’ Vinca said importantly. ‘It’s got to be that. Whom, d’you think?’

 ‘Auntie Essie?’ Nell hazarded a guess. ‘Auntie Rose?’

 ‘Stop that!’ Pearl snapped. ‘There’s no use speculating and borrowing trouble. I’m sure we’ll find out what’s what when Da returns. In the meantime let us do be sensible and not start rumours with careless talk!’

 ‘You’re so very sensible, Pearlie, it’s disgusting,’ Pippin grumbled, but at the look she gave him he turned strict attention on his milking. They finished their chores in silence.

For three days the hired hobbits worked at harvesting Paladin’s crops under the direction of a sober-faced neighbour. No news was forthcoming from their mother. The hired hobbits seemed to have some idea of what had happened but whenever one of the children came near, they’d stop talking or change the subject to something obvious like the weather or the progress of the harvest.

Near teatime on the third day, Paladin Took returned to his family, looking older than his sixty-eight years. He hugged each of his children tightly, sat heavily down in his chair, accepted a cup of tea from his wife, and sat without drinking or speaking, his eyes shadowed.

At last Vinca broke the silence. ‘Did you have a good visit, Father?’ she said brightly.

Eglantine started to scold her heedless daughter, but Paladin lifted a hand to stop her. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘They don’t know; you didn’t tell them.’

 ‘You told me not to say anything until you returned,’ Eglantine said.

 ‘That’s right,’ Paladin said, and subsided into silence once more. The children lost their appetite for tea and biscuits, looking from mother to father. When Pippin pushed his plate away the spell was broken. ‘Eat up, lad,’ Paladin said.

 ‘What’s happened, Father?’ Pearl asked. ‘It’s some terrible thing, isn’t it?’ She waited for reassurance, but none came.

 ‘Yes,’ Paladin said, and added, his voice breaking, ‘It is a terrible thing, lass, a terrible thing indeed.’ He took a shaky breath, covered his face with his hands and began to weep. The children sat stunned, scared, not daring to move as Eglantine rose from her chair to rub her husband’s shoulders with her strong hands. For long moments they sat thus, while the tea went cold in the cups.

 ‘You may be excused, children,’ she said, but her husband shook his head.

 ‘No... no,’ he said, regaining control of himself, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his face and blow his nose. ‘No, they’ll have to hear the news eventually, and I’d rather they hear it from me than one of the wild rumours that have already started to fly.’

Pearl shot a righteous look at her brother and sisters. At least they had not been the source of any such rumours.

Paladin cleared his throat. ‘Ferdinand Took won’t be coming next spring to train ponies,’ he said irrelevantly.

Pippin looked puzzled. This hardly seemed cause for shock and tears.

 ‘That’s a pity,’ Pimpernel said carefully. ‘Though I won’t mind not seeing Young Ferdibrand... he always teases me so.’

Her father nodded and smiled faintly. ‘That he does,’ he agreed absently. He took a deep breath. ‘There was a fire,’ he said.

The children gasped. Eglantine sat down beside her husband and took his hand. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Don’t leave it there.’

 ‘They don’t know exactly what happened,’ Paladin said, taking refuge in reciting facts. ‘They think perhaps a buyer put down his pipe so that he could run his hands down the legs of the pony he was considering, and forgot to take it up again.’

 ‘You don’t allow pipes in a stable!’ Pippin said, shocked.

 ‘All were busy about some task or other; Ferdinand sent the buyer to the stables “ahead of him” and promised to be along in a moment or two. His brother Ferdibrand caught him with a question, his son Young Ferdibrand was in bed with a fever and Rosemary was tending the lad. The buyer ought to have had the sense to knock out his pipe before he went in...’

The children waited, hardly breathing as he sipped at his tea, not seeming to notice it had gone cold.

 ‘The buyer had come and gone with his pony, leaving the stall empty... the fire got a good hold before anyone noticed,’ Paladin said. ‘Stell was the first one to see it, and she screamed so, that Young Ferdi got up from his sick bed to see what was the matter.’

 ‘Stell always was a bit on the dramatic side,’ Eglantine said reprovingly, but her husband shot her a quelling glance.

 ‘You don’t know the all of it yet,’ he said, ‘or you wouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

 ‘Dead!’ Eglantine gasped, turning white.

 ‘Yes,’ Paladin said. ‘The long and the short of it is, Ferdinand’s brother, “old” Ferdibrand, brought the prize stallion out safely and when he ran back to fetch more ponies out... half the roof fell in on him.’

Pearl gasped and Nell gave a sob, while Vinca and Pippin stared in silent shock.

Paladin swallowed hard. ‘Young Ferdibrand was half-fainting with fever and shock, Stell was holding him and screaming, young Rosemary was watching, frozen with horror... and Ferdinand ran into the burning stables to try to pull his brother from the flames.’

 ‘O Dinny,’ Eglantine breathed.

Paladin determinedly continued. ‘The rest of the roof came down... young Ferdi got up and ran to the Water to join the neighbours hauling water in buckets, but in his weakness he fell in the stream — thankfully a passing Brandybuck saw him and jumped in to save him.’

 ‘Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing to know how to swim,’ Eglantine murmured absently, in shock.

Paladin met her eye then, saying almost apologetically, ‘Stell threw herself into the stream after her son, not thinking, I’m sure... not wanting to lose him as well as her husband and brother-in-love...’

 ‘O no,’ Eglantine whispered.

 ‘The Bucklander jumped into the stream again but was too late to save her,’ Paladin finished.

 ‘And young Ferdi?’ Eglantine said, almost afraid to frame the question.

 ‘He was half-drowned; still he was alive when pulled from the water,’ Paladin said. ‘But he’s lost his wits. He neither moves nor speaks. He’ll eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you hold a cup to his lips, but he sees nothing, hears nothing...’ Nell gave another sob.

 ‘Poor lad,’ Eglantine mourned. ‘Poor, poor orphaned lad. And Rosemary? How is she?’

 ‘They’re not orphaned, not quite,’ Paladin said. At his wife’s gasp, he said, ‘They pulled Ferdinand from the flaming rubble, still alive. I don’t know how he’s still alive...

 ‘Alive? The news was that he’d burned to death...’

 ‘He’s alive,’ Paladin repeated. ‘I expect to have news any day of his death. He was terribly burned, of course.’ He sipped again at his tea without tasting it. ‘If he survives, Lalia has ordered him and the children moved to the Great Smials where they’ll be cared for as long as need be.’ In Rosemary’s case, until she married. In the case of the father and the son, well, one was badly burned, and the other’s plight brought to mind the old saying: “A hobbit who won’t eat is soon no hobbit at all.”

 ‘What can we do?’ Eglantine said. ‘How can we help?’

 ‘I offered to take Rosemary in; she’d be as another daughter to us, when...’ Paladin could not continue the thought. When father and brother were gone.

 ‘You offered,’ Eglantine prompted.

 ‘Lalia said it was very kind, and we’d bake that bread when it was risen,’ Paladin said. ‘For the nonce, they’ll be going to the Smials, if Ferdinand is strong enough to survive the journey.’

Nell sobbed again, and her father looked at her kindly. ‘You may be excused, lass,’ he said. She nodded and stumbled blindly from the table, serviette held to her face.

 ‘I always thought there was some feeling between her and Young Ferdibrand,’ he said quietly. ‘He was forever plaguing her so...’

Chapter 3. Message from the Thain

’What is that boy up to now?’ Eglantine asked in exasperation, brushing an errant curl back from her face. They were in the midst of making apple butter, a hot and sticky prospect on this warm autumn day.

Pippin was yelling wordlessly outside. ‘Perhaps he got into another wasps’ nest,’ Pearl said, wiping the back of one hot hand against her hot face.

’It’s a rider,’ Nell said, passing by the window with another bowl filled with apples ready for the pot. Eglantine moved so that she could see out the window.

 ‘So it is,’ she said. A rider was moving at an easy trot down the road from Tookbank, and young Pip was pelting alongside the fence waving a stick in welcome and yelling at the top of his lungs.

 ‘It’s the head of escort!’ Pearl said.

 ‘Are you sure?’ Eglantine said, squinting at the tall figure.

 ‘That’s a piebald pony he’s riding, and he’s tall,’ Pearl said, ‘and he’s dressed like a Smials Took.’ The fine wool of the rider’s cloak billowed behind him in the breeze of his passing. ‘He’s turning in at the lane!’ she added.

Eglantine uttered an exclamation of vexation. ‘Such a time as he chooses, with us in the middle of peeling and boiling. Quick, Nell, put on the kettle. Pearl, splash cold water on your face, tie on a fresh apron and see what he wants.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Pearl said, her heart beating unaccountably fast and her face flushed with more than the heat of the stove. She hurried to comply.

She heard the singing of the teakettle as the head of escort rode up before the door and dismounted with a flourish and a bow. ‘Good day, Miss Pearl,’ he said politely.

 ‘Good day, sir,’ she replied, making a courtesy of her own.

 ‘Is your father at home?’ he asked.

She gestured towards the fields to the West. ‘Cutting hay,’ she said. ‘Would you care for a cup of tea?’

He shook his head. ‘I am sorry,’ he said with real regret. ‘I dare not stay; I am on a commission for the Thain and he expects me back promptly.’ Actually it was Mistress Lalia who expected him back promptly. Thain Ferumbras was head of Tookland in name only; his mother held the reins firmly in her grasp. He bowed again, saying, ‘Please convey my warmest regard to your mother and sisters.’ He didn’t have to convey any sort of regard to Pippin, who had come panting up from the field still brandishing his stick.

 ‘I shall,’ Pearl said. ‘Perhaps another time.’

 ‘Perhaps,’ the head of escort said with a smile. Looking down at the flushed and puffing lad, he said, ‘Hullo, Pip! Would you like to ride with me out to the field to show me where to find your father?’

 ‘I’d be honoured!’ Pip said between gasps, dropping his stick at once. Tall Isumbold lifted the lad to the saddle, then swung up behind him. ‘Fare thee well, fair maiden!’ he said as his pony jigged beneath the double burden.

 ‘Fare thee well,’ she answered in kind, and watched the twain ride away.

Eglantine came to the door behind her. ‘Tea’s on,’ she said. ‘He could not stay?’

 ‘He brings a message to Da,’ Pearl said. ‘And that is all he brings.’

 ‘Ah,’ Eglantine nodded wisely. ‘Lalia is an exacting Mistress. I imagine she has given him just so much time and no more than that to deliver his message and return to the Great Smials.’

Pearl laughed. ‘And Pip wants to be part of the Thain’s escort some day,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘How he would chafe at such restraints!’

 ‘Well, Lalia’s over an hundred now; she won’t live forever,’ Eglantine said. And there’s a mercy for you, she thought but didn’t add. ‘By the time your brother is old enough to be considered for the position, there’ll likely be another Thain. And hopefully a better one, she added silently to herself. One simply did not speak such thoughts aloud. ‘Ah well, it’s all moot anyhow. Your brother’s destined to be a farmer like his da and his grand-da before him,’ she finished. ‘Come now, child, let us not let the good tea go to waste. The last pot of apples will be bubbling away for a little before it wants our attention again.’

Pippin returned for the nooning with the news that Paladin planned to stay out until teatime. Each day brought the onset of the rainy season closer, and he wanted to cut as much hay as possible this day, to let it cure in the morrow’s sun and be gathered into stacks a day or two after. While the children ate, Eglantine quickly packed up a meal for her husband and sent Pip, still gnawing on a fistful of bread-and-meat, on old Whitefoot to bring the meal out to the field. She smiled to see her son riding with a consciously straight back as the fat, sway-backed, retired plough pony jogged along. ‘He’s pretending he’s head of escort, I warrant,’ she said fondly.

 ‘If it helps him develop dedication to his duty it’ll be a good thing,’ Pearl answered, and her mother smiled wryly.

 ‘O he’ll be quite dedicated, for the next few days anyhow, until he finds something else he wants to be,’ Eglantine said. ‘Come now,’ she added. ‘We’ve work to do. Let us clear away and get back at it.’

Paladin returned from the field just before teatime as was his custom. His father had never worked past teatime, giving the remainder of the day to his family, and Paladin followed suit. The family took tea by the fire this day, for the days cooled rapidly this time of year and the Sun sought her bed ever earlier as the year marched to its end.

Pervinca had stirred up currant scones under her mother’s watchful eye while her sisters did the milking and shut up the biddies and Pip slopped the pigs with the scraps from the day’s meals. Paladin praised the tender, flaky scones to the skies and his youngest daughter blushed with pleasure. The good farmer then proceeded to tell a series of stories about the Wind and the Sun and their wagers, and the effect of these on the hapless farmers below, until the Queen of the Sky came and scolded both for forgetting their duty in their pursuit of diversion.

 ‘The head of escort never forgets his duty, does he, Da?’ Pip said importantly.

 ‘That’s right, son; he swears an oath, you know, and stands by it with his very life,’ Paladin answered seriously. He frowned as Pippin sighed and looked dreamily into the fire. ‘A farmer ought never to forget his duty, either,’ he added.

Pippin looked up, intrigued. ‘What duty, Da?’ he asked.

Paladin put his pipe in his mouth and threw his arms wide. ‘The land is a gift, lad,’ he answered. ‘A gift, and we must never take it for granted. We must cherish the land and use it well, and it will yield richly in return.’

 ‘And the animals, Da?’ Pip asked slowly as he absorbed this new thought. ‘Are they a gift as well?’

Paladin tousled the curly head that leaned on his knee, looking up trustingly at him. ‘Indeed, my boy, you have the right of it,’ he said, well pleased. ‘They are given into our care, and it is our duty to do right by them.’ Pippin nodded slowly, a curious expression on his face, and Pearl wondered suddenly what he was thinking.

 ‘Even the pigs, Da?’ he said suddenly. ‘But we eat the pigs, and chickens and lambs as well. Is that doing right by them?’

 ‘To be sure,’ Paladin said stoutly. ‘They were given us as food, and we are to take the best care of them as we can while they live, and give them a swift and painless end.’

 ‘Who gave them to us as food?’ Pippin asked, but Paladin’s answer was put off by a knock at the door. It was a neighbour whose cow was in difficulty in calving, and could Paladin please come?

 ‘Would you like to help bring a new life into the world?’ Paladin asked his son, and Pippin’s eyes glowed as he assented. ‘Come then.’ Eglantine watched with pride as the two strode over the darkening fields after the neighbour, the lad trying to match his father’s long strides.

They returned some hours later, and Paladin tucked his sleepy son into bed before joining Eglantine in the kitchen for a final cup of tea before retiring. The girls had sought their beds an hour before and were already fast asleep. ‘A fine heifer calf,’ he said as he sugared his tea, sipping and sitting back with a sigh.

 ‘What was the problem?’ Eglantine asked.

 ‘Head turned back, but she came round with a little coaxing,’ Paladin said.

 ‘And was Pip good as gold? Or was he a nuisance and a bother?’ Eglantine asked.

 ‘He’s the one, stuck his arm in and got the loop round the jaw,’ Paladin boasted proudly. ‘Cow was too narrow for me to get my arm in, but he managed...’

 ‘Ah,’ Eglantine said wisely. ‘He’s not so keen on being head of the Thain’s escort anymore, I warrant.’

 ‘Nay,’ Paladin said complacently. ‘He saved a life today; brought a new life into the world that would have died without his help. A farmer’s lot looks good to him at the moment.’

Eglantine shook her head with a smile, marvelling anew at this wise hobbit she’d married. As she sipped her tea she remembered suddenly the message from the Thain. ‘What did the Thain want of you?’ she asked.

Paladin was silent, and his wife felt a stab of apprehension. ‘Did it...’ she faltered. ‘Did Ferdinand...?’

 ‘Ferdinand and his family have been brought to the Great Smials,’ Paladin said soberly. ‘He’s in dreadful pain, my love, terrible...’ He shook his head, remembering the pain of a burn on his arm once. He couldn’t imagine that pain over most of the body. Surely such pain would kill a hobbit, or drive him mad. He grieved anew for Ferdinand. They'd been cousins as close as young Merry and Pippin were in this day.

 ‘Poor Rosemary,’ Eglantine sighed. ‘To have to see such suffering...’

Paladin shook his head. ‘They won’t let her near him,’ he said. ‘He asked that she be kept away.’

 ‘And young Ferdi?’ Eglantine asked with trepidation.

Paladin sighed. ‘He’s eating,’ he said. ‘He still won’t speak, not even to Rosemary.’

Eglantine echoed her husband’s sigh. ‘They say that time heals all ills,’ she said softly. ‘Would that it were only true.’

Paladin nodded, and they sipped their tea in silence for a few moments. ‘But that was not the gist of the message,’ he said suddenly.

 ‘It wasn’t?’ Eglantine asked. ‘Then what was?’

Paladin poured himself another cup of tea and sugared it well. ‘My love,’ he said and stopped.

 ‘What is it?’ Eglantine said.

 ‘What do you think of sending one of the girls... sending Pearl... to the Great Smials?’ he said.

 ‘To be a comfort to Rosemary in this difficult time? I know she’s between Pearl and Nell in age, but she was closer to Pimpernel in temperament when her father came to train the ponies. Why not send Nell?’

 ‘Nell’s not the one asked for,’ Paladin said. He leaned forward. ‘It’s not for Rosemary’s sake,’ he added.

 ‘What then?’ Eglantine said, bewildered.

 ‘It seems that Mistress Lalia has received a good report of Pearl,’ Paladin said slowly. ‘She invites Pearl to come to the Smials, to act as her attendant for the next year or two. It would be an opportunity for Pearl to enter society, make a better marriage than she could as a farmer’s daughter.’

 ‘And what’s wrong with being a farmer’s daughter?’ Eglantine said indignantly. ‘I was a farmer’s daughter, or have you forgotten that?’

 ‘My love,’ Paladin said, taking her free hand in his, pained to have offended the one hobbit he loved above all others. ‘I don’t mean that at all! It is just that Mistress Lalia has had trouble finding a satisfactory companion. The Smials Tooks all fawn upon her and cringe; she wants someone who would be properly respectful and still unafraid to speak her mind.’

 ‘That would be our Pearl,’ Eglantine admitted. She thought it over for a few moments, then shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I do not like it.’

 ‘Why not?’ Paladin said.

 ‘Everyone knows that Lalia is desperate for her son to marry and sire an heir,’ she answered slowly. ‘It is said her eyes are cold, measuring each new female she encounters much like a farmer at the cattle market, looking for good teeth, good breeding, and wide hips the better for bearing young. No proper hobbit-lass old enough to marry of her own accord will have Ferumbras, tied to his mother’s apron as he is. An impressionable young girl, however... I wouldn’t put it past her to be scheming about such a thing.’ Her fingers tightened on her teacup. ‘It’s why I feel uneasy about Rosemary there in the Smials, without father or uncle or brother to protect her from Lalia’s designs.’

 ‘You think she’d take advantage—’ Paladin said in astonishment.

 ‘Of Rosemary, yes, or our Pearl,’ Eglantine said. ‘What did she offer?’

 ‘A purse of gold, that our daughter might have a better dowry than otherwise, that she might marry well,’ Paladin said slowly, ‘and a pearl necklace of fine workmanship, an heirloom that has long been in the hoard of the Thain.’

 ‘No skin off her teeth,’ Eglantine countered. ‘Dowry and necklace would be back within her grasp if our girl married the Thain.’

 ‘And would it be so bad, if it turned out to be something Pearl wanted?’ Paladin said.

 ‘The thought’s obscene!’ Eglantine exploded. ‘He’s three-score years her elder!’ She thought again of Ferumbras, fat, pale, sweaty, and ineffectual.

 ‘It’s all moot anyhow,’ Paladin said, stirring his tea again. ‘Lalia would never allow her son to take advantage of a girl under her protection; it wouldn’t be proper! And with Pearl acting as a companion, of the servant class in other words, there’d be no danger of her being linked to the Thain, either in gossip or in reality.’

 ‘When you put it that way,’ Eglantine said, ‘I find it hard to find fault with the matter.’ She sighed again. ‘Still,’ she added, ‘I’m reluctant to let our Pearl go.’

 ‘She’ll be gone anyhow when she marries,’ Paladin said gently. ‘That’s not so very far away. She’ll be thirty before you know it.’

 ‘I know it,’ Eglantine said, her voice soft and sad. ‘I know it indeed.’

 ‘I’m glad you are not dead-set against it,’ Paladin said. ‘I’m not sure how I could deny the direct request of the mother of the Thain.’

Chapter 4. A Difficult Decision

October dawned to find the little smial busier than one of the good farmer’s beehives. The Sun, rising from her bed, blinked in rosy astonishment to see snowy sheets already hanging on the lines and the voices of the children raised in song as they hurried about their tasks. In the kitchen Paladin finished his half-dozen eggs with accompanying bacon, fried bread, tomatoes and beans and threw down his serviette. ‘That’ll do me,’ he said, waving away the teapot hovering over his cup. ‘I must be at it early if we’re to have the hay stacked before the Brandybucks arrive.’

 ‘We’re nearly ready,’ Eglantine said, putting the teapot down and taking up the empty plates. ‘The children have been a wonder of help.’

 ‘As they ought,’ Paladin said placidly. He lingered only long enough to kiss his wife thoroughly, “to give you a good grounding for your day” as he teased, and whistled his way to the yard where the hired hobbits already waited with waggons hitched and ready.

Pippin bounced between Pearl and Pimpernel, singing and chattering by turns. When one sister had endured enough of his help, she’d send him along to the other. In this way, they accomplished much as the morning hours sped by. The lad got so dirty cleaning out the grates that he had his second bath in two days—the first was because he got so dirty beating the dust from the carpets the previous day—and helpfully sloshed quantities of water our of the tub before the kitchen fire. All Pearl had to do was hike up her skirts and get down on her knees with scrub-brush and cloth to finish the scrubbing of the stone floor while he dressed, and then she sent him off to Pimpernel “to see if she needed any help”.

Nell managed, by the artful admiration of her little brother’s muscles, to get him to wax and buff all the wood in the dining room and parlour, and then while she was taking in the sheets off the line to make up the beds, Pippin helped Pearl cut flowers for the vases and Vinca helped their mother with noontide preparations. When the Sun reached her nooning all was ready.

Paladin returned from the field with one of the waggons, leaving the hired hobbits to stack the hay and return to the field to help with the last of the task. He’d pay them a bit extra for working unsupervised. They didn’t begrudge his early defection; it was not every day that the heir to Buckland visited the neighbourhood. Eglantine brought a pitcher of warmed water to the bedroom where she’d laid out a clean shirt and collar. ‘I thought ‘twould go better than a cold bath this day,’ she said. ‘There’s still a chill in the air; good thing there was a breeze or the sheets wouldn’t have dried.’

 ‘There’s a weather change on the way for certain,’ Paladin agreed, with a kiss for his wife’s thoughtfulness. ‘We’ll get the last of the hay in just in time.’ He washed quickly while she bustled about the smial, checking on everything. The air was filled with the good smells of soap and beeswax, stew and baking bread. The girls were in the midst of changing into their best and doing up each other’s hair, and Pip would be dirty again; how he managed it his mother couldn’t begin to guess. She hauled him by his ear to the washbasin and went over his face and neck with a rough cloth, then sent him off to change into a clean shirt. ‘And don’t throw the dirty one on the floor!’ she called after him.

There was a jingle of bells in the yard and Pippin shouted wildly, ‘They’re here!’, pelting out of his room with wild curls and shirt half-buttoned up. His mother caught him by the shirt-tails before he could dash out the door and disgrace them all, yanking a comb through his hair, taking care of the rest of the buttons despite his puppy-like wiggles, and tucking the shirt in properly before she let him go.

The coach-and-four pulled up before the door, harness gleaming, bells sparkling in the sun, bright ribbons braided into manes and tails, ponies tossing their proud heads. Pippin hung back, a little daunted, as his aunt and uncle and cousin stepped down from the coach. Somehow the Brandybucks seemed finer in the little farmyard than the last few times he’d seen them, at Brandy Hall, where they fit their surroundings.

 ‘What is it, Pip?’ Pearl murmured, aware of his hesitation.

 ‘They’ve—they’ve a matched team,’ he breathed in awe, staring wide-eyed at the four gleaming ponies, perfectly alike in appearance. It was a nicety for plough ponies to match; usually they didn’t, but so long as they pulled well together a farmer didn’t mind.

Merry held out his arms and called joyously, ‘Pip!’ The spell was broken.

Pippin darted from behind Pearl and into his cousin’s embrace. ‘Merry!’ he cried. ‘I’ve so much to tell you!’

 ‘I’ve no doubt you do!’ Merry laughed, hugging him tighter. ‘Ah, Pip it is so good to see you again!’

Watching the reunion of the two caused Paladin to have to blink and clear his throat. He had a sudden fierce wish that neither cousin would ever have to sit by a bed and watch the other suffer. Ah, Ferdinand...

Saradoc stepped forward, hand outstretched, to be greeted heartily by the farmer whilst the wives embraced, then Paladin had a warm hug for his sister Esmeralda, and Eglantine welcomed Saradoc. Turning from his sister-in-love, the heir to Buckland said, ‘Merry! You have other cousins to greet!’

 ‘Yes, sir,’ Merry said, straightening up from a whispered consultation with Pippin. He bowed properly to Pervinca and Nell, but when he turned to greet Pearl he flushed and stammered the ritual words. Pearl smiled graciously, holding out her hand to him, saying something light and cheerful to put the teen at ease. He took her hand and bowed over it, but then stood staring after her as Eglantine ushered his parents through the door, where ‘Noontides is just on, the table’s set and the bread has just come out of the oven. I hope you’re hungry, there’s enough for half of Tookland!’

 ‘You’re gone on Pearl!’ Pippin accused, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Merry started, grabbed his little cousin and rubbed his knuckles on Pippin’s head.

 ‘Am not!’ he said, though in his mind’s eye he could still see the rich green of her dress, bringing a hint of green to the laughing hazel eyes and a touch of copper to the rich brown curls.

 ‘She’s old enough to be your mother!’ Pippin exclaimed.

 ‘She is not!’ Merry protested. Pippin wiggled out of his grip and danced before him.

 ‘Just wait until I tell her…!’ he grinned.

 ‘If you do I won’t take you fishing!’ Merry said. At this serious threat, Pippin subsided, but he was disgustingly cheerful throughout the meal, and alarmingly polite.

Merry and Pippin made up for time apart by spending every waking moment together. The rainy weather that arrived shortly after the Brandybucks was perfect for fishing—for catching fish, that is, if not for the fisherfolk themselves, who also caught sniffles and sneezes in the damp. It was just as cosy to sprawl on the hearthrug wrapped up in blankets and spin stories, and when the sniffles cleared up next day there was fun to be had in the hayloft, fashioning nests in the hay and throwing hay at each other until they were covered with the stuff.

When the week-long visit was halfway through, the Thain’s head of escort rode his piebald pony up the lane once more, cloak pulled up against the misting rain.

 ‘Hullo!’ Pearl said in surprised greeting as she opened the door to his knock. ‘Isum? What brings you here in this weather?’

 ‘Business of the Thain,’ Isum responded with a bow. ‘Is your father in?’

 ‘He’s in the barn, polishing harness,’ Pearl said. ‘Would you like me to show you?’

 ‘Thank you, Miss Pearl, I can find my way,’ Isum said. ‘Please convey my greetings to your mother.’

 ‘Can’t you stay for tea this time?’ Pearl asked.

Isum shook his head regretfully. ‘My time is not my own,’ he said, and hesitated.

 ‘Another time, perhaps,’ Pearl said, speaking the words he’d been about to say with an impish look.

He laughed and bowed. ‘You took the words directly from my mouth,’ he said. ‘Be sure to wipe your fingers well.’ Her laughter followed him to the barn.

If he was surprised to find the heir to Buckland polishing harness with the farmer, he didn’t show it. ‘Mr Brandybuck,’ he said with a deep bow, and turning to Paladin with a slightly shallower bow as befitted his status, ‘Farmer Took.’

’Isumbold,’ Saradoc said. ‘Do you have a message for me from the Thain? You can tell Mistress Lalia that we will be visiting next week as planned; we’ll spend a full week here at the farm and not a day less!’

 ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir,’ Isum said respectfully. ‘My message was actually for the good farmer.’

 ‘O?’ Paladin said curiously. ‘Two messages in less than a week?’

The head of escort cleared his throat. ‘Go ahead,’ Paladin said. ‘I have no secrets from Saradoc, here.’

The heir to Buckland clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s all right, Dinny,’ he said. ‘I’ll just slip into the kitchen and see if the biscuits they promised for tea are fit to eat.’

 ‘Good idea,’ Paladin said. ‘Be sure to bring some back with you.’ Saradoc laughed and, pulling his cloak over his head, jogged from the barn to the kitchen door. The rain was increasing from a mist to a steady downpour.

 ‘You’ll stay to tea?’ Paladin said.

 ‘Sorry, but no,’ Isum replied with a shake of the head.

 ‘You’ll catch your death, riding about in this,’ the farmer said, shocked.

 ‘It’d take more than a little rain to wash me away,’ Isum answered. ‘My “pie” can dodge the raindrops, he can, and bring me home drier than when I started.’

 ‘He looks to be a sight wet at the moment,’ Paladin said dryly. ‘At least tie him up in the barn; don’t make him stand in the rain.’

 ‘Ah but I’m leaving in a few moments; I have only to take your answer and be on my way,’ Isum said.

 ‘My answer?’ Paladin said quizzically.

 ‘You recall the message I brought the other day,’ Isum prompted.

 ‘Of course, but I thought I had some time to think it over, talk with my wife...’

 ‘You’ve talked with your wife, have you not?’ Isum said. ‘You don’t strike me as the type to let the grass grow long beneath his feet.'

 ‘I did,’ Paladin admitted.

 ‘Then do you have an answer for me to take back to the Thain?’ Isum pressed. At Paladin’s hesitation, he added, ‘The situation’s changed a bit. Mistress Lalia discharged her attendant this morning in a fit of temper, and the Thain is having to attend her every need, which leaves him... little time to attend to the needs of Tookland. He would like to find her a new companion as soon as possible, preferably one she finds agreeable enough to keep on for some time.’

 ‘If she were to find fault with our Pearl and discharge her—’ Paladin said, and Isum, sensing victory, forged ahead.

 ‘She would still receive the promised wages: enough gold for a good dowry, and the fine necklace of her name-jewels,’ he said. ‘What do you say? What word do I take back?’

 ‘This is so sudden,’ Paladin said, shaking his head.

 ‘When could she come?’ Isum said. ‘The Thain will send a coach for her on the morrow if you say the word.’

 ‘On the morrow!’ Paladin said, head spinning. He had a quicker wit than most, but things were moving too quickly for him at the moment.

Saradoc, pockets full of biscuits, spoke up from the door. He was slightly out of breath, having run back faster than he'd gone, once Eglantine had apprised him just why the head of escort had likely come calling. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘Brother,’ he said to Paladin, eyeing him closely. ‘Have you and your wife resolved to do this thing?’

 ‘It is a great chance for Pearl,’ Paladin said slowly, and Isumbold held his breath.

 ‘I can see where it would be,’ Saradoc replied soberly. It was none of his business to tell Paladin what to do with his daughters, but were Pearl his own child... ‘If you are agreed to send her to attend the mother of the Thain...’ O how he pitied Paladin and Eglantine, to be put in this position. Lalia was not one you could easily gainsay, and Paladin's grandfather had given up much power and status when he'd taken his family from the Great Smials to return to the land. The heir to Buckland took a deep breath and plunged the rest of the way. ‘We’re to go to the Great Smials after this; we could take her with us and provide proper escort. It would be at the end of the week rather than on the morrow. Will that suit?’

 ‘Come and have tea in the kitchen, Isum,’ Paladin said, and it was not a request. ‘If you want an answer to take back with you, I’m afraid you will have to wait until I’ve finished discussing it with my wife.’ He held up a hand as the head of escort started to speak. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Say no more. If you insist upon an answer in this very moment, it’ll have to be “No”.’

 Isum knew when to hold his peace. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I must admit a spot of tea would be welcome before swimming back to the Smials.’ He cocked an eye at the increasing deluge outside and barely suppressed a sigh.

 ‘Come along then,’ Paladin said.

Isum tied up his piebald pony under cover from the rain, stripped off the saddle and blanket and rubbed him down well, and then had a very pleasant tea indeed in the kitchen with the children, whilst the Tooks and Brandybucks discussed the situation in the formal dining room. In the end it was agreed. The Brandybucks would carry Pearl to the Great Smials to attend the mother of the Thain. ‘But the moment my niece writes to express the least little bit of unhappiness, I will go myself to fetch her away,’ Esmeralda said, shaking her finger at Pearl’s parents.

 ‘You’ll come too late,’ Paladin said. ‘I’ll have fetched her away myself long before you arrive.’

Chapter 5. Transitions

The rest of the week became a flurry of packing and preparations, which Pip hardly noticed for Merry kept him fully occupied... or perhaps ‘twas the other way around. In any event, it did not seem to dawn upon the lad that his eldest sister was leaving until the eve of the departure. There was the added misery of saying “farewell” to Merry, with small comfort in the promise of a longer visit in the New Year.

 ‘Not Yule?’ Pippin said in outrage. ‘But we always go to Buckland for Yule!’

 ‘We’ll be at the Great Smials for Yuletide this year, love,’ Eglantine said as Paladin frowned. ‘We’ll go on to Brandy Hall after Yule this time.’

 ‘It’ll be great fun, Pip, you’ll see!’ Merry said in his most persuasive tone.

 ‘You are disrupting a fine supper, young hobbit, and if you do not take hold of yourself you will have to leave the table,’ Paladin said sternly. He was appalled at his son’s lack of manners.

With the wisdom—or lack of it—of his youth, Pip continued to argue, with the inevitable result of being sent to his room. The supper continued in his absence, though it was perhaps not quite as lively an affair as it might have been.

Pearl brought his plate to him after the children were excused from table to allow the adults more scope for conversation. Pervinca tagged along with Pearl, while Nell began the washing up in the kitchen and Merry offered to help. The boy’s room had the appearance of the aftermath of some disaster, and Pip was nowhere to be found until Vinca had the inspiration of dragging him from under the bed.

 ‘What were you doing under there?’ Pearl said, trying not to laugh.

 ‘Looking for spiders,’ Pip said defiantly, straightening his rumpled clothes.

 ‘We had better get this room put to rights before Da sees it,’ Pervinca warned. ‘You know what he’ll do.’

 ‘Water rations, ‘til it’s cleaned up, and that would spoil the Brandybucks’ departure,’ Pearl said.

 ‘Not to mention yours,’ Vinca said, her face suddenly screwing itself into a curious shape as she winked back tears.

 ‘What do you mean?’ Pip said, looking from one sister to the other.

 ‘Pip, you’re such a ninny!’ Vinca said sharply, winning the fight with sadness as annoyance took its place.

 ‘I just want to go to Brandy Hall for Yule as we always do!’ Pip shouted, to be shushed by his apprehensive sisters. They did not want their father’s temper stirred, for that would surely mar the evening.

 ‘You’d make Pearl spend Yule alone, without her family?’ Vinca added spitefully.

 ‘No, of course she’d come with us!’ Pip said.

 ‘No she couldn’t! She’ll be at the Smials,’ Vinca said, completely exasperated with this little brother who could be so thick at times.

All the fight went out of the lad as he stared from one sister to the other. ‘Why would she be at the Smials?’ he asked.

 ‘Pip, you—’

 ‘Don’t call names!’ Pearl said sharply. She put a gentle hand on her brother’s shoulder and softened her tone. ‘Pip, I’m going to the Great Smials, you know that.’

 ‘For a visit!’ the lad insisted. ‘A week, or two at most.’

 ‘A year,’ Pearl corrected. ‘Two at the most.’

Pippin stared at her in horror, then suddenly flung himself at her, throwing his arms about her and hugging her as if he’d never leave hold. ‘No,’ he choked, voice muffled by her skirts.

Pearl put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. ‘Vinca,’ she whispered. ‘Go and help Nell.’

The next morning the Tooks put on their cheeriest demeanour and sang and waved the travellers on their way, all but young Pip, that is. He stood mute, eyes enormous in his pale face, staring sorrowfully after the coach that bore away the best friend he’d ever had and the sister he loved most.

It took the lad more than a week to get back to himself. He dragged through his chores with a tragic face (dragging was nothing new, Vinca observed, it was merely that he was sorrowful rather than distracted) and hardly ate a thing until his mother, alarmed, thought he might be sickening with something. She forced down him a dose of the most objectionable tonic in the sick-box. Pippin perked up at once, causing her to congratulate herself on her healing skills, though of course, anyone, even a dying old gaffer, would have perked up after a dose of that horrid stuff. 

In any event, life went back to the way it always was at the farm, with a large hole of course, left by Pearl’s absence. Pimpernel filled it as best she could, for Pearl had solemnly charged her with the responsibility that last evening after Pip finally fell asleep. Pervinca did her part, distracting the lad with more than usual disagreeableness. October continued as it always did, in celebration of the harvest, and soon it would be November with its Remembering Day feast, and then the preparations for Yuletide would begin. Though Pip never would concede that life went on as usual, it did anyhow.

***

 ‘Mistress Lalia will undoubtedly chafe at the delay,’ Esmeralda said as the coach slowed with a subtle jerk as the ponies threw their weight against their collars for the haul up the Hill.

 ‘Then Ferumbras ought to put a road between Bywater and Tuckborough,’ Saradoc said. It was an old complaint. The Green Hills loomed ever larger as one proceeded westwards from Woody End, growing so great that it was impractical to travel from Tuckborough to Tookbank unless one went afoot or by sure-footed pony. Less than mountains, they were still large enough to preclude the building of a road. Only fields and low rolling hills stood between Bywater and Tuckborough, but no road had ever been built. Unless one rode across the fields a-pony-back, it was a long way round by coach to go from Hobbiton to the Great Smials. Bilbo had often joked that the Thain liked to keep things that way, making it inconvenient for the Sackville-Bagginses to visit the Great Smials.

 ‘It does make it inconvenient for visiting,’ Esmeralda said. ‘Either we visit Tuckborough, or we visit Whitwell, and Bilbo along the way...’ she trailed off in confusion.

 ‘Frodo,’ her husband corrected gently. ‘We’ll visit Frodo from now on, though we’ll never forget the old scalawag. Wonder where he took himself off to? More adventures, more likely than not.’

 ‘Poor Frodo, he’s only just got over the Party,’ Merry said. His parents had stopped by Bag End to fetch him on their way to Whitwell. ‘Here we are imposing on him again already.’

 ‘And we will continue to impose, as often as possible,’ his mother said archly. ‘Poor lad, he’ll be lonely, rattling about that smial all by himself. Perhaps we ought to press him to return to Brandy Hall.’

Frodo did not look at all imposed-upon as he stood up from the bench before Bag End, where he’d sat with a pipe and a book to await his visitors. The cold rain had blown over and the Sun shone as if determined to hold back the onslaught of Autumn. ‘Well come!’ he cried as the driver pulled the ponies to a stop. ‘Good to see you, Will!’

 ‘Good to see you as well, Mr Frodo!’ Will the driver called back. ‘Have you room in the stable this time around?’

 ‘I’ve ejected all the Party guests and their beasts just to make room for you, Will,’ Frodo returned. ‘Tea’s on in the parlour, Saradoc, and Will, I think you’ll find Marigold has laid a nice tea for you and Samwise in the kitchen.’

 ‘Thankee, Mr Baggins, most kind I’m sure,’ Will said, jumping down from the box to place the step and open the coach door.

 ‘Frodo lad!’ Saradoc said, descending from the coach. He hugged Frodo as Merry emerged behind him, then put Frodo back from him, gazing at him earnestly. ‘You look... older,’ he said. ‘How does it feel to be Master of Bag End?’

 ‘A heavy responsibility,’ Frodo said, allowing his shoulders to sag and a quaver to creep into his voice. ‘I’ve half a mind to chuck everything and follow Bilbo.’

 ‘Don’t you dare!’ Merry said.

 ‘Follow him only as far as Buckland,’ Saradoc suggested. ‘You’ve a home there with us, you know, as long as you care to stay.’

 ‘Did he come to Buckland?’ Frodo said, hope brightening his countenance as Saradoc turned to help out his wife and niece.

 ‘Not that we’d heard,’ Merry said quietly, ‘but then we’ve been visiting Paladin, you know.’

 ‘How’s Pip?’ Frodo said.

 ‘Full of mischief as ever,’ Merry answered.

Just then Saradoc handed out Pearl. Frodo gave a low whistle. ‘This is not the same Pearl Took who danced a farmer’s fling at the Party?’ he said. ‘Is Pip about to emerge from the coach without a smudge on his nose and no tears in the knees of his breeches?’

 ‘That’s years off yet!’ Pearl laughed at his nonsense. ‘He’s back home, likely getting up some mischief as we speak.’

 ‘Well,’ Frodo said briskly, putting his book under his arm to rub his hands together. ‘The Sun is going lower and I find the air is growing brisk. Let’s get you all inside and drink the tea whilst it’s hot!’ He ushered his guests into the smial, talking and laughing. He had much good advice for Pearl about living amongst the Tooks, his grandmother having been a daughter of the Old Took and his having spent a fair amount of time at the Great Smials since coming to live with Bilbo, for the old hobbit hauled him along whenever he had to visit that branch of the family. “I’m bringing you as a prop and a bolster my lad,” he’d been fond of saying. “Also if they show signs of devouring us with that gossip of theirs, I’ll throw you to them and make my escape whilst they’re worrying you with the Talk.”

Next morning they were off on the second stage of the journey, stopping off at Budge Hall in Bridgefields to stay the night with the Bolgers. The next day they drove southwards to Stock and then turned westwards again along the Stock road, finally travelling towards Tuckborough. They stayed that last night at the Crowing Cockerel and started off early next morning for the final leg of the journey.

Regular visits to Brandy Hall stood Pearl in good stead now; she was not overwhelmed by her first sight of the Great Smials, great as they might be, one of the wonders of the Shire as it were. Her aunt and uncle’s steadying presence helped, as did Merry’s quick wit which had her laughing even as the coach pulled up before the Great Door. Servants scurried to place the step below the coach door; others held umbrellas to shield the occupants as they emerged from the return of the rain. Saradoc jumped out first, followed by his son, and proceeded to hand out the ladies with elegant efficiency. Shielded by umbrellas held over them from both sides, Saradoc slowly ascended the stairs with Esmeralda on his arm while Merry escorted Pearl.

They were shown to the sumptuous suite reserved for the Master of Buckland and offered light refreshment to restore them and steaming baths to soak away the chill of the rainy weather. After this the heir to Buckland chose to take late supper in the suite rather than great room, and then the travellers sought their pillows early, for the morrow would be a full day. Pearl was grateful for the custom of cosseting travellers and allowing them a night’s rest to recover from the strain of journeying before an actual “visit” began.

That night as they sought their beds, Esmeralda spent a long time brushing Pearl’s curls and talking quietly. ‘If you are in the least unhappy, send word,’ she said at the last. ‘I know you have the sense and spirit to make good, but don’t let Tookish pride keep you if things do not turn out well.’ Putting the brush down, she put a gentle hand under the girl’s chin to tilt her face upwards. ‘Promise?’ she said softly.

 ‘I promise, Auntie,’ Pearl said. She’d make good; of course she would! Lalia the Great couldn’t be any more difficult than the cow with the crooked horn... she smiled at the comparison, and her aunt gave an answering smile.

 ‘As long as we’re understood,’ Esmeralda said.

Chapter 6. The Mistress of Tookland

Pearl awakened hours before anyone else. With a homesick lump in her throat, she thought of Nell and Vinca, undoubtedly milking at that very moment, whilst sleepy Pip leaned his head against the soft flank of the cow he was supposed to be milking and nearly nodded off again. She arose and dressed quietly in the shadowy room lit only by the watch-lamp, not wanting to disturb any of the Brandybucks in the other rooms of the suite.

Creeping out into the sitting room, she found a bowl of fruit on the table and took a handful of grapes. Sweet as honey they were, not sour like the ones that grew on the farm, strongly flavoured and darkly coloured, made into juice and deep red wine and vinegar. Taking another handful, she sought a comfortable chair in the corner and sat down to consider her situation.

She’d been told that Mistress Lalia had received a good report on her, probably from Thain Ferumbras. All he’d seen of her was her efficiently serving the table and directing Nell in her tasks. They had servants a-plenty here in the Great Smials; surely that was not what she’d be called to do. After the Thain had gone to his rest, she’d sat at table with the Thain’s escort, carrying the conversation and keeping Pip and Vinca in line. Had Isumbold reported as much to the Thain on their way back to the Smials? Was Ferumbras hoping Pearl would deal as well with his difficult mother?

Deep in her thoughts, she was not at first aware of the small figure creeping across the room from the doorway. It was a lad, she realised, barely into his teens she thought, perhaps a year or two older than Pip. She wondered if she ought to speak as he stealthily made his way to the hearth, brushed up the ashes and laid a fresh fire. Turning and picking up the bucket, he caught sight of her and started.

 ‘Begging your pardon, miss,’ he whispered. ‘Is there aught you be needing?’

 ‘I am well,’ she returned softly. ‘You may go about your business.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ he said, ducking his head, and then he scurried from the suite. Pearl laughed silently to herself. From the look on his face when he saw her, it must be quite a scandal for one of the gentry to be up and about at this hour of the morning. Her stomach gave a rumble, hardly ladylike! A few grapes did not an early breakfast make. She wished for some of her mother’s hearty wholemeal bread and fresh-churned butter, but settled for an apple from the bowl on the table.

Time seemed to crawl by, but it was probably only a couple of hours later that the door opened again to admit several servants. Pearl’s spirits rose as the smell of fresh-baked bread wafted through the air from the covered basket one carried, though she shrank back into the shadows to avoid upsetting them with her unseemly presence. One of the servants put a laden tray down upon the table and crossed quickly to the hearth to spark the ready-laid fire and hang a teakettle on the hook. In silence the well-practiced team laid the table. All was in readiness for breakfast when the kettle whistled. Soon the teapot was filled and cosied and the leader of the team knocked at each bedroom door in turn, calling cheerily, ‘Good morning! Breakfast is on!’ He lit the lamp on the table and the servants whisked out of the suite — without ever seeing Pearl curled in her chair — to give the Brandybucks early-morning privacy per their request.

 ‘Why good morning, Pearl!’ Esmeralda said, emerging from her room, Saradoc yawning behind her. ‘You’re looking bright and cheery.’ Up at dawn each day during their visit, the Brandybucks had not been wakened by the farm family quietly going about their accustomed tasks long before the Sun arose from her rest.

 ‘Good morning, Auntie!’ Pearl returned, firmly putting homesickness away. ‘Breakfast is on.’

 ‘So I see,’ Esmeralda replied. Raising her voice she called, ‘Merry! Come, you sleepyhead, or you’ll get naught but crumbs and crusts!’ There was a muffled reply from Merry’s room, and soon they were gathered at table, eating and talking and laughing. If only the Brandybucks stayed here at the Smials, Pearl thought, it might not be so bad.

When they had eaten their fill of the five kinds of bread, butter both plain and flavoured, honey and jam, meat and cheese and sliced fresh fruits, a knock came at the door. It was Adelard, Steward of Tookland and probably the hobbit who got the most done of all in the Great Smials, Thain included.

 ‘Mistress Lalia is ready to greet you,’ he announced after manners had been satisfied.

 ‘Pearl?’ Saradoc said, offering his arm. She took it gratefully and he patted her hand. ‘No worse than Smaug, I think,’ he whispered in her ear. She fought down the impulse to giggle and he smiled, adding, ‘That’s better. You looked just now as if you were going to your burial!’

 ‘Hush, Uncle!’ she scolded in a whisper.

 ‘I believe we are ready to greet Mistress Lalia,’ Saradoc said aloud, for Adelard’s benefit. ‘Lead on, O Took!’

Adelard snorted, recognising the old song. ‘Bandobras I am not,’ he said. ‘Come along.’

Heads high, Saradoc and Pearl marched together after the Steward, Esmeralda and Merry bringing up the rear. ‘I would almost prefer the Battle of Greenfields,’ Pearl whispered to her uncle.

 ‘As would I,’ he whispered in return. ‘But we must make do.’

They followed Adelard to the inmost part of the Smials, where the Thain’s private quarters were to be found, and the Thain’s study close at hand. Adelard stopped outside the study, tapped at the door, and entered. A moment later, he swung wide the door and gestured for the Brandybucks to go in.

 ‘Mistress Lalia, my dear, you’re looking grand,’ Saradoc said, moving forward to take the extended much-beringed hand and bow over it.

 ‘I’m passable,’ the old hobbit said with a regal nod. ‘I’ve seen better days.’

As she lifted her chins to fix Pearl with a haughty regard, the heir to Buckland said smoothly, ‘May I present my niece, Pearl Took, eldest child of Paladin of Whittacres.’

 ‘Come forward, girl, I don’t bite,’ Lalia said sharply, lifting a glass that hung from her neck on a ribbon. She put it to her eye and peered intently through it. Pearl had heard of such things, of dwarf-make, but had never seen one before.

Pearl came forward obediently and made a graceful courtesy. ‘At your service, Mistress,’ she said.

Lalia did not bother with the customary response; instead she said, ‘Turn round. Let me get a look at you.’ Pearl rotated slowly in response to the order and the sharp gesture that accompanied it.

 ‘Carries herself well,’ the Mistress remarked to no one. ‘That dress...’ Pearl could not help a blush. She was wearing her finest, the gown of rich green that Merry had so admired. ‘No matter,’ the Mistress decided. ‘We’ll have suitable clothing made up, and quickly too if the head seamstress knows what’s good for her.’ Esmeralda gave a light cough and Pearl could tell her aunt was holding tightly to her temper.

 ‘Very well, you’re decorative enough,’ Lalia said to Pearl when the latter came to a stop facing her once more. ‘I insist on pleasant surroundings at all times,’ she added imperiously. The Thain’s study was certainly heavily decorated: colourful tapestries rioted from the walls, the Thain’s desk was richly and ornately carved, soft carpets faded from age and use covered the stone floor in layer upon layer. Lalia herself was dressed in a bright robe of expensive material, very ornamental perhaps when hanging on a hook, but not at all enhanced by the fat old hobbit it adorned.

The old sow, Pearl thought to herself. She’s not the cow with the crooked horn at all, she’s the old sow, and just as bad-tempered, I warrant. She found the thought bracing. She could handle the old sow back home on the farm just fine.

 ‘Well?’ the Mistress demanded. ‘Have you a tongue?’

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Pearl said clearly. She’d heard the old hobbit was a bit hard of hearing.

 ‘Properly respectful, it seems,’ Lalia muttered, ‘but does she know how to work hard? Is she strong?’

 ‘She’s farm-bred and raised, Mistress,’ Esmeralda said, coming forward to courtesy to the Mistress and then to stand close behind Pearl, a bulwark of strength and love. ‘However, if she does not suit, we’re prepared to take her right back again.’

 ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Lalia said, turning a sharp look on Esmeralda. ‘We’ll give her a trial, see what she’s made of.’ Looking back to Pearl, she said, ‘Won’t we, girl?’

 ‘As you wish, Mistress,’ Pearl replied with a courtesy.

 ‘Very well,’ Lalia said decisively. ‘Addy will inform you of your duties. I’ll expect you here in an hour, sharp, mind you! ...to take them up. You’ll have your afternoons free from nooning to teatime and again after I retire for the evening. I expect you here first thing! Dawn, mind you! I do not tolerate slugabeds!’

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Pearl said, as it seemed to be expected.

 ‘Addy!’ Lalia snapped.

The Steward bowed respectfully and gestured to Pearl. ‘Come with me, Miss,’ he said. Pearl made a parting courtesy to the Mistress and followed him out the door, catching Merry’s sympathetic eye as she passed him.

 ‘Now Saradoc,’ Lalia said as the door closed behind them. ‘What’s this about a causeway by the River in the Marish? You want to build a dike, and run the road along it? Sounds like a foolish waste of time and gold to me...’

 Chapter 7. A Busy Morning

Upon her return to the study, Pearl was called upon to help the Mistress from the comfortable chair behind the desk into a wondrous wheeled contraption, a sort of rolling chair.

 ‘I take the air each day about this time,’ Lalia informed her after the Mistress was properly settled, a shawl about her shoulders and a blanket over her knees. Following a constant stream of instructions, Pearl wheeled her from the study and through the corridors of the Great Smials, the steward pacing solemnly by the side of the Mistress as he answered her questions.

Tooks stopped to greet the Mistress; servants bowed or bobbed and continued on their tasks, and Lalia, quite animated, chatted and gesticulated as they proceeded to the Great Door. Adelard moved ahead to pull the Door open, and they looked out on a cool, rainy day.

 ‘Go on, girl!’ Lalia said sharply. ‘Take me up to the Door! I want to feel the fresh breeze on my face!’

 ‘But it’s cool this morning, Mistress; you might take a chill,’ Pearl said, seeing a gratified smile in response to her “fussing”.

 ‘A chill? Nonsense! Right up to the threshold now!’ Lalia said, and Pearl complied, keeping a firm hold on the handles of the rolling chair, though the front wheels stopped when they bumped the low sill.

Cool, rain-scented air swept through the doors and Pearl found herself taking a deep breath along with the Mistress. ‘Smell that air,’ Lalia muttered to herself, and for the first time the girl felt pity for the old harridan. Pearl would make a point of walking after the noontide meal, taking the air, swinging her arms, moving briskly and rejoicing in the soaking rain that boded well for the winter wheat and barley. Lalia, confined to the Great Smials, was cut off from such joy.

For at least a quarter hour the Mistress sat at the threshold, taking the air, peering into the courtyard and the gardens on either side of the steps leading up to the Door, asking questions of the Steward. Pearl realised that the old hobbit did not see as well as she pretended. Perhaps that was the reason for the regard through the eye-glass, and it had not merely been a ploy to discomfit the girl. At last, Lalia took a final breath of the air and declared that it was time to get back to the study and get something accomplished, for goodness sake, and why was Adelard loitering here? Certainly not on her account!

The rest of the morning went swiftly for Pearl, filled as it was with busy-ness on Mistress Lalia’s account. There was tea to brew, the shawl to put on and put off and a lighter shawl to be fetched when the room grew “too warm” for the heavy shawl, messages to deliver, flowers to arrange, food to serve, and all manner of other things. By noontide the girl was more than ready for a rest.

 ‘Your time will be your own until after teatime,’ Mistress Lalia reminded her. ‘I take tea at half-past four, and am finished at half-past five. I expect you at my side as I take my last sip of the cup.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Pearl said, and though she maintained a serene expression she could not help feeling icy fingers walk down her spine at the curious wording. “Last sip of the cup” was more often used to refer to a hobbit’s death than the end of a meal. From the sharp glance the Mistress gave her, she understood this was another test. Very well then, she’d retain her composure; she smiled and added, ‘Will there be anything more, Mistress?’

 ‘Yes,’ Lalia said. ‘I expect you to appear before me this afternoon properly clad. The head seamstress measured you this morning; she ought to have something altered to fit, at least, when you’ve finished your nooning.’

Maintaining her smile, Pearl gave a graceful courtesy. ‘As you wish, Mistress,’ she said pleasantly.

 ‘Away with you, then,’ Lalia snapped in dismissal, and Pearl smoothly exited the study. Once outside, she brushed her fingers against the warm softness of her best dress, made with skill and love by her mother’s hands. No Smials finery would ever surpass its beauty in her eyes.

 ‘Have you worked up an appetite?’ Merry asked at her elbow, and she started. He apologised.

 ‘I didn’t hear you,’ she said.

 ‘Thinking of home?’ Merry asked as he took her arm and began to walk with her towards the Bucklanders’ quarters. ‘Ready to make your escape?’ When she laughed in reply, he added, ‘That’s better.’

 ‘What’s better?’

Merry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. ‘Pearlie, are you sure you want to do this? You had a face as long as a rainy day just now, coming out of that old vixen’s den.’

 ‘It is a rainy day,’ Pearl retorted lightly, and that was all Merry was able to get from her until they reached the Master’s suite.

 ‘Well, well,’ Saradoc said in greeting, taking her hand and drawing her in. ‘Noontide is just on.’ He escorted her to the table, sat her down, and dismissed the servants who accepted their orders with blank faces but shook their heads at the Bucklanders after the door closed behind them. Was the heir to Buckland so ignorant of protocol as not to know he was supposed to be served? With no servants in the room, how was the food to get from platter to plate? They would be even more scandalised upon their return to find the plates scraped and neatly stacked awaiting collection.

Dismissing the servants did make talking easier. The Brandybucks asked questions and listened, made comments and laughed, offered advice and listened still more as the meal continued. Finally, replete and talked out, Esmeralda rose. ‘Come child,’ she said. ‘Though it would be more proper to lie down after that fine meal, to give the food a chance to do its work, I believe you are ordered to the seamstress. I’ll come along, if I may.’

 ‘Thank you, Aunt,’ Pearl answered. Saradoc and Merry had risen as the ladies did, and now both bowed politely.

 ‘We shall take our leave,’ the heir to Buckland said. ‘ ‘Tis a lovely day for a ride, you know, with this gentle misting rain. See you at teatime?’

 ‘Or slightly before,’ Esmeralda said. ‘I had hoped to ask Rosemary to take tea with us, but she will not leave her brother’s side.’

Pearl started. In her busyness she had forgotten Rosemary and Ferdibrand, and tears of self-recrimination came to her eyes. ‘O Aunt!’ she said, her hand tightening on Esmeralda’s arm.

 ‘You’ve had no time before this moment to think of them,’ her aunt soothed.

Merry patted Pearl’s arm awkwardly. ‘We’ll go together, cousin, as soon as Father and I return from our ride,’ he said. Unlike Pearl, he had not forgotten Ferdibrand; he had merely been putting off seeing him. Now the teen forced a smile. ‘Perhaps we can take tea with Rose and Ferdi this day, instead of insisting they come to us.’

 ‘There’s a thought,’ Saradoc said after a momentary hesitation. From all accounts Ferdi had lost his wits. Merry had never encountered such a thing before, the Brandybucks being much more solid and steady than the Tooks. Ah, well, he’d have to face the loss of his friend; there’d be no more racing their ponies across the fields, daring each other to jump without a saddle, wrestling in the mud of Paladin’s barnyard, competing to see who could eat more of Pimpernel’s sweet biscuits… It was better not to put this off, to allow Merry to begin to grieve his friend and eventually to heal.

The head seamstress (“Coriander, Mum, but folk just call me Cori!”) did indeed have an altered dress ready for Pearl. Esmeralda waited while her niece put it on, insisting that some lace be pinned at the neck for appropriate modesty. Pearl’s aunt conspired with the seamstress to insure Pearl’s clothing would be acceptable to the Mistress while still not so fashionable as to embarrass the girl or her family. ‘Her father, Paladin, is a good hobbit, very conservative you know,’ Esmeralda said. ‘He doesn’t hold much with fashions meant for showing off a girl’s figure. He’d rather she knew how to work hard and use her head than show herself off as if she were some sort of prize pony.’

 ‘He sounds quite sensible,’ the seamstress said approvingly. ‘You wouldn’t know the demands these Smials Tooks impose on me and my needleworkers, m’lady, and all in the name of fashion! Frills and feathers and furbelows until it’s a wonder they can walk without falling on their faces. I’ll take good care of the young lady, don’t you worry!’

 ‘I’m sure you will,’ Esmeralda said, for it was clear the two older hobbits understood one another well.

When Esmeralda and Pearl re-entered the suite, Merry and Saradoc had returned from their ride and changed into dry clothing and were just having a warming mug of hot spiced cider. ‘Lovely day for a ride, my dear!’ Saradoc said, kissing his wife’s cheek, and then he dipped up two more mugs of cider from the little kettle over the fire. He surveyed Pearl’s new gown as she sipped and wondered if she had time yet for a walk, and how this elegant dress would fare in the misty rain, even covered by a cloak. Her homespun wool was much more practical.

‘Quite elegant, child,’ her uncle said at last. ‘I particularly like the effect of the lace at the throat.’

 ‘Essential,’ Esmeralda said. ‘The new gowns will not be quite so low-cut, I’ve been assured.’

 ‘I liked the green dress better,’ Merry said softly, and Pearl gave him a grateful smile. She’d laid it gently in a box provided by the seamstress, tucking tissue into the folds, and Cori had put it away in the clothing storage that was protected from moths, to await Pearl’s homegoing.

Chapter 8. Bittersweet Reunion

 ‘When must you return to the Mistress?’ Saradoc asked, sipping at a warming mug of hot spiced cider. The rain had stopped while they were riding, the sun had come out, but not before they’d been soaked to the skin. Warmed by bath and dry clothes, the steaming cider was the finishing touch.

 ‘Just before half past five,’ Pearl answered. ‘Or five, to be on the safe side.’

 ‘She’ll appreciate your dedication to duty, though she will not say so,’ Esmeralda said. ‘Lalia has a good heart, but she covers it with shrewdness and bad temper. If she snaps at you, remember, dear, that she is old, and fat, and confined to a chair.’

 ‘I’ll remember,’ Pearl promised, finishing her own cider and shaking her head when Merry would have poured more into her mug. ‘I’d really like to see Rosie and Ferdi before going back to the Mistress,’ she added.

 ‘Then let us go,’ Saradoc said, putting down his half-empty mug and rising. ‘Meriadoc? Will you accompany us?’

Perhaps it was her imagination, but Pearl thought she saw Merry hesitate slightly before nodding and saying, ‘Of course I will. I ought to have seen Ferdi first thing! I only hope he doesn’t take offence at my dereliction.’

 ‘We’ll make it a party,’ Esmeralda said, taking Pearl’s hand. They followed Saradoc to a part of the Great Smials not often visited by outsiders, where the invalids reside, seldom seen by anyone but family. The heir to Buckland led them to a sun-soaked sitting-room, large and pleasant, filled with shabby but comfortable furnishings, better cared-for than some of the more public rooms Pearl had seen. There was no dust on the tables and shelves, the floor was swept and scrubbed clean, and the air was fresh, without the mustiness she’d noticed in the Thain’s study.

A pleasant-faced hobbit matron came to greet them in a low voice, introducing herself as Bittersweet. ‘It’s naptime at the moment,’ she said. ‘Most everyone’s asleep.’

 ‘Is Rosemary about?’ Saradoc said. ‘We came to see her brother Ferdi, and their father, if possible.’

 ‘Ferdinand is much too ill,’ Bittersweet said sadly. ‘He’s asked to have no visitors, and it’s probably just as well.’

 ‘Has he...’ Saradoc hesitated. ‘Has he turned his face to the wall?’ he forced himself to say. Had Ferdinand given up the fight, refusing food and drink, waiting for death to claim him?

 ‘No,’ Bittersweet answered. ‘I think he stays for the sake of his son. He’s hoping that young Ferdi will yet come to his senses.’ From her tone she evidently thought it unlikely. ‘I’ll go tell Rosemary you’re here.’ She left, and within a few moments Rosemary herself entered the sitting-room.

 ‘Rosie,’ Saradoc said, rising from his chair to cross the room. He took her hand and looked searchingly into her face. Gone was the laughing young tween who’d danced one warm day last summer with Paladin’s daughters in the babbling brook that ran through the farm, while Merry and Ferdi chased young Pip through the shallows. She’d grown pale and thin, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, though her smile was as sweet.

Esmeralda rose too, coming swiftly to take the girl in a fierce embrace. ‘Rosemary,’ she said softly. ‘Child. I don’t know what to say.’

 ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Rosemary whispered.

Merry stood awkwardly by until his parents had finished greeting the girl, then said, ‘Hullo, Rosie.’

 ‘Merry,’ she answered. ‘It was good of you to come. I’ll tell Ferdi you came to ask after him.’

 ‘But—’ Saradoc protested. ‘May we not see him?’

 ‘O,’ Rosemary said, ‘I think—that wouldn’t be a good idea, for you to grieve yourselves so. Please,’ she said. ‘It’s better this way.’

 ‘I think—’ Saradoc said in the same vein, ‘that you carry too heavy a burden, child. I would like to give my regards to your brother.’

 ‘He doesn’t see or hear you,’ Rosemary whispered, tears coming to her eyes. ‘ ‘Twill only grieve you. Please,’ she said. ‘Leave us be.’

 ‘You don’t understand,’ Esmeralda said gently. ‘I’ve seen this before, in my own family.’ Merry looked wide-eyed at his mother. Could she mean the oldest of her sisters, who’d died before Merry was born, whose name was seldom mentioned when Paladin and Esmeralda began to reminisce about old times on the farm? He exchanged glances with Pearl, who also had dawning realisation writ large upon her face.

Rosemary wavered, and Esmeralda added softly, ‘Do not carry this burden alone, cousin.’

 ‘O cousin Allie,’ Rosemary said. ‘You do know?’

 ‘Indeed I do,’ Esmeralda said firmly, folding Rosemary against her side, under her comforting arm. ‘Come now,’ she added. ‘Waiting only makes it worse. Ferdi’s probably wondering where you’ve got to.’

 ‘He’s not wondering anything at all,’ Rosemary said sadly, but Esmeralda shook her head.

 ‘You don’t know that,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Don’t you give him up, not until the last drop is poured out of the cup.’ Together they walked from the sitting room, down a short inner corridor with doors opening on the left, all windowed rooms bright with sunshine. Saradoc offered his arm to Pearl and they followed, Merry bringing up the rear.

At last they came to Ferdi’s room. Entering, they saw the teen sitting in a chair that faced the windows. The recent rain sparkled on the brilliant greensward outside the window, and brightly cascading geraniums rioted in the window-box outside. It was a pleasant view, for any who cared to see. Bittersweet sat by Ferdi’s side, holding his hand and singing softly. She looked up at their entrance, breaking off to say cheerfully, ‘Here, now, young Ferdi. Your sister’s come back, and someone else is here to see you.’

Ferdi did not acknowledge their entrance or her words, staring blankly before him. Rosemary ducked out from under Esmeralda’s arm to move quickly to her brother’s side, taking up his other hand. ‘I’m here, Ferdi,’ she said. ‘Look who’s come! Merry Brandybuck and his parents, and your cousin Pearl.’

Pearl moved to Rosemary’s side and crouched to look directly into Ferdi’s unseeing eyes. ‘Hullo, cousin,’ she said softly. ‘Nell wanted me to give you her warmest regards.’ When Ferdi did not respond to the name, Pearl felt a pang. He’d followed Nell around the farm like a faithful dog the last few summers, sometimes pestering the life out of her with his practical jokes, other times presenting her with armfuls of wildflowers or making up songs or playing pranks just to make her laugh and bring out the pink in her cheeks. Pearl had been sure that Ferdi and Nell would marry some day; it was only a matter of time. But now...

Saradoc nudged Merry forward, and he stumbled on the smooth floor, feeling a growing sense of unreality. This was not Ferdi, his lively friend who was always singing or laughing or telling stories, whose hands were never still but always busy about some task or gesturing eloquently to illustrate a point. This was a shell, or a carving, or perhaps a corpse... Merry couldn’t even see him breathe. He opened his mouth, but his greeting died on his lips.

 ‘Meriadoc,’ his father said sternly, but Merry shook his head.

 ‘No,’ he whispered, then tears blinded him and he turned to stumble from the room.

 ‘Let him go,’ Esmeralda said.

 ‘He doesn’t understand,’ Saradoc protested.

 ‘He understands all too well,’ his wife countered. She crossed to Ferdi, laying a hand on the lad’s shoulder. ‘Hullo, Ferdi,’ she said quietly. ‘I hope you can hear me. Merry wanted to greet you, you know, but he could not bear to see you this way.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rosemary swallow hard, blink back tears, and renew her determined smile. ‘Ferdi,’ she said softly. ‘Come back to us, lad. Do not leave your sister alone in the world. She needs you.’

There was no sign that he heard her, but Esmeralda patted his shoulder and smiled. ‘There’s a lad,’ she said. ‘You think it over. I’ll come back to see you on the morrow.’ She smiled at Rosemary. ‘You take good care of him,’ she said.

 ‘I will,’ Rosemary answered, lifting her chin. Pearl took her free hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. She didn’t trust her voice, to say any more at the moment.

 ‘You take care of yourself as well,’ Esmeralda said. ‘Don’t get so busy feeding your brother that you forget to eat. He’ll never forgive himself if you neglect your own needs.’ Rosemary nodded, then taking a tighter grip on Ferdi’s hand, she began to sing.

Bittersweet rose from her chair and ushered Pearl and the Brandybucks out, back to the pleasant sitting-room. Merry was nowhere to be seen.

 ‘How long?’ Saradoc said.

 ‘He’s been like this ever since they brought him here; that’s when I first saw him,’ Bittersweet answered. ‘I’m told that he was in this state from the time they pulled him from the Water. At first they thought it was shock, but he never came out of it.’

 ‘No,’ Saradoc said. ‘I meant, how much longer?’

Bittersweet shook her head. ‘I’ve known only one case like it in my lifetime of healing,’ she said. ‘I’ve read of others, of course.’ She looked to Esmeralda. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but your own sister...’

 ‘Yes,’ Esmeralda said. ‘My own sister.’ She didn’t need to say any more.

  ‘When will he come out of it?’ Saradoc asked.

Bittersweet smiled sadly at him. ‘I suppose there’s always hope,’ she said, though her tone belied her words. ‘As long as there’s breath, there’s life, they say. But the usual thing, in such cases...’

 ‘What?’ Saradoc asked when she didn’t finish.

Bittersweet took a deep breath. One didn’t have to mince words with the heir to Buckland. ‘He’ll last a month, perhaps two, just as long as we’re able to keep him eating. The day will come, however, when we’ll put food in his mouth, and he’ll have forgotten how to swallow. The end will come quickly, after that.’ Pearl stifled a sob. Poor Ferdi, poor Rosemary. Poor Nell.

Saradoc tried to deny her words, even as he saw the truth in his wife’s face. So had her sister ended. Finally, he said, ‘When the end comes, let us know. We’ll come and fetch Rosemary away.’

 ‘To Buckland?’ Bittersweet said. She didn’t like the sounds of that, taking the poor child off to the wilds, to live among those Brandybucks.

 ‘No,’ Esmeralda said, easily divining the thought. She was, after all, a Took herself. ‘No, Paladin Took has offered to take her in as if she were his own daughter.’

 ‘Ah,’ Bittersweet said, satisfied. ‘Good,’ she added. ‘I’m glad to hear it. She’s a sweet lass, and so dedicated to her brother, I’m sure she’ll be lost when he finally leaves her. It’s good she’ll have a family to take the place of the one that’s gone.’

Chapter 9. Day's End

Pearl returned to the Thain’s study to endure another close examination through the eye-glass, revolving slowly to show off the lines of the altered gown. Esmeralda accompanied her niece, just in case she might be needed.

 ‘Hem’s even,’ the Mistress muttered. ‘Fits you well, but...’ Lalia frowned. ‘Stop!’ she ordered, and Pearl came to a stop, only to be examined minutely from head to foot. The eyeglass finally came to rest upon the profusion of lace at the top. ‘Hardly fashionable,’ Lalia said huffily. ‘Whatever does that seamstress think she’s about, spoiling the lines of the gown with all that lace?’

Pearl blushed, thinking how undressed she had felt before the lace had been added.

Esmeralda was ready to come to her niece’s defence when the Thain took his pipe from his mouth and spoke quietly from his comfortable chair by the fire. ‘On the contrary, Mother, I find the effect quite charming.’

 ‘Eh?’ Lalia said irritably. ‘What did you say?’

 ‘The lace calls attention to the girl’s face - such openness of expression! What a lovely complexion, as well... perhaps we ought to bring in more farm girls. They’d put the so-called beauties of the Smials to shame,’ Ferumbras said, leaning back, pipe in hand, to look Pearl up and down. ‘Indeed,’ he said reflectively. ‘I hope that all your gowns are lace-trimmed, my dear. Quite becoming, I assure you.’ His mother gave him a sharp glance, but he merely smiled and resumed his pipe.

 ‘It is the latest fashion at Brandy Hall,’ Esmeralda put in. Well, it would be, as soon as she returned to the Hall. ‘Are the Tooks behind the times? I had thought they liked to lead the way in fashionable dress.’

 ‘Certainly not!’ Lalia snapped. ‘Fashionable dress! Faugh! Foolishness!’

 ‘I beg your pardon, Mistress,’ Esmeralda said with an apologetic courtesy, at the same time giving Pearl the slightest of reassuring nods. No doubt concealing lace would be in great demand in the Smials within days.

 ‘Very well,’ Lalia said abruptly, slipping the eye-glass back into its case. ‘I’ve no time for frippery! There’s work to be done!’

Dismissed, Esmeralda gave another courtesy, squeezed Pearl’s hand, and took her leave.

From talk she’d heard before coming to the Great Smials, Pearl was prepared to endure all the evening and half the night. It was said amongst practical farmers that the great families kept impractical hours, staying up well past sunset and rising as late as dawn. In point of fact, the visiting Brandybucks had sought their beds upon Paladin’s first yawn of an evening—two or three hours after the farm Tooks’ usual bedtime, and probably more than two or three hours before the Brandybucks were accustomed to retire. When on the farm, one must do as the farmer after all. The Brandybucks left the farm after their week-long visit quite rested, indeed, from the early bedtime, whilst Paladin’s family enjoyed catching up on their sleep now that they could once again go to bed with the Sun.

It is true that the Mistress and Thain took their eventides later than Pearl was accustomed, but then tea had been later and heavier as well. Pearl was accustomed to supper between afternoon milking and sunset, followed by washing-up, and then bed. Teatime on the farm occurred halfway between noontide and supper and usually consisted of a few biscuits or at most a scone, but meals in the Great Smials were reversed: a substantial tea, a light eventide, and a late supper halfway between sunset and middle night, when sensible farm folk would already have been asleep.

Pearl found herself with little appetite for eventides, and weary in the bargain, but she sat at table with Mistress and Thain and did her best to attend to the conversation, determinedly stifling her yawns. She wondered what Mistress Lalia would say should her attendant be so clumsy as to fall asleep in her plate! Such a relief it was to hear the Mistress order the servants to clear away and then say, ‘I will require you first thing in the morning, Pearl, remember!’

 ‘Mistress?’ Pearl said stupidly, then realised she was being dismissed. She rose hastily from her chair with a bow of her head. ‘Thank you, Mistress, may you rest well.’

 ‘And you, girl,’ Lalia said with a sniff. ‘Off with you now.’ She waved a shooing hand and Pearl hastened to comply. Other servants would see to helping the Mistress get ready for bed as well as rise, wash and dress in the morning. Pearl’s duty for the day was finished.

 ‘I’ll walk you to your room,’ Ferumbras said, then looked to the Mistresss, ‘if you don’t need me for anything else, Mother.’

 ‘Of course I don’t need you,’ Lalia snapped. ‘I’m off to bed, and I suggest you take yourself off as well. Dawn comes early!’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Ferumbras said with a nod and a smile. ‘Come, lass,’ he added, offering an arm. Pearl took it, and he escorted her through the corridors, but not in the direction of the guest quarters. They stopped before a door and he tapped and waited. At Pearl’s questioning look, he said, ‘Your things have been moved to your own room.’ Ah, of course. The Brandybucks would leave in a few days, and it would not be seemly for Pearl to stay on in the quarters reserved for the Master of Buckland and his representatives.

The door was jerked open by a hobbit matron with a good-natured face. On seeing the Thain, she gathered her skirts and bobbed quickly and efficiently. ‘Good evening, Sir,’ she said. ‘Is this the new girl?’

 ‘Pearl, I’d like you to meet Mrs Sandytoes,’ Ferumbras said. The order of introduction was not lost on the matron; Pearl outranked her in Smials status.

Pearl held out a hand. ‘At your service,’ she said with a nod.

 ‘And your family’s,’ Mrs Sandytoes answered, taking the hand, noting that while it was well-kept, it was also a hand that knew how to work and work hard. She gave the fingers a firm squeeze and released Pearl’s hand. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she said to the Thain with another bob. ‘I’ll see she’s comfortable.’

 ‘I have every confidence, Mrs Sandytoes,’ Ferumbras said, adding to Pearl, 'Will you be joining the Brandybucks for late supper later?'

 'I..' Pearl said, when another yawn took her by surprise. The two older hobbits chuckled.

 'I will pass your regrets on to the Brandybucks,' Ferumbras said. 'I am sure they will understand.' He inclined his head to both ladies and took his leave.

 ‘Come, child,’ the matron said, taking Pearl’s arm to draw her into a pleasant sitting room with half a dozen doors opening onto it. ‘I’m in the far-left room,’ she said, ‘and you’ll be in the third from the left. I do hope you find all is to your satisfaction.’ She picked up a candle from the table and led Pearl to the third doorway.  The candle cast shadowy light upon a comfortable little room with bed—one bed, barely large enough for one hobbit! — and a dressing table with mirror, stand with pitcher and washbowl, and clothes-press. There were also pegs along one wall for hanging garments.

A lump came to Pearl’s throat when she saw her mother’s piece-work coverlet spread upon the bed. Her own comb and brush were laid out on the dressing table and several frocks she’d never seen before hung from pegs. ‘You’ll find your things nicely put away,’ Mrs Sandytoes said briskly. ‘Just as nice as you had them in the Bucklanders’ suite,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you’d hardly like to be removing from one room to another after a full day attending Herself.’

 ‘Thank you,’ Pearl murmured, ‘but...’

 ‘Yes, miss?’ the matron said.

 ‘Those dresses,’ Pearl said.

 ‘Ah, yes, hardly suitable, being made-over as they were, but you’ll have new-made ones just as soon as can be,’ Mrs Sandytoes said reassuringly.

 ‘But,’ Pearl said. She wasn’t sure how to frame her objection. Would it be insulting to say there were too many? On the farm she’d had three dresses, her “best” for special occasions, her work-a-day dress, and last year’s faded and well-worn work-a-day dress, to be worn on washdays. She blinked. There must be five dresses hanging there, in addition to the one she wore at present.

 ‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry,’ Mrs Sandytoes said. ‘It’s a paltry enough selection, but you’ve enough there to give you some variety. Mind you don’t wear the same dress two days in a row. The Mistress likes her attendants to be decorative as well as useful, and she doesn’t care to have the same view day in and day out.’

Pearl nodded. Folk here at the Smials must change their dresses the way Pearl changed aprons back home. Come to think of it, the only aprons she’d seen here in the Smials were on those serving food or performing other manual tasks. Pearl’s duties didn’t call for aprons. Those she’d brought must be packed away with her dresses.

 ‘Well, I’m sure you’re tired,’ Mrs Sandytoes said. ‘Chamber pot’s under the bed if you need it. Just blow out the candle when you’re ready for bed, and leave your door ajar when you retire. There’ll be a watch-lamp burning in the sitting room, of course, but you won’t need one in your room. Waste of good oil,’ she added, placing the candle on the dressing table.

 ‘Thank you,’ Pearl said.

 ‘Will you be needing anything else, miss?’ Mrs Sandytoes said. ‘I’ll just get to my mending whilst you settle in. The rest of the girls will be in later, when their chores are finished. You’ll meet them in the morning, I’m sure.’

 ‘Rest of the girls?’ Pearl echoed.

 ‘Of course! We do things proper here at the Smials,’ Mrs Sandytoes said. ‘Good night, now.’ She smiled, nodded, and closed the door, leaving Pearl alone in the candle-lit room.

Pearl remembered her aunt’s instruction on life in the great holes. As an unmarried lass away from her family, she’d be one of a group of chicks under the protection of a mother hen. Despite the homesick feeling that haunted her, she smiled at the thought. Mrs Sandytoes certainly reminded her of the speckled hen back home. Slowly she undressed, hanging her frock on an empty peg, pouring water from pitcher into basin, washing herself with the sweet-smelling soap and drying on the soft towel hanging by the washstand. She found her nightdress in the clothes-press and slipped into it. Sitting down at the dressing table, she brushed her hair. When finished, she opened the door a hand-span, blew out the candle, and slipped into bed.

She was asleep before she could weep more than a tear or two, missing home, and did not even hear the other girls come in.

Chapter 10. Driving a Bargain

Pearl awakened at her usual time, but instead of the snores of the Brandybucks she heard whispers and giggles. Pushing her door wider open, she saw four girls in nightdress sitting at the table, heads close together as they ate their early bread-and-butter. The lamp in the centre of the table had been turned up to its brightest, casting a warm glow over the breakfasters.

 ‘O!’ said one, startled, seeing Pearl peeping from her room. ‘Did we waken you? I’m that sorry, miss!’

 ‘No, you didn’t,’ Pearl said, emerging into the sitting room. ‘I was awake already.’

 ‘Another farm girl,’ a lass with dark curls spilling down her back giggled. ‘Welcome, cousin! There can never be enough of us sensible sort to balance out the daft Tooks of the Smials.’ She was hushed by the others.

The first girl rose from her chair, saying, ‘Come, join us! We’re just having a bite before dressing and going to our chores. I’m Daisy,’ she introduced herself as Pearl nodded and took an empty chair.

The second girl quickly filled a plate with fresh-baked scones, butter, and jam, while the third girl poured out a cup of tea. ‘I’m Primrose, but folk just call me Prim,’ the second said, ‘and that’s Violet, and her sister Pansy.’

 ‘And I am Pearl.’

 ‘Are ye of the north-Tooks, then?’ Pansy asked. ‘They have such names, Diamond and Ruby and Emerald...’

 ‘No, just a plain Took,’ Pearl said with a smile.

 ‘Have ye come to be a dairy-maid, then?’ Daisy asked.

 ‘No,’ Pearl said.

 ‘Ah, too bad,’ Violet sighed. ‘I thought for sure you’d come in place of Scallion, that was called back home on account of her mother having twins.’

 ‘Another pair of hands would be welcome,’ Pansy put in. ‘Are ye a kitchen maid? A baker, perhaps?’

 ‘Nay,’ Primrose said laughing, her mouth full of melting scone. ‘She’d’ve been in the kitchens hours agone, same’s the rest, cooking up first breakfast for the likes of us!’

 ‘The rest?’ Pearl asked.

Primrose nodded significantly towards the two doors on the far right. ‘Four of our lot work in the kitchen. They were probably asleep when you came in, and they undoubtedly rose not long after you went to bed! You’ll get to meet them later, I imagine, during a feast or wedding I suppose, for usually they’re asleep whilst we’re wakeful and the other way round.’ She eyed Pearl curiously. ‘So what are ye here for?’

 ‘I’ve come to attend the Mistress,’ Pearl said, and the other girls’ jaws dropped open.

 ‘That’s why you’ve got a room to yourself,’ Violet said slowly. ‘They took the second bed out yesterday.’ To her sister, she added, ‘I told you so! They won’t be putting another in.’

 ‘You poor dear,’ Primrose said. ‘I imagine you’ll need your rest, attending Herself. I wish we’d have more time to get to know you.’

 ‘I do have some free time,’ Pearl began.

 ‘That’s not what she meant,’ Violet said.

Her sister Pansy put in, ‘It’s just that attendants don’t seem to stay long. Either they don’t please Herself, or “something comes up” and they’re needed at home.’

 ‘I see,’ Pearl said.

 ‘I don’t think you do,’ Daisy said, ‘but that’s all right. We farm girls need to stick together like honey in the comb.’

 ‘Speaking of honey,’ Primrose said significantly, and with a laugh the girls proceeded with their meal. Before long, Mrs Sandytoes bustled in, lighting the candles in each room, freshening the water in the pitchers, cheerily urging the girls to finish their breakfast and get on with it, for they’d be keeping the poor cows waiting if they lingered any longer! The girls complied, washing down the last of their scones with strong tea and jumping up to return to their rooms to dress.

Mrs Sandytoes was helping Pearl with the fastenings on her gown when a knock came at the door. ‘Yes?’ the matron called.

Daisy stuck her head in. ‘Would you like me to do up your hair, Pearl?’ she asked. ‘Prim and I are done already.’

 ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you,’ Pearl said, and Daisy advanced into the room, taking up the brush and quickly setting to work.

 ‘There now, that’s the last,’ Mrs Sandytoes said with a nod. ‘You must have had a job of it, undoing your gown yourself last night. You can count on me to help you when you retire, lass! These gentrified clothes almost need a maid’s help for putting on and putting off again.’ She patted Pearl’s shoulder, settled the lace that the seamstress had added at the neck, and excused herself.

Daisy braided and pinned up Pearl’s hair, and for a homesick moment it was almost as if she and Nell were preparing for the day, though the laughing eyes that met hers in the mirror were deep brown instead of changeable hazel. ‘There!’ she said when finished. ‘You could almost be a fine lady!’

 ‘Almost?’ Pearl asked, bemused.

Daisy laughed. ‘You haven’t spoilt your complexion with late nights and rich food like too many of the Smials Tooks,’ she said candidly. ‘You watch out, Pearlie-girl! They’ll be jealous of you, they will, and if any of the gentlehobbits pay you too much heed those high-and-mighty lasses might try to hurt your feelings with their snooty ways.’

 ‘They may try to climb that hill,’ Pearl said, ‘but I doubt they’ll find purchase. They’ll just muddy themselves if they try.’ She thought of her own aunt, one of her father’s older sisters, who’d married a Smials Took and had yet to greet her niece, who was a mere “farm girl”, after all.

 ‘Good for you!’ Daisy said approvingly, but Prim was calling ‘It’s nearly four! Hurry, girls!’ Within moments the whirlwind of dairy-maids had spun out the door, and the sitting-room was still.

 ‘Come, Pearl, sit down and have another cup of tea,’ Mrs Sandytoes said, pouring out for them both. ‘You have a couple of hours before the dawn. Tell me about the farm, and your family.’ They spent a pleasant time until it was time for Pearl to attend the Mistress.

***

The morning passed uneventfully with breakfast and business and Lalia’s “taking the air”. Upon her return to the Thain’s study, two hobbits were awaiting her, rising hastily to their feet as the Mistress was wheeled through the door.

 ‘The woodcarvers you requested, Mistress,’ Adelard said. ‘Gundavar Bolger, and his eldest son Halabar.’ The two bowed deeply, the father coming upright to meet the Mistress’ gaze whilst the son kept his eyes fixed upon the ground.

 ‘Ah,’ Lalia said briskly. ‘I’ve heard much of your work,’ she said.  ‘Has the steward told you of my desire?’

 ‘Only that you had a job of carving, Mistress,’ Gundavar said respectfully.

 ‘Yes,’ Mistress Lalia said. ‘You know the great room.’

 ‘Yes, Mistress, we breakfasted there this morning,’ came the answer.

 ‘You saw the hearth there, and the mantel. It is just plain wood, polished nicely, but dreadfully plain.’

 ‘Yes’m.’ He’d seen the mantel—a great beam hewn from the heart of a sturdy tree, good, honest wood without flaw, resting on uprights similarly unadorned, but sturdy, the wood beautiful in itself.

With an expansive gesture, Lalia took in the smaller mantel in the Thain’s study. ‘I want it carved. Like that.’

Gundavar nodded, looked to the mantel. ‘With your permission, Mistress?’ he said. At Lalia’s nod, he went to the mantel, ran his hands over the intricate carvings, caressed the smooth, shining top, called his son over for a murmured consultation. At last he straightened and faced the Mistress. ‘This was a master’s work,’ he said.

 ‘You cannot do it?’ Lalia snapped.

 ‘I did not say that, Mistress. Of course it can be done. When did you want it?’

 ‘I want the mantel to be finished by Last Day, that all who come to celebrate Yule shall see the proper setting for the Yule log.’

 ‘Yule,’ Gundavar echoed, as Halabar sucked in his breath.

 ‘Are you going to tell me it’s not possible?’ Lalia said unpleasantly. ‘I was told you are the finest carver in the land!’

 ‘Be that as it may, Mistress,’ Gundavar said with a nod, ‘this is mid-October, and you want this done by Year’s End! Even with the two of us carving...’

 ‘The two of you? You trust your son to take on such an important commission?’ Halabar did not raise his eyes at Lalia’s tone, though he flushed at her disdain.

 ‘My son does all the fine carving, the detail work,’ Gundavar said evenly. ‘I rough out the shapes, he finishes the work.’ He picked up a pipe rack of intricate design that rested on the Thain’s desk. ‘This is his work, as I’m sure you were informed.’

 ‘I was told it came from the shop of Gundy Woodcarver,’ Mistress Lalia said.

 ‘From my shop, certainly, but from the hands of Hally Woodcarver,’ Gundavar said, glancing at his son with a slight smile. ‘I carve, that I do, but he has the gift—he makes the wood sing.’

 ‘Yet even with the two of you carving, it cannot be done before Year’s End?’ the steward asked. This was yet another of Lalia’s whims, and she’d make everyone pay if she did not get her way. Why couldn’t she have had this idea a few months ago, giving enough time to complete the project?

 ‘I did not say that,’ Gundavar answered. ‘But we would have to drop all our other business, work already promised, not to mention spending every waking moment at the task.’

 ‘What will you ask, to take it on?’ Lalia said, leaning forward eagerly, hearing the possibility of getting her wish. ‘I will pay you well.’

Gundavar looked over at his son, and Halabar met his father’s eyes. They had discussed this very thing on the long trip from Woody End.

 ‘We are your tenants,’ the father said at last. ‘You allow us to live on your land, to cut some of your trees each year, to ply our trade, in return for a share of our work. But this...’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What you ask is more than a share. You ask all our time for the next two-and-a-half months. I have business, I have animals to tend, a family...’ He shook his head. ‘And I am not even sure that the task can be completed in the short time you’ve allowed.’

 ‘What if...’ Lalia said slowly. ‘What if I were to grant you the land, give it to you free and clear... providing, of course, that the work is complete by the time the Yule Log is lit and the celebration begins.’

A look passed between the woodcarvers, and the father turned to the Mistress. ‘Two parcels,’ he said. ‘Two holdings, mine that I have rented from the Thain and that my father rented from the Thain before me, and the adjoining land for my son. He is ready to start a family of his own, and deserves his own holding.’ When Lalia did not answer, he added, ‘The work cannot be completed without his hand.’

 ‘You drive a hard bargain,’ Lalia said with grudging respect. She knew very well that the two standing before her had a reputation throughout the Shire of being the finest woodcarvers to be found in all four Farthings. ‘Very well. If the work is complete by the time the Yule Log is lit, you will have both parcels of land. If, however, the work is not complete on time, you will agree to stay until it is complete, and you will receive no pay for your work, though I will not be so cruel as to turn you off the land. You may continue to tenant there so long as you continue to pay.’

Startled, the steward looked at the Mistress, realising that this had been her plan all along. She intended to have her fancy carven mantel in the great room, and she intended to have it without cost to herself. Shrewd was Mistress Lalia, shrewd and calculating, hard and cold. Surely the woodcarvers would see that this was no bargain.

But no. Gundavar Bolger was nodding. ‘A hard bargain,’ he said. ‘We shall take the commission.’ He looked to his son again. ‘Come, Hally,’ he said. ‘ ‘Tis a good thing we brought our tools with us when we came. Let us get started.’

 Chapter 11. In Remembrance

The second of November is the most solemn of hobbit holidays. When the harvest has been gathered in and the days grow ever shorter, when the weather turns chill and the year is running out, but the promise of a new year is yet afar off, thoughts turn to loved ones lost. In the morning hobbit families go out with wreaths braided from the last of the roses and other flowers of late autumn. They lay these tokens of love upon the graves of those gone in previous years.

During the nooning, favourite foods are served and stories told of days gone by, and then the afternoon is spent in the carving of boats. Boats and hobbits... an unlikely combination, but it is tradition amongst the hobbits of the Shire to carve a boat on the second of November if a loved one has died since the previous Remembering Day. The little boat is decorated with love and tears, and a candle is fixed within. At setting of the Sun, those who remember stand upon the banks of the stream or river nearest their dwellings, light the candle, say the name of the departed, and set their small boat on the water, to be carried to the Sea.

At teatime on this second of November, Rosemary was holding a cup to Ferdibrand’s lips, talking quietly as she waited for him to swallow.

 ‘Ferdi?’ she said. ‘Come now, brother, I’ve fixed the tea just as you like it, and there is lovely apple crumble as well. Come, Ferdi.’

Watching silently from the doorway, Bittersweet sadly shook her head. The lad had stopped eating the previous day, though his sister would not accept the fact, and  continued to try to coax food into him. Now she interrupted the patient pleading. ‘Visitors for you, Rosie-lass.’

Looking up the girl saw two hobbits standing behind Bittersweet. The older one, who held a cloth-wrapped bundle, stepped forward, saying, ‘Begging your pardon, Miss, but we heard about the trouble...’

 ‘Yes,’ Rosemary said quietly. ‘Thank you.’

 ‘I’m sure you don’t remember us, but your family’s coach broke down on the road to Stock one day and...’

 ‘You’re the woodcarver who helped us,’ Rosemary said slowly. ‘You and your sons. Of course I remember; you were very kind.’

The younger hobbit blushed and kept his eyes fixed firmly on his toes.

 ‘Anyone else would’ve done the same, Miss,’ the older hobbit said earnestly. He walked into the room, stopping before Ferdibrand. ‘Young master, I’m grieved to see you brought so low.’ Gently, he laid the bundle in Ferdi’s lap.

 ‘What is it?’ Rosemary said. The woodcarver carefully unwrapped the cloth from an exquisitely carved little boat, decorated with twining vines and flowers, “Stelliana” carefully etched into one side, "Ferdibrand" into the other. Rosemary gasped.

 ‘I knew your father and brother would not be up to remembering your mother and uncle proper-like,’ Gundy Woodcarver said. ‘We took the liberty... I hope you won’t take no offence, for none was intended.’

 ‘It’s... beautiful,’ Rosemary breathed, fighting back the tears.

 ‘I hope we got the letters right,’ Hally put in bashfully. ‘We had someone write out the names for us.’

 ‘You made this together?’ Rosemary asked.

 ‘I do the shaping, and Hally here adds the details,’ Gundy said proudly. He touched a delicate blossom. ‘The forget-me-nots, they were blooming that day your coach broke down, and I remember your mum saying they were her favourite flowers.’

Rosemary nodded, and took Ferdi’s hand from his lap, gently grasping the pointer finger, helping him trace the letters of the names. ‘Look, Ferdi,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you were fretting over not being able to carve a boat yourself, but now you won’t have to.’

 ‘Would you like us to walk your brother to the riverbank, Miss?’ Gundy said now. ‘Healer Bittersweet said he’ll walk if someone guides him along.’

Rosemary looked to the healer, who nodded. ‘It might do him good, Rosie. You never know.’

Looking back to the woodcarver, Rosemary said simply, ‘Thank you.’

 ‘Come then, Hally,’ Gundy said rising to stand on one side of Ferdi. His son stepped to the other side, and both took Ferdi’s arms. ‘Up we come,’ Gundy said encouragingly. Rosemary hastily took up the boat as her brother stood in response to their lifting. Ferdi’s expression did not change; he still stared blankly before him, but he walked between the woodcarvers as they slowly made their way to the corridor and out of the Smials.

The Sun was sinking slowly, lighting the clouds with gold that mellowed to deepening rose and purple as they approached the bank of the Tuckbourn. As the last light faded from the sky, Adelard the steward stepped forward to light the torch that Thain Ferumbras held. The hobbits of Tuckborough were silent as the Thain lifted the torch high and spoke. 'We gather together for remembering, as is our custom on this day. We remember those who have been lost to us since the last time we gathered so. We are here to celebrate their lives, their memory, our love which can never be lost, and the hope we share.'

One by one, families stepped forward to light the wick of a candle-boat, each one in the family touching the boat. All would say the beloved’s name together, and then one would set the boat afloat.

Taking a deep breath, Rosemary stepped forward. Gundy and Hally guided Ferdi to stand beside her.

 ‘Rosemary,’ Thain Ferumbras said gently. ‘I’m sure your father would be here with us were he able.’

 ‘He would be,’ Rosemary said firmly, though she was not as sure. Ferdinand had not spoken his wife’s name since the fire. Turning to her brother, she said, ‘Ferdi? Are you ready?’ Gundy lifted Ferdi’s hands to help Rosemary support the little boat, and then he and Rosemary guided the boat towards the torch.

Ferdi stiffened and tried to pull his hands from the woodcarver’s grasp. Rosemary grabbed at the little boat to keep it from falling. ‘Ferdi?’ she breathed.

 ‘No,’ her brother whispered, the blank look turning to one of horror. ‘No,’ he said again, louder, and then he shouted the word. ‘No!’

 ‘Ferdi,’ Adelard said, taking the teen’s arm, but Ferdibrand jerked away, still shouting, ‘No!’

 ‘Come now, lad, you’re disrupting the ceremony,’ Adelard said reasonably, taking the arm again. He was frozen by the lad’s next words.

 ‘No! Don’t set me afire! Don’t throw me into the stream! Don’t! Don’t! Please!’

 ‘Get him away,’ Ferumbras said urgently, holding the torch as far from Ferdibrand as he could.

The head of escort stepped up, nodding to Gundy and Hally. ‘Take him,’ he said, even as Adelard gestured to his son Reginard.

It took the four of them, Gundy, Hally, Isumbold and Reginard, to pull the shouting, struggling teen back to the Smials. When Rosemary would have followed the Thain stopped her.

 ‘Wait,’ he said, and when she turned to him, he added. ‘Honour your mother.’

Rosemary took a shaky breath, nodded, lifted the little boat to the torch and set the wick of the candle alight. She held the boat in silence for a moment, thinking of all that had been lost, then said clearly, ‘Stelliana.’ She took a deep breath, remembering her laughing uncle, and whispered his name. Bending swiftly to the water, she released the boat to the current, then rose and walked quickly away without waiting to watch the boat join the rest on their way to the Sea.

When she reached her brother’s room, she found Ferdibrand once more in his chair, bound to it this time, though he did not strain against the bonds.

 ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Why?’

Isumbold looked sheepish. ‘He fought us, miss, so much so that we feared he’d harm himself. He’s calmer now.’

Calmer, yes, though Ferdi was still breathing raggedly and his face was streaked with tears. Rosemary bent to take his face between her hands. ‘Ferdi?’ she said softly. ‘Do you hear me?’

 ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t.’

 ‘Where’s Bittersweet?’ Rosemary asked, not taking her eyes from her brother’s face.

 ‘She went to brew something soothing,’ Gundy said. ‘She was hopeful that the lad might have remembered how to swallow, seeing as how he’s remembered how to talk.’ He shuffled his feet, adding awkwardly, ‘I’m that sorry, Miss. I never thought... I mean, of course he’s grieving terribly...’

 ‘He’s not grieved,’ Rosemary said fiercely. ‘He’s afraid! He saw the flames claim our uncle and our father, and then our mother tried to drown him! Fainting with fever and shock, he was, and she pushed him into the Water, screaming that she must keep him safe from the flames.’

 ‘That’s not the story...’ Gundy said in confusion.

 ‘No of course it’s not!’ Rosemary raged. ‘What mother would drown her own child? She tried to drag me into the Water as well, and when I wouldn’t be dragged she threw herself in! How could she? How could she?’ For the first time since the fire, sobs shook the girl and all the tears she’d held back burst forth as if an earthen dam had failed, releasing a flood. She buried her face in her brother’s lap and wept bitterly as the four hobbits stood by, helpless.

 ‘What’s all this now?’ Bittersweet said, entering with a covered cup. ‘Rosemary, you’ll make yourself ill, child.’ Raising her voice, she called, ‘Viola!’ She handed the cup to Isumbold, placed a hand on Rosemary’s shoulder, and shouted again, 'Viola!’

 ‘Coming!’ a cheery voice called from the corridor, and soon a plump and pleasant hobbit lass bustled in.

 ‘Take Rosemary to the parlour and fix her a cup of tea,’ Bittersweet said.

Viola bent to the girl, urging her up. ‘Come lass,’ she said, ‘healer’s orders. Come with me now.’ Hands covering her face, Rosemary allowed Viola to lead her from the room.

 ‘Well now,’ Bittersweet said briskly, taking the cup again from Isumbold. ‘I have here a nice, hot cup of tea, young Ferdi, and I want you to drink every drop. You’ll do that, won’t you, lad?’ Placing the cup against the teen’s lips, she held her breath. Ferdi swallowed. Bittersweet felt like cheering, but contained herself, saying only, ‘There’s a lad.’

Isumbold cleared his throat, causing the others to look at him. ‘Young Ferdi was light-headed from fever, you know,’ he said firmly. ‘He went to the stream to fill buckets, to help in fighting the fire, and lost his balance. When his mother saw him fall, she panicked and reached for him to pull him out. The bank was slippery with mud and she fell in as well. Ferdi was pulled from the Water in time to save his life, but they were too late to save poor Stelliana.’

 ‘Why are you going over the sad story again?’ Bittersweet asked. ‘Surely they’ve heard all the talk there is to hear.’

 ‘Yes, missus, that’s just how we heard it,’ Gundy said slowly, meeting Isumbold’s eyes, then turning to his son. ‘It’s a sad story.’

 ‘Sad indeed,’ Hally agreed.

 ‘Good lad!’ Bittersweet said, well-pleased as Ferdibrand drained the cup. ‘I don’t think we need the bindings anymore, do you? I think we’ll be able to pop him into bed for a restful, healing sleep. Would you hobbits give me a hand?’

When Viola escorted Rosemary back from her restorative cup of tea, Ferdi was already in bed and to all appearances peacefully asleep, and the four hobbits who’d dragged him screaming from the bank of the stream were gone.

Bittersweet looked up from where she sat beside Ferdi’s bed. ‘Shhhh,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you take yourself off to your own bed, Rosie-lass? You look about done in. I’ll watch with your brother this night.’

 ‘That’s a right fine idea,’ Viola agreed, taking Rosemary’s arm in a firm grip. ‘Come, lass. I’ll see you’re tucked in and comfortable.’

Chapter 12. Fruitcake

Rosemary sat quietly by the side of her brother’s bed, watching him sleep. She’d wakened early, refreshed, somehow relieved of the heavy weight she’d staggered under since the day of the fire.

She had been brave and strong—o! so strong; the Bolgers and Tooks had been effusive in their praise, though oddly enough she remembered very little of the fire and its aftermath. Her first clear memory was of sitting by Ferdi’s side, holding her brother’s hand, while Thain Ferumbras gently explained why it would be better if she did not see her father at this time. She remembered scraps of discussion between Uncle Odovacar, Paladin and the Thain, and then somehow she’d found herself here at the Smials, in the infirmary with Ferdi, with no recollection of how they’d come from home to here.

Ferdi stirred and Rosemary stiffened. Heretofore he’d opened his eyes from sleep and stared blankly before him, unresponsive to anything she or anyone else said. After last night she didn’t know what to hope for...

 ‘Ferdi?’ she said gently. Her brother’s eyes opened, but instead of the vacant stare of days past he sought her face. ‘Ferdi!’ she sobbed, and her tears spilled over, tears of relief.

Her brother sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and he lifted a hand to her face, gently wiping the tears away, before reaching to take her in an embrace. The two clung to each other as Rosemary wept, until she pushed herself away to look into his face. ‘Ferdi, it is so good to see you,’ she said.

He smiled faintly but did not answer.

 ‘Well now,’ Bittersweet said cheerily from the door. ‘I thought you’d be wakening about now, young Ferdi. I brought you and your sister a bite of breakfast.’ The healer bustled in, setting down the tray she bore, dealing out plates and cutlery on the little table and lifting lids from the serving platters to reveal a steaming breakfast of fluffy eggs with bacon, potatoes, cheese and onion stirred in, warm fruit compote topped with soured cream, and generously buttered toast. ‘There,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘Looks good enough to eat.’

The healer turned from the table to the bed. ‘Come young Ferdi, let’s get you up before your breakfast turns cold.’ He shook off her hand and tried to rise, seeming surprised when his legs buckled under him. ‘Steady, lad,’ Bittersweet said, taking his arm once more. ‘You’ve been ill.’ She nodded to Rosemary, who took her brother’s other arm, and they walked him to the little table.

Bittersweet sat down with the young Tooks, digging into a plate of her own, conversing with Rosemary while covertly observing Ferdibrand. She was glad to see him plying his own fork, eating several helpings of the good, strengthening food, washing it down with cups of tea. When he pushed himself back, he’d not quite eaten as much as a teen ought, but it was a far cry from placing food in his mouth and waiting to see if he’d swallow.

 ‘Well now,’ Bittersweet said pleasantly, clearing her own plate. ‘That was what I call a breakfast!’ She eyed the youth, who’d listened quietly to the conversation but had not contributed a word of his own. ‘Would ye like any more, young Ferdi?’ He smiled and shook his head.

 ‘I suppose that’ll hold you until second breakfast,’ the healer said, looking up to see two of her assistants hovering in the doorway. ‘Now how about a nice warm bath? I do believe there’s one with your name on it just been poured out.’

One he was bathed and freshly dressed, Ferdi looked much as he had, Rosemary thought, save he was thinner than a teen ought to be, and he had not spoken a word since awakening. Bittersweet returned from an errand, saying, ‘There’s much too much to be done around here to allow idle hands. Come with me, the two of you. There’s work waiting.’ She took Ferdi’s arm as if he were escorting her instead of the other way around and walked him out of the little room. Rosemary hurried to take her brother’s other arm.

 ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

 ‘To the great room,’ Bittersweet answered. ‘The cooks have put all hands to work, for it’s time to make the fruitcakes for Yule if they’re to age properly steeped in Brandy Hall’s finest.’

The great room was chilly, for no fire was lit on the enormous hearth where the woodcarvers worked. Small covered braziers were scattered through the room, giving off heat, and kitchen workers periodically renewed the coals within, but Rosemary was glad for her shawl and glad, too, for the jumper that Ferdi wore.

Ferdi was put to work at a table full of teens and tweens, cracking nuts and picking the meats from the shells. Bittersweet settled Rosemary next to her brother with a pat on the arm. ‘I’ll be in and out,’ she said softly. ‘But don’t hesitate to send for me if you should need me.’ Rosemary nodded and smiled gratefully. There was much good-natured banter around the table. The mounds of nutmeats grew slowly despite the depredations of the nut-cracking youth, who could not resist popping an occasional treat into the mouth. Older tweens like Reginard, son of the steward, made sure that more nuts went into the bowls than into the mouths.

The cooks provided their helpers a heartier-than-usual second breakfast, followed by elevenses of freshly-baked sausage rolls and thick, creamy potato soup, which helped ensure that some nuts would survive to be baked into fruitcakes.

Pearl joined Rosemary at the noontide meal. ‘Mistress Lalia released me early this day,’ she said gaily. ‘She said the cooks needed every hand at cracking and chopping if the cakes were to be ready in good time.’ She smiled at Ferdibrand. ‘Hullo, Ferdi,’ she said. She had seen his outburst the previous night and grieved for Rosemary, only to be overjoyed by the news of Ferdi’s recovery. Evidently the shock had released him from thrall. He smiled and nodded but did not reply. Pearl didn’t miss Rosemary’s slight frown. Ferdi had yet to speak a word.

After they’d finished eating the juicy roast, fluffy potatoes, green beans in a sauce of bacon fat, sugar and vinegar, wholemeal and light bread, butter and jam and a host of accompaniments, Pearl was hailed by those tweens chopping dried fruit into tiny pieces. ‘Come, Pearl!’ Daisy shouted, while Prim waved a fig in the air.

 ‘Will you join us?’ Pearl asked Rosemary.

 ‘I’d love to,’ Rosemary said, but as she rose a panic-stricken Ferdi grabbed at her hand.

Seeing the look, Reginard put his hand on Ferdi’s arm, saying cheerily, ‘Would you like to cut up fruits for a change, cousin? Come, I’ll join you.’ He unobtrusively settled Ferdi next to Rosemary, procured a knife for each of them, and began chopping and talking away about Yuletide treats.

Just before teatime ended, Pearl rose to take her leave and the teens and tweens sang her away to her unenviable duties. Shortly thereafter Bittersweet’s helper Viola appeared at Ferdi’s elbow. ‘Come, lad,’ she said cheerily. ‘You’re just a day out of the sickbed, and healer’s orders say you’ve done enough for one day. Bittersweet has decreed a nice nap after tea, and then supper and bed.’

Ferdi resisted her tug until Rosemary arose, taking his hand and saying reassuringly, ‘I could use a bit of a nap myself, brother.’ He nodded and allowed them to escort him out of the great room.

Reginard looked after them with a sigh and shake of his head. ‘What is it, brother?’ Everard said curiously.

 ‘He was such a bright lad,’ Reginard said. ‘Father sent me to Paladin’s farm with a message when Ferdinand was there training ponies. Ferdi was with him, following his father everywhere, chattering away, and fearless! He’d walk right up to a pony that was rearing and plunging and hold out his hand and talk until it quieted and began to listen to him. A gift, he had, like his father, and now...’

 ‘Now he’s a half-wit,’ Aldebrand put in, ‘or worse.’ He’d been given a holiday from apprenticing with the engineers to help alleviate the crisis in the kitchens, and while digging tunnels was fascinating work, he’d not found it arduous to eat hearty meals and crack nuts instead of cracking rocks.

 ‘Did you hear what he said last night?’ another young Took put in. ‘He’s not just lost his wits, he’s mad as...’ He couldn't think of a proper comparison that was awful enough to finish the thought

 ‘You’d be as daft as he is, had you seen what he’d seen,’ Reginard retorted. ‘And now what has he got? His mother and uncle dead, his father dying by inches, his family’s fortune gone and the farm sold...’

 ‘He’s got a right pretty sister,’ Aldebrand said.

 ‘With no dowry, and a half-wit brother hanging on her apron strings,’ Everard said sourly. ‘She’s an old maid in the making, I’ll wager.’

 ‘She might’ve been better off had he drowned,’ someone said softly, and Reginard spun round, trying to pinpoint the speaker.

 ‘You hold your tongue,’ he said furiously. ‘Don’t let me ever hear such a sentiment again, or I’ll—’

The young Tooks busied themselves with cracking nuts and chopping fruits. They didn’t know what Regi would do, but his father was steward and Regi was not one to make idle threats. He could see to it that one was assigned to stable sweeping or worse, if he thought an “attitude adjustment” were necessary. As he was taking Ferdi’s part, the tweens and teens of the Great Smials would have to be polite, at the least, to the poor benighted lad and his pretty but luckless sister.

Chapter 13. Sweetmeats

The teens and tweens were called to the great room every day for the next fortnight, cracking nuts, chopping fruits both fresh and dried, stirring and mixing and rolling out and cutting shapes. ‘Do the cooks do any work at all, I wonder, or do they just put their feet on the fenders of the kitchen fires and think up new tasks for us?’ Everard grumbled as he stuffed nutmeats into dried plums and rolled the result in sugar.

 ‘Mmmm, sweetmeats and sugarplums,’ Pearl said. ‘Yuletide is upon us and soon we’ll be feasting until we have to roll ourselves off to our beds!’

 ‘Yule is more than a month away,’ Prim said through a mouthful of sultanas. Reginard raised an eyebrow at her and she winked at him saucily.

 ‘Yes, and we’re making all the good things that need time for the flavours to develop properly,’ Pearl said. She remembered Yule preparations at home. Of course, her father did not have the gold to spend on all the luxuries they had here at the Great Smials, but they did make her mother’s special fruit-and-honeycake to share with the neighbours, and there were always a few sugarplums and sweetmeats as well. The biggest problem was to keep them all from disappearing under Pip’s unrelenting onslaughts. Paladin took the lad with him on market days the last two months of the year, and that is when Eglantine and her daughters prepared most of the festive food.

 ‘When Yuletide proper starts, we’ll be even busier than now,’ Daisy confided. ‘There’s spice cake, sweet biscuits, puddings...’

 ‘You’re making me hungry,’ Everard said.

 ‘You just ate,’ his brother reminded him. ‘Four helpings, was it?’

 ‘Five!’ Aldebrand laughed, ‘but who’s counting?’ Indeed, a hot meal at noon in the great room was a wonderful treat to one used to eating cold food in a damp tunnel. Of course, there was always the hot bath and steaming supper to look forward to, but he could have all that without having to dig for it! At least, as long as the Great Smials cooks needed help with the extra load imposed by holiday feasting.

Rosemary sat quietly listening to the talk around them, her fingers busy stuffing nutmeats into dried fruit. She glanced over at Ferdi, who no longer needed to sit right at her elbow. Reginard had coaxed the teen a little further away from her each day, and as long as they sat at the same table he seemed content to work away silently at whatever task he was given.

With a shock she realised that Ferdi was not sitting at the table; his place was empty. Reginard met her gaze and nodded slightly, his eyes looking behind her. She turned to see Ferdi sitting by the great hearth, his fingers tracing the rough outlines of the design while the woodcarvers carved and chatted. You could see clearly now the outlines of the two trees, one on either side of the mantel uprights, their branches reaching to meet in the centre of the broad crosspiece. Other details were beginning to emerge as the carvers worked from early morning until late at night. Rose had wondered at their hurry until Pearl told her of the bargain they’d struck with the Mistress.

She rose and went to her brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Ferdi, you oughtn’t bother the carvers when they’re working.’

 ‘No bother, miss,’ Gundy said cheerily as he shaped the rough outline of another apple hanging from a branch. ‘As I was saying, young Ferdi, this here’s “Autumn”, and we mean to have the branches nearly breaking with the weight of fruit—not really breaking, of course, but bearing all they can bear.’ He gestured to the foot of the tree. ‘See there’ll be leaves around the base; that’s Hally’s work, of course, and those rough shapes there at the base of the tree will be baskets brim-full of apples.’

 ‘And at the base of this tree?’ Rosemary asked, touching the rough shape that looked vaguely familiar somehow.

 ‘A snow-hobbit, miss,’ Hally said shyly. ‘He’ll have hat and muffler and carrot nose and button eyes.’

 ‘And sticks for arms? Holding a broom in his hand?’ Rosemary said in delight.

 ‘Exactly, miss!’ Hally said, his eyes lighting in reply.

 ‘I see,’ Rosemary said, stepping back to view the entire piece. ‘Winter,’ she said, pointing to the tree-trunk with its snow-hobbit outline. Her hand swept upwards to the branches, bare on the leftmost edge but suggestions of buds already appearing as her eyes moved to the right, until she encountered several full-blown flowers emerging under Hally’s practiced hand. ‘Spring,’ she said. Moving to the outspread branches of the second tree, she touched the sketch of a bird in a nest, worm dangling from its beak as it hovered over little ones with gaping beaks. Gundy had drawn the design directly on the wood, but had not yet begun to dig out the wood around the shapes of birds and nest. ‘Summer...’ and then she finished with the apple-laden boughs.

 ‘Autumn!’ Gundy said, and laughed. ‘There you have it, miss. The Mistress wanted the four seasons, but she didn’t want the same design as in the Thain’s study. I don’t know how many sketches I made on paper before she chose this one.’

 ‘How will you ever get it done in time?’ she wondered aloud, then flushed.

 ‘O we’ll finish all right,’ Hally said. ‘Work well begun is half done, and I’d say we’re well begun already.’

 ‘Ferdi, no!’ Rosemary said suddenly. Her brother had picked up a carving tool and was carefully adding strokes of detail to a squirrel, sitting up in the snow beside the snow-hobbit, with a nut between its paws.

 ‘No, that’s all right,’ Hally said after a hasty examination. ‘He’s got the fur just right, see?’ Touching the teen’s shoulder, he said, ‘You didn’t tell us you knew how to carve, Ferdi.’

 ‘Uncle Ferdi taught him,’ Rosemary said, her eyes filling with sudden tears. Ferdibrand paid her no heed, continuing to add fur to the squirrel with feather-strokes of his hand.

 ‘Yes, miss,’ Hally said awkwardly. He was not as shy in her presence, but still had trouble finding things to say to this pretty girl with the silent brother. Truth be told, he found Ferdi’s company pleasant and undemanding. There was no need for words between them. Dealing with Tooks was a bit of a trial, for they shot their words in volleys that seemed to demand a quick reply.

Gundy had been watching the lad carve. ‘Well young Ferdi,’ he said. ‘It looks as if you know what you’re doing. Would you like to help Hally with the details?’ Ferdi nodded keeping his eyes on the carving, and Gundy smiled at Rosemary. ‘He’s welcome,’ he said. ‘Truth be told, we could use the help.’ He lowered his voice, ‘but don’t tell the Mistress. She might give our land to your brother!’ To Ferdibrand, he added with a twinkle in his eye, ‘You may come to us anytime you wish, young Ferdi. You know where to find us.’

Hally laughed, and Rosemary looked up with a smile. Such a pleasant laugh he had!

 ‘Rose!’ Pearl called. ‘They’ve brought another platter of fruit! We’re in desperate need of your fingers!’

 ‘Coming!’ Rosemary called back gaily. She patted Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘I’ll be right over there,’ she said, ‘at the table, helping with the sugarplums.’ He nodded without looking up, and encouraged, she returned to the table to work and chat and laugh as if her world had not ended a few weeks before.

Teatime came and Pearl hurried through her meal. As usual, the tweens and teens sang her on her way.

 ‘She’s lasted longer than the previous one,’ Everard said, watching her go. ‘How long d’you think she’ll stay? Until Yule?’

 ‘It’s not a wagering matter,’ Reginard said sternly, and his brother threw up his hands.

 ‘Who’s wagering?’ he said.

 ‘Her position is difficult enough without folk wagering on how long she’ll stay. You wouldn’t want someone to say she was staying but a short time and then throw pebbles in her path to make things worse for her,’ Regi said implacably. He put up a restraining hand, ‘No, brother, I know you wouldn’t, but there are some who would.’

 ‘Spring, perhaps,’ Aldebrand said. ‘She’s right pretty. I imagine someone’ll ask her at Yule. That’s the usual time, if you’re to have a wedding in Spring.’

 ‘She’s much too young!’ Daisy said in shock. ‘She’s not thirty yet!’

 ‘I knew a girl who married at eight-and-twenty,’ Prim said.

 ‘She’s not even eight-and-twenty, so enough talk about marrying,’ Daisy said severely. ‘You’ll put ideas into the lads’ heads, and all for naught.’

 ‘Lads, indeed,’ Pansy giggled, and her sister Violet laughed.

 ‘The head of escort seems to have ideas of his own,’ she said.

 ‘What do you mean?’ Daisy asked.

 ‘I’ve eyes, haven’t I?’ Violet said. ‘I’ve seen how he looks at our Pearl!’ She and Pansy burst into more giggles, hushing with difficulty when Daisy scolded.

 ‘One needs to have an eye for the future,’ Everard said thoughtfully. ‘Regi, here, is near his time. What say you, brother? Is your eye upon a certain pearl of great lustre?’

 ‘Never you mind,’ Reginard said. ‘Get back to work, all of you. We have to finish this day’s work and clear away so that they can serve eventides.’

 Chapter 14. Decorations

Once the early baking was done the teens and tweens were sent out to collect evergreens and bright winterberry clippings.

 ‘Mmmm, in their own way they smell as good as the food does!’ Pearl said, tying together branches of various greens to fashion a garland.

 ‘Ouch!’ Everard said. ‘They bite! Which the food never did.’ He sucked a finger that had grasped a sharply-pointed holly leaf with too little caution.

 ‘You cut yourself chopping fruit, as I recall,’ Hildibard said to him, and there was a shout of laughter from the tweens working at tables in the great room. ‘Perhaps you’d be safer out planting winter barley!’

 ‘Too late,’ Everard replied, for he was ever-literal. ‘Winter barley’s over and done or I’d be out in the fields yet!’

 ‘Poor Aldebrand,’ Daisy sighed, fastening a bright bow to the wreath that Prim had finished tying together. ‘Greenery’s not as important as baking. Not important enough to pull him from the diggings in any event.’

 ‘You could always hope for snow and ice,’ Pansy said. ‘If it gets too cold the ground will freeze.’

 ‘Not as far underground as he’s digging,’ Daisy said glumly. Though the engineers working for the Thain were reputed to be the best in the Shire, there was always the possibility that the diggings would collapse, trapping or killing the workers. Perhaps she ought to turn her interest to a hobbit with a safer occupation.

Pearl had lost her own smile, thinking of the possibility of ice and snow. She doubted her family would come if the roads were treacherous; yet the sky had been grey and gloomy indeed, the clouds hanging heavy, the last few days when the Mistress had taken the air.

 ‘Last Day is a fortnight tomorrow,’ Violet said with a wink. ‘He’ll be called back out of the diggings to help with the cooking and stirring up and baking.’

 ‘I cannot believe Yuletide starts in a week!’ Prim said. ‘The old year is waning fast, and a new year about to begin.’

 ‘I wonder what it will bring?’ Violet said.

 ‘Weddings,’ Pansy replied, and giggled when Daisy glared at her.

 ‘Burials,’ practical Everard said, and the girls shivered.

 ‘Births and feasts, rain and sunshine,’ Reginard put in, ‘but this is neither the time nor the place.’ The tweens nodded and busied their fingers again. They would be hard put to it for the next fortnight, cleaning, polishing, and dusting, and sweeping out the dust and cobwebs of the old year, to make the Smials ready for the new. The first day of Yule would be their first chance to rest and play, and they’d be up all night on Last Day to watch the old year burn away with the Yule log and talk about their hopes and plans for the future.

Regi looked over to where the carvers were working. He thought he’d heard that Gundy had not been to bed this past night, though you’d never know it. The woodcarver’s hand was as steady as ever as he chiselled and carved. Hally worked away bringing the roughed-out shapes to life as he talked quietly to Ferdi, who had added realistic texture to the trees’ bark, fur to the squirrels, feathers to the birds, tiny veins to the leaves that Gundy shaped and Hally polished. Would they finish? Regi half-wished he could take a tool in hand and help the carvers in their race, but his hands were not skilled at such work.

Someone raised a song and soon the great room rang with the joyous sound as the tweens continued their work. Groups of teens came in bearing more greenery, stopping for a hot cup of tea and a hand-warming at one of the braziers, and then it was time to go out again in search of more.

A week passed quickly for Pearl, divided between her duties to the Mistress and the many tasks that fell upon the younger folk at the Great Smials in preparation for Yuletide.

 ‘A week until Yule!’ Mistress Lalia said as they took the air at the threshold of the Great Door. ‘Smell that air! So crisp! I do believe it will snow soon.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Pearl said.

 ‘There’s something about a good snow,’ Lalia said approvingly. ‘Makes the land look fresh and clean, covers up the mud.’

Thinking of her family, Pearl said only, ‘Yes, Mistress.’

Lalia stretched and sat straighter in the heavy wheeled chair. ‘Ah,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘The new year brings great promise... I can hardly wait to greet it!’ Pearl wondered what she meant. None of the discussions she’d overheard were of anything that might bring “great promise”, though the Mistress had taken to smiling at her son after a long period of frowns. The Thain had evidently made some promise or other to his mother.

The Mistress was in excellent humour whenever she was wheeled to the great room to check on progress of the tweens in their work, or the carving of the mantel. It did not appear that the woodcarvers would finish in time, and although Lalia grumbled there was a bright spark in her eye as she inspected the intricate work. Mastercarver indeed was Gundy Bolger, and she’d have the fruit of his two-months’ labours at no cost to herself. She smiled indulgently to see poor young Ferdi working away. The Bolgers had assured her that he would not spoil the work, and it did her heart good to think of the lad gainfully occupied instead of sitting idly staring at nothing.

Pearl wheeled her back to the Thain’s private quarters in good time for the noonday meal, and as she had lately, Lalia dismissed the girl to eat the nooning with the other tweens in the Smials.

 ‘I’ll walk with you, if I may,’ Isumbold said, meeting her outside the door to the Thain’s suite, though it ought to be more properly called the Mistress’ suite. Ferumbras occupied a small bachelor’s apartment nearby. Pearl couldn’t blame him for choosing to forego the opulence and clutter of the Thain’s apartments under Mistress Lalia. Her own fingers itched to pick up and straighten and clear away half the contents of the suite whenever she had to attend Lalia there instead of in the Thain’s study, which Adelard kept in some semblance of order.

 ‘You may,’ Pearl said with a smile. ‘Will you join me for noontide?’

Smiling, Isumbold shook his head. ‘The escort always take their meals together, had you not noticed? You are welcome to join us instead, of course.’

 ‘I’d be happy to join you all,’ Pearl said. ‘I find the escort very diverting.’

 ‘Yes, we must have lively wits to keep up with the Thain and his mother,’ Isumbold said. ‘Mistress Lalia is... changeable.’

Pearl managed to suppress a laugh, but when she glanced at Isum his eyes were dancing with mischief. ‘A true Took,’ was the safest answer she could think of. ‘My grandma always used to say, “What’s a mind for if you cannot change it?” .’

Indeed the Thain’s escort were a lively bunch, more so this day, for seeing Pearl at that table, of course Daisy and Prim, Violet and Pansy joined them. There is nothing like the combination of dashing hobbits and pretty lasses to stimulate the wit.

When the remnants of the noontide meal were cleared away, Pansy rolled her eyes. ‘The baking starts now,’ she said. ‘One week until Last Day! We’ll be hard put to it for the next week!’

 ‘All the better to enjoy the rest you’ll have at Yule,’ Pearl said pertly. ‘Naught to do but eat and dance and sing!’

 ‘I’ll be wearing a new gown the colour of sunshine,’ Violet said coyly, looking up at Baragrim from under her eyelashes.

 ‘You’ll brighten the hall,’ he returned gallantly. ‘You must save a dance for me, miss.’

 ‘Will all the escort be dancing?’ Pansy giggled. Daisy rolled her eyes at Pearl, who stifled a chuckle.

 ‘We know our duty,’ Isumbold returned with a nod. He stood up from the table, throwing his fine woollen cloak over his arm. Looking to Pearl, he said, ‘Would you care to join me, miss, for a stroll to settle that fine meal.’

 ‘It would be my pleasure, sir,’ she answered, even as she knew she’d have to fend off giggles and whispers when she returned to help with the baking.

He did not offer his arm, nor did she take it, but they walked the corridors companionably together, chatting easily, nodding to all they knew. Pearl thought they were walking without aim until they came to one of the lesser entrances to the Great Smials.

 ‘I wanted to show you something,’ Isum said. He settled his cloak about Pearl’s shoulders, fastening the clasp. ‘Wouldn’t want you to take a chill,’ he murmured. ‘Come.’

He opened the door to a land of wintry wonder. The few flakes that had drifted aimlessly while the Mistress “took the air” that morning had been joined by their fellows. A thick carpet of snow lay upon the stones of the courtyard, and more was descending in large, heavy flakes that were sticking together, unlikely butterflies.

 ‘O,’ Pearl breathed, one part of her amazed at the beauty of it all, the rest dismayed, for how would her family come to visit in this?

Isumbold led Pearl to the centre of the courtyard and turned her to look at the face of the Great Smials. ‘The fruit of your labours,’ he said, raising a hand to point. ‘I knew you’d had no time out-of-doors these past few weeks, between the demands of the Mistress and the busyness of preparing for the season.’

Every opening of the Smials was festooned with evergreen garlands tied with bright bows. Lamps shone in every window, sending a warm and welcoming light out into the storm with its fast-piling snow. ‘It’s beautiful,’ Pearl whispered, but she could not help the tears that spilled over.

 ‘What is it, my dear?’ Isumbold said softly, placing a finger under her chin to tilt her head upwards.

Pearl swallowed hard, trying to smile. ‘It’s all so lovely,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen the Smials look so inviting... it’s just...’

 ‘What?’ the head of escort said, pulling a pocket handkerchief out and putting it into her hand.

Dabbing at her eyes, Pearl said, ‘The snow... my family...’

 ‘Is that all?’ Isem said with a chuckle. Smiling down at her, he added, ‘Your father is the most determined Took I know, next to Mistress Lalia. You don’t think that a little snow will keep him from visiting you at Yule, do you?’

 ‘To take a waggon along the track between Tookbank and Tuckborough in the summer is one thing,’ Pearl argued. ‘In heavy snowfall... there’s no proper road. My father is much too practical...’

 ‘Your father is much too practical to be stopped by a little snowfall,’ Isum said. ‘I’ll wager you that he’ll be here as promised.’

 ‘What’ll you wager?’ she answered with a smile.

 ‘Dance the first dance with me on Last Night,’ he said, greatly daring. Pearl would have no dearth of partners, and the first dance would be the most heavily contested.

 ‘You’re on!’ she said gaily, for his confidence was catching. A gust of wind sent snowflakes dancing and caught at Isum’s cloak, causing Pearl to shiver.

 ‘I had better get you back inside,’ he said, his eyes darkening in concern.

 ‘I am not all that fragile,’ Pearl laughed, but she allowed him to lead her back to the little door, his hand warm, even through the cloak, on the centre of her back.

Chapter 15. Family Matters

The day before 1 Yule, also called by the Tooks “Last Day”, Pearl was perched high on a step-stool brushing cobwebs from the ceilings in the great room whilst other tweens swept and brushed and dusted and hung the last of the decorations: evergreen garlands with fragrant and colourful fresh fruit wired in, bright ribbons woven together, formed into bows, and fluttering free, and candles by the hundreds awaiting the lighting of the Yule log, when the great hall would be transformed into a wonderland of light and laughter, music and storytelling.

 ‘Pearl!’ a clear voice rang from the door. ‘Miss Pearl!’ She looked to see Baragrim of the Thain’s escort standing in the doorway, searching the bustling crowd of teens and tweens.

 ‘Here!’ she called, and he found her at once. Striding forward, he said, ‘Isum sent me back to tell you... we were riding to Tookbank and encountered your family on their way. They’ll arrive at any moment!’

 ‘O!’ Pearl said, clapping her hands with the lambs-wool duster still in her grasp.

 ‘Steady now,’ Baragrim said, hastily grabbing at her arm to keep her from losing her balance on the high stool. ‘Wouldn’t do to greet them with a broken neck now, would it?’

 ‘No indeed,’ Pearl said with a laugh, allowing him to help her down to safety. She thanked him and he bowed, begging her pardon, but he must hurry to rejoin the escort. With a wink for Violet who was hovering nearby, he was gone.

Taking up her shawl, Pearl hurried to the nearest entrance, craning out the snowy window. Baragrim’s news had come just in time. Within a few moments, a waggon pulled by a familiar team turned into the courtyard from the direction of Tookbank. With a cry of joy, Pearl flung herself out of the entrance.

A small figure launched itself from the waggon as the ponies halted, setting their harness bells jingling a last time with shakes of their heads. Pearl was nearly knocked down by her little brother’s greeting, but she was ready, bracing her feet as Pip reached her and threw his arms about her, hugging her fiercely while chanting her name. She hugged him back just as determinedly, murmuring over and over, ‘O Pip.’

She was only partly aware of her father stepping down from the waggon as a stable hobbit stepped up to take the ponies’ heads. He stopped long enough to help his wife and other daughters down and then his arms were around her, strong and all-enveloping as she’d once imagine a bear’s hug must be. ‘Pearlie,’ he said simply. Was it the wind, or were those tears he was blinking away?

 ‘Come, let’s get you in out of this cold before you catch your death,’ her mother’s voice scolded, and then Paladin’s family was a knot of entwined arms, all hugging at the same time, before releasing one another to enter the Great Smials.

 ‘Your rooms are all ready,’ Pearl said, ‘and tea’s just on, and Mistress Lalia has given me four days’ holiday including today!’

 ‘That’s fine and generous, just what I’d expect of the Mistress,’ her father said jovially.

 ‘Why Pearl, you’re so elegant, I’d hardly have known you,’ Eglantine said after another long hug, putting her daughter back for a good look.

Pearl looked down at herself, thinking, This old dress? It was one of her plainest, suitable for brushing cobwebs. Her hair was tied up in a kerchief and she was sure there was a smudge on her nose.

 ‘You look beautiful,’ Pervinca whispered shyly. This fine and fancy lady was not the sister she remembered.

 ‘You’re a dear,’ Pearl said with an impulsive hug. ‘I’m so glad to see you all! However did you manage?’

 ‘Traded a heifer for some runners for the waggon,’ Paladin said gruffly. ‘We just glided over hill and dale, much smoother than slipping and jolting along on wheels.’

 ‘Wheels are in the back of the waggon,’ Pip said importantly, ‘just in case there’s a thaw before we go home!’ He grinned up at his father. ‘Da thinks of everything!’

Pearl had been so excited to see her family she hadn’t even noticed the runners in place of the wheels. ‘O Da!’ she breathed, thinking of the cost. ‘A heifer!’

 ‘There’ll be more calves born in the spring,’ Paladin muttered. He took his oldest daughter on one arm, wife on the other. ‘Now where did you say that tea was brewing?’

O but it was fine to laugh with her family again. She settled them into the guest suite that the steward had assigned and ordered prepared with bowls of fresh fruit, fragrant evergreens, and flowers from the Great Smials hothouses. Pearl would be staying in the guest quarters with her family until they left the day after 2 Yule. How she had missed them!

After tea was done, Pearl took her family around the Great Smials, ending up at the Thain’s quarters for eventides at the Mistress’ request. Mistress Lalia was at her most gracious, welcoming the farm Tooks, pressing delicacies on them, asking many questions about the farm, praising Pearl to the skies, to her parents’ gratification.

 ‘I know you cannot extend your visit, what with the demands of a farmer’s life,’ she said, gesturing to her son to pour out more tea, ‘but I am so glad for Pearl’s sake that you were able to join us for the festivities.’

 ‘Very kind of you to invite us, Mistress,’ Paladin said, bowing his head politely.

 ‘Your daughter is a treasure,’ Lalia said firmly. ‘Any little thing I might be able to do to bring her joy, is my pleasure.’ She held out a hand to the girl, and taking it, Pearl smiled, thinking of all the trials she’d endured as Lalia’s attendant. Still, she knew how to manage the old harridan, and from the talk she’d overheard, she’d done better than any of her predecessors. She’d be glad to be going home when the terms of the agreement were fulfilled, however. Easy her lot had not been, and she felt she was fully earning her reward.

’Thank you, Mistress,’ was all she answered, meeting her mother’s knowing smile.

After eventides, Pearl tucked young Pip into his bed, spinning a long tale until his eyelids finally drooped closed. She sat awhile longer watching the lad sleep, thinking how sweet he looked, and how she’d missed him. She hoped they’d be able to keep him out of mischief these next few days. She didn’t want anything to spoil the holiday.

Coming out to the sitting room again, she found only her mother and sisters, having a last cup of tea before retiring. ‘Where’s Da?’ she asked.

 ‘Gone to see Ferdinand,’ her mother answered soberly. ‘Many’s the Yule the two of them roasted bacon and mushrooms over the Yule log and talked of their plans and dreams...’

 ‘How’s Ferdi?’ Nell asked softly. ‘And Rosemary?’ she added hastily, with a blush.

 ‘Rosemary seems well and happy,’ Pearl said. ‘She keeps busy, you know, helping the healers with those who must stay in the infirmary, including her father. She feeds him late supper each night, for he eats better for her than for anyone else.’

 ‘And Ferdi?’ Eglantine asked.

Pearl tried to smile. ‘No change from the last letter I wrote you,’ she said. ‘He shadows Rosie nearly everywhere she goes, unless he’s with the woodcarvers. He never speaks.’

 ‘News of the woodcarvers’ bargain has reached as far as Whitwell,’ Eglantine said hastily, seeing tears in Pimpernel’s eyes. ‘Do you think they will lose their bargain?’

 ‘I don’t know,’ Pearl said honestly. ‘They must be finished by sunset tomorrow, when the Yule log is lit, or receive naught for their work.’

 ‘What a shame,’ Eglantine said, for they’d stopped in the great room after eventides to admire the mantel. The carvers had not paused to acknowledge their greeting, but worked steadily even as they answered the few questions Paladin had asked. Ferdi had not been carving with them at the time; he usually sat with Ferdinand from eventide until late supper.

***

After late supper, Gundy Bolger came to Ferdinand’s room. Young Ferdi looked up at the tap on the door.

 ‘Who is it?’ Ferdinand said irritably.

 ‘You remember Gundavar Bolger, father,’ Rosemary said, returning from taking her father’s tray to the infirmary kitchen. ‘He’s carving the mantel in the great room.’

 ‘Yes, what do you want?’ Ferdinand said. At least he went straight to the point.

 ‘I wondered if we might borrow young Ferdi,’ the woodcarver said. ‘We’re coming down to the last stretch of the race, and there’s no guarantee that our pony will finish ahead.’

 ‘Take him,’ Ferdinand said. ‘His constant chatter tears at my nerves as it is.’ Young Ferdi’s lips tightened – the closest he came to a smile in his father’s presence – and he rose, nodding to his father and then to Rosemary.

 ‘Come, Ferdi,’ Gundy said, taking the teen by the arm. ‘We badly need your light touch on the finishing details.'

 ‘Don’t talk yourself hoarse,’ Ferdinand called after them. Gundy’s hand tightened on Ferdi’s arm, but the teen only shook his head slightly, not looking at the woodcarver.

 ‘Are ye ready to retire, sir?’ spoke a quiet voice from the door as Rosemary fixed her father a last cup of tea. It was Tansy, one of Bittersweet’s helpers. She was a young widow, come to the Smials to live off the Thain’s charity, and she was gentle but firm in her dealings with Ferdinand. It was her duty to settle him for sleeping and watch with him through the night.

 ‘Not quite, Tansy,’ Ferdinand said unexpectedly. ‘Let me share a cup of tea with my daughter, and then you may go about your business.’

 ‘Very well, sir,’ she replied with a bob. ‘I’ll just go and see if Bittersweet needs anything else.’

 ‘You do that,’ Ferdinand answered, unusually courteous.

When the helper was gone, he nodded to Rosemary. ‘Close the door, lass,’ he said. ‘I’ve news to share with you, but only with you, for ‘twouldn’t be proper to let it out until the formal announcement is made.’ 

 ‘What formal announcement, father?’ she asked, settling down on the stool beside his bed.

 ‘You’re to be married, my dear,’ he said without further preamble.

 ‘Married!’ she gasped.

Her father chuckled without humour. ‘Don’t look like that,’ he said. ‘Marrying is better than burying, any road.’

 ‘What—Who?’ she said, her head whirling.

 ‘Thain Ferumbras has asked me for your hand, and I’ve accepted him,’ Ferdinand said.

Rosemary’s mouth opened in shock. It would have been a comical sight had she not been so distressed.

 ‘Marry!’ she gasped. ‘The Thain!’ She fought for breath. For some reason, her chest felt too tight to take in air. ‘Father! I’m only four-and-twenty! Mother always said—’

 ‘Your mother is not here; I’m the only one to look after you, and how can I look after you properly, care for you, half-a-hobbit that I am, confined to this bed? The healers won’t even tell me how much time I have left,’ Ferdinand said.

 ‘O, father,’ Rosemary said, but Ferdinand continued.

 ‘This is a better chance than you’ll ever have, my dear. You’ve no dowry, no prospects, and the Thain offers you the highest position a girl of the Tooks could dream to gain... Mistress of Tookland. When Mistress Lalia steps down, or dies – and she will not live forever – you’ll be Mistress, and your oldest son will someday be Thain.’

 ‘Oldest son! But –’ Rosemary said desperately.

 ‘You’re over-young for child-bearing, it’s true,’ Ferdinand said, not meeting her eyes. ‘But you’re strong and healthy, and Ferumbras is desperate to get himself an heir. You’ll be five-and-twenty in the Spring, after all. It’s not as much a scandal as it sounds; why, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was married at six-and-twenty, I believe, when her parents wanted to secure Otho’s name and fortune.’

 ‘You cannot ask this of me,’ Rosemary said, her voice shaking.

 ‘I am not asking, lass,’ Ferdinand said implacably. ‘I’m telling you. The announcement will be made at the festive breakfast on First Day.’

 ‘No,’ the girl whispered, and eyes filling with tears, she stumbled from the room.

She’d come around, her father told himself. What choice did she have? No more than he had, living on the charity of the Thain.

A few moments later, Tansy poked her head in at the door. ‘Ah, Rosie’s taken herself off already?’ she said brightly. ‘Are you finished for the day?’

 ‘Quite finished,’ Ferdinand said wearily. ‘Quite finished.’

Chapter 16. Last Night

Deep in the dark of the early morning hours, the carvers worked steadily away at their task. Ferdi added segments to the worm dangling from the mother bird’s beak, then delicately added a breathing hole to the beak itself, then a line for the eyelid, a few feather strokes to the top of the head. In the flickering light of the lamps, the worm seemed to wriggle and the beaks of the babies gaped ever wider.

 ‘Nicely done, lad,’ Gundy said, stopping to put a hand on Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘If you could work on the baskets of apples, now...’ Ferdi nodded, got up and stretched, then set to bringing out the details of the wickerwork.

An hour before dawn, Gundy put down his tool and opened and closed his hands as he paced from one end of the mantel to the other, looking for flaws or omissions. ‘More veins on the leaves there,’ he muttered, pointing, and Hally jumped to obey. ‘Ferdi-lad,’ Gundy added, ‘the holes on the snow-hobbit’s button eyes. Buttons have holes, you know!’ Abashed, Ferdi nodded and quickly remedied the oversight.

Gundy stepped back once more, soon joined by Hally on one side and Ferdi on the other. The three surveyed their handiwork as the kitchen workers came out to lay the tables for early breakfast. ‘Are ye finished, then?’ a hobbit said, stopping with an armload of plates.

 ‘All but the polishing,’ Gundy answered. To Hally, he said, ‘Do we have the covers ready?’

 ‘Yes, sir,’ Hally said, digging in their supplies for the beeswax and polishing cloths.

 ‘A moment,’ the plate-bearing hobbit said. He was as good as his word, back in a little less than a moment with several other kitchen workers. ‘These are dish-washers,’ he said. ‘They’ve naught to do until breakfast starts, save eat their own breakfast, and breakfast comes every day does it not?’ Dumbfounded, the Bolgers watched as the half-dozen hobbits seized soft cloths, dug wax from the crocks and began to apply it to the carved work.

The plate-bearing hobbit said suddenly, ‘Eat! They’ve laid your places over there,’ he nodded at a table nearby where other kitchen workers were laying covered serving dishes and a cosied teapot. ‘If I’ve heard aright, you’ve not eaten since noontide yesterday, save a biscuit or two with a few mugs of tea.’

 ‘I—’ Gundy said, nonplussed.

 ‘Go!’ the plate-bearing hobbit said firmly. ‘They’ve polished enough silver in their time; they know how to rub on and buff off.’ He shifted his grip on the plates. ‘Now go!’ he repeated, ‘afore I lose my grip on this stack and we have an awful mess on our hands.’ He smiled to himself as the woodcarvers and their silent helper followed his order, then turned to dealing out his plates once more.

Such a breakfast it was! Surely even the Thain did not eat so well. There were four kinds of bread and three of sausages, eggs coddled with cheese and chopped tomato, onions stuffed and baked, butter and preserves and fruit compote, crispy potato cakes with hot applesauce, and pots of hot tea to wash it all down. The kitchen workers kept bringing food until the Bolgers had no more corners to fill and even Ferdi had eaten himself full.

Gundy settled back with a sigh. ‘That in itself was nearly worth the work of carving,’ he said to the plate-bearing hobbit, though he bore no more plates at the moment, rather another pot of tea. ‘No more, thank you,’ he added. Looking over to the great mantel, his eyes widened. The polishing hobbits had nearly finished their work and the dark wood gleamed. A crew of foresters entered the great room then, bearing an enormous log which they placed ready for the evening, atop a pile of kindling and smaller logs which would catch first and burn long enough to set the Yule log alight. The kitchen workers watched jealously, ready to ward off any scratches to the carved mantel, but all was done safely and efficiently and then canvases were laid over the masterpiece to await the unveiling at sunset.

 ‘We did it,’ Hally said softly, and Ferdi grinned at him. Grinning back, the woodcarver’s son said honestly, ‘We couldn’t have finished in time without you, Ferdi. You’re welcome in Woody End anytime you wish to come, for you’ve helped us to gain our own land.’

 ‘That’s for true,’ Gundy said, clapping Ferdi on the back. ‘Well now, lads, let us seek our beds. At sunset the Mistress will see our work and sign our land over to us, and then we may enjoy the festivities. A new year, and new promise, indeed!’

Young Ferdi looked in upon his father before retiring. Ferdinand was still asleep. ‘He spent a restless night,’ Tansy whispered, patting the teen on the arm. ‘You go take yourself off now, young Ferdi, and I’ll let you know when he wakens.’

He took himself off in search of Rosemary, but could not find her. Worried, he sought out Bittersweet. ‘Yes, Ferdi-lad, what is it?’ she asked, busy about helping with second breakfast for her charges. He pulled at her sleeve to get her full attention, and she straightened, sighing with exasperation until she saw his face. ‘What’s the matter, lad, is it your father?’

Ferdi shook his head. ‘Your sister then?’ the healer asked. He nodded vigorously. ‘What’s happened? Where is she?’ He shrugged, spreading his hands to indicate his lack.

 ‘She ought to have been up hours ago,’ Bittersweet muttered. ‘I do hope she’s not ill...’ Recalling herself, she smiled reassuringly for the teen’s sake, saying, ‘Let us check on your sister, Ferdi. I’m sure she only slept in, for the tweens will be up through the night until dawn to see the new year in, you know.’

When they reached Rosemary’s room, either she had risen early and made up her bed herself, or her bed had not been slept in. ‘Hmmm,’ Bittersweet mused aloud. ‘Perhaps she took her breakfast in the great room.’ She looked to Ferdi to see him shaking his head forcefully. The teen was on the edge of panic, she saw. ‘You ate breakfast in the great room, and she was not there?’ she asked, locking eyes with him. ‘Where else have you looked?’ If anything might goad the lad into talking, this situation ought. Encouraged, she saw him open his mouth. ‘Yes?’ she said.

No words came, only defeat in the slumping of his shoulders as Ferdi closed his mouth again.

 ‘It’s all right, lad,’ Bittersweet said gently. ‘You’ll speak when you have something to say.’

Tansy, coming off duty, happened by, stopping to say, ‘What’re you doing out of bed, young Ferdi?’

 ‘What do you mean?’ Bittersweet asked.

 ‘He’s been up all the night, helping those woodcarvers, I hear,’ Tansy said. ‘He ought to be in bed now if he hopes to stay up later to see the new year in!’

 ‘Ferdi,’ Bittersweet said firmly. ‘I’m sure Rosemary has been called to help in the kitchens; there’s much to be done for tonight’s feasting. Let me see you to your bed and then I’ll go tell her to look in on you, set your mind at ease.’

Reluctantly the teen allowed himself to be escorted to his bed and tucked up securely. He had little choice in the matter with a healer and her assistant firmly gripping each arm, steering him between them. While Bittersweet was talking cheerily and pulling the coverlet up to Ferdi’s chin, Tansy, on her way to her own bed, passed the healer’s instructions on to Viola. Soon Viola was there with a covered cup containing a sleeping draught, which she proceeded to coax into Ferdi. Bittersweet took her leave and Viola settled beside the teen to watch until he was safely asleep.

When Rosemary did turn up, mid-morning, she did not answer Bittersweet’s query as to where she’d gone, though she was obviously pained to have worried Ferdi. ‘I went for a walk,’ was all she’d say. ‘The snow is so beautiful, and peaceful somehow.’ She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes as if she had not slept, and it was plain to see she was troubled, but the healer knew when to press and when to let a matter be, at least for the nonce.

Bittersweet walked with the girl to her room, finding there another assistant, Hellebore, laying out a magnificent gown on the bed. ‘What’s this?’ the healer said.

 ‘Compliments of the Mistress,’ Hellebore replied. ‘She thought Rosie ought to have a new gown for the holiday, not have to wear the same old thing she’s been wearing for Last Night and First Day. Even the dairymaids have new dresses, you know.’

 Not the sort of gown I would choose for a girl of four-and-twenty the healer thought to herself, but seeing Rosemary’s face she said nothing. The girl’s expression was an odd mix of realisation and dread. ‘Take the dress and lay it out somewhere else so that the lass can have a nap, and then go and give the Mistress young Rosemary’s compliments and thanks for her kindness,’ Bittersweet said.

Once Hellebore and the gown were gone, Bittersweet pointed to the bed. ‘You tuck yourself up,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m going to bring you a sleeping draught, for you look as if you need one.’ The girl did not argue, and that was worrisome in itself. Rosemary had refused any and all draughts since first coming to the Great Smials, though she’d suffered from nightmares in the first weeks.

After Rosemary had taken all of the bitter brew and laid her head down, Bittersweet smoothed the coverlet over the girl and sat down on the bed beside her. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

 ‘There’s no point in talking,’ Rosemary said dispiritedly. ‘It’s all over and done already.’ Bittersweet didn’t like the sound of that, but the girl’s tone was final. Whatever the trouble was, surely it would come out sooner than later, the way the Tooks were with their Talk.

Many of the Tooks lay themselves down between noontide and teatime, especially the tweens and older teens who would be up through the coming night, but by teatime the Smials was stirring as hobbits prepared for the celebration. All preparations completed in the kitchen, the cooks and their assistants bathed and put on their finest clothes. The servants as well, whether they’d be on duty or free, bathed and dressed in their best. The Tooks, of course, were also preparing, though most of them had bathed in the morning. The bath rooms were in great demand, and baths were limited to a quarter of an hour each. Of course, that way several hobbits in turn could bathe before the water grew cool enough to replenish.

Everything in the Smials that could be polished sparkled, the floors were completely clear of dust, the spiders were all made homeless and would have to weave new homes for the new year.

Bittersweet helped Rosemary into the fine new gown that made her look much older than her four-and-twenty years, and then she dressed the girl’s hair in a high-braided crown to suit the fashionable attire. ‘You look lovely, my dear. Half the hobbits in the Smials will be vying to dance with you.’

Rosemary swallowed hard and tried to smile, but the healer could see the tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘What is it, dear?’ she asked again. ‘How can I help you?’

 ‘No one can help me,’ the girl said low, dropping her eyes. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, looking up again. ‘I’m ready,’ she said. ‘I hope I can be a credit to my father.’

 ‘He’ll be very proud to see you,’ Bittersweet said stoutly. She escorted Rosemary to Ferdinand’s room to wish him a good Last Day, but he was sober and said little. After regarding his daughter in silence, he said, ‘Be off with you! Dance, and sing, and enjoy your youth while it lasts.’

 ‘Yes, father,’ Rosemary said obediently, dutiful daughter that she was. She looked more like she was going to a burial than a ball, Bittersweet thought. Ferdi, freshly washed and dressed, appeared in the doorway, ready to escort his sister to the great room for the lighting of the Yule log.

They joined a laughing, talking stream of Tooks and Tooklanders, all moving in the same direction, emptying into a sea of hobbits in the lamp-lit great room. The Thain and Mistress waited already by the huge hearth with its concealing canvas covers, smiling and nodding greetings to all and sundry.

Pearl saw Rosemary and Ferdi enter and made her way through the crowd to them. ‘Rose! Ferdi! Come join us,’ she said warmly, giving a hand to each. The crowd good-naturedly made way for them, and soon Paladin was greeting them, Eglantine had a hug for each, and Nell, Vinca, and PIp shyly murmured their greetings, for Ferdi kept his eyes fixed firmly on his toes and was not the same laughing lad they remembered from summer days on the farm.

There was a stir in the crowd and suddenly the head of escort stood before them. ‘Compliments of the Thain, but would Miss Rosemary and Master Ferdibrand please come forward?’ Rosemary stiffened, but she forced a smile and took the proffered arm. Ferdi followed behind them, keeping his eyes down until he was greeted heartily by Gundy Bolger. ‘Ferdi! We were wondering where you were. It is only fitting for you to stand up with us, when your hands did so much to bring the work to life!’ Hally smiled shyly at Rosemary, but she looked away from him and he flushed in confusion. Perhaps she was too grand in her fancy dress for the likes of a simple woodcarver.

Now Adelard blew a horn that echoed through the room, hushing the crowd to silence. ‘Tooks and Tooklanders!’ he cried. ‘The Thain and Mistress of Tookland invite you to join in the celebration of Yule! We come together to sing out the old year and welcome the new!’ The gathered hobbits cheered lustily, but quieted when the steward raised his hands for attention.

 ‘In honour of your loyal service over the past years, the Mistress has commissioned a great work, at her own expense, a gift to the hobbits of the Great Smials and their generations to come.’ There was another cheer that quieted quickly as the Mistress sat straighter in her chair.

 ‘Gundavar Bolger,’ she said imperiously. ‘Let us judge your work. You were pledged to be finished by the lighting of the Yule log.’

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Gundy said respectfully.

 ‘Yesterday at this time, you looked to be quite a ways from completion,’ Lalia said severely. ‘You expressed your regrets that you feared you might not finish in time, and that we would have to burn the Yule log despite the incomplete state of the mantel.’

 ‘Yes, Mistress, I did say that,’ Gundy said. Pearl and many of the other hobbits of the Great Smials held their breath. All had watched the progress of the masterwork; all hoped that Gundy would not be turned away with nothing for his efforts. Surely the Mistress could not be so petty?

The thought crossed Paladin’s mind that Lalia would have the Tooks eating out of her hand if she offered to pay for the unfinished work. Gundavar would refuse payment, of course, out of pride, and Lalia would be let off scot-free, and have the respect of the Tooks in the bargain.

 ‘Well then,’ Lalia said at her most pompous. ‘Let us light the Yule log.’

 ‘Ferdi?’ Gundy said. Gundy, Hally, and Ferdi stepped to the hearth. Carefully so as not to mar the polished surface beneath the covering, they lifted away the canvas. Long-held breath was released in a drawn out “ooooo” of appreciation from the hobbits gathered there as the gleaming wood was revealed.

Tears stood in Mistress Lalia’s eyes as her son wheeled her forward to inspect the work close at hand. She reached out a trembling hand, stopping short of touching the squirrel with his nut. ‘Beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘I never thought...’ She was quiet for a long moment.

Turning to the woodcarvers, she said in a loud, clear voice. ‘This is a masterwork, indeed. Gundavar Bolger, you have earned land for yourself, your son, and an additional tract as well, for never have I seen such work!’

Adelard stepped forward with the proper paperwork, prepared ahead for this contingency though Lalia had never thought she’d need to sign it. With satisfaction he signed in red ink as witness of the bargain, along with other hobbits standing at the front of the crowd. With satisfaction, he tore up two other sets of paperwork, one transferring only two parcels of land to Gundy and his sons, the other drawn up in the event the carving had been unfinished, to show that Gundy agreed to finish the work even though he’d receive no compensation. Scattering the pieces over the Yule log, he shouted. ‘Let the old year burn away and a new year take its place!’

Ferumbras poured oil over the Yule log and then reached for the torch that Isumbold held ready.

Beside Rosemary, Ferdi stiffened, and when the torch touched the kindling and the oil flared into flame, bringing a cheer from the crowd, he crumpled to the ground, covering his head with his arms. ‘Ferdi!’ she cried, crouching to throw her arms around him, heedless of the beautiful gown. ‘Ferdi! Brother!’.

Isumbold was beside them in a flash. Gundy quickly rolled his copy of the contract and stuffed it into his shirt, then bent to the stricken tween. ‘Let’s get him out of here,’ he said to Hally beside him. Between them, the Bolgers, Isumbold and Baragrim lifted Ferdi and carried him from the room, Rosemary clinging to his hand.

Chapter 17. A Rescue

Bittersweet met them in the corridor as they carried Ferdi towards the infirmary. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘I was in the back of the room and didn’t see.’

 ‘It was the lighting of the Yule log,’ Isumbold said, and no more was needed.

 ‘Will this—’ Rosemary asked. ‘Will this set him back to where he was?’

 ‘I do not know, child,’ Bittersweet said soberly. ‘He has a very strong will, your brother does. I’ve never known anyone to come out of the shock once they’d stopped eating, and yet he did.’

They reached Ferdi’s room and set him gently on the bed. Rosemary settled beside him and stroked his hair. ‘Ferdi,’ she said softly. ‘It’s all right, Ferdi. There’s no fire here.’ It was true. There was never a fire in his room, not even an open candle. A lamp burned, the flame safely contained, and that was all.

Ferdi slowly lowered his arms from his head and blinked, then threw his arms around Rosemary, burying his head in a fold of the voluminous gown. ‘That’s right,’ she soothed. ‘That’s right, brother.’

 ‘We’ll take our leave now,’ Isumbold said quietly. He and Baragrim bowed and went back to their duties.

 ‘I’ll brew you some tea,’ Bittersweet said, and Gundy and Hally left the room with her.

In the little kitchen, Gundy spoke what was on his mind. ‘I had the impression you were looking out for the girl,’ he said.

Astonished, Bittersweet stopped short of setting the kettle on the fire. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

 ‘That dress,’ the elder Bolger said. ‘She has always dressed sensibly and fitting to her tender age before, but to let her wear that dress...’

 ‘That was not my doing,’ Bittersweet said, stung.

 ‘Whose doing was it, then?’ Gundy said. ‘I’ve half a mind to give someone a piece of my mind. Poor child, with no one to look out for her...’

 ‘It was the Mistress,’ Bittersweet said. At Gundy’s raised eyebrow she nodded. ‘Yes, Mistress Lalia. She sent the dress with her compliments.’

 ‘I know the fashions are different here in the Great Smials, but I don’t see anyone else Rosie’s age dressed so,’ Gundy argued. ‘She looks all of ten years older, old enough to put the wrong ideas into the heads of hobbits looking to be wed.’

 ‘There’s something here I do not understand,’ Bittersweet said slowly. ‘The girl didn’t sleep last night, and she’s been miserable all the day. I asked her father what could be wrong and he told me only time would tell.’

 ‘The dress is part of it, mark my words,’ Viola said from the doorway. ‘Mistress Lalia is up to something. She looked like the cat that got into the cream this night, when she pulled Rosie to her side and held her tight like a cat with a mouse. And Rosie didn’t look all that different from a mouse that’s caught.’

 ‘Why would she dress a child as if she’d come of age?’ Gundy said. He was still scandalised. That sweet, innocent child... a daughter of his own would not be allowed to walk out with a suitor until she reached the age of thirty, and that was early to many of the Bolgers’ thinking. Two-and-thirty was plenty early for a lass to marry. There was no call for a tween to go about dressed as if she were seeking a husband.

 ‘Let us ask Rosie,’ Viola said.

 ‘She wouldn’t tell me earlier,’ Bittersweet warned.

 ‘She is much too young to bear this kind of serious trouble on her own,’ Viola said.

Whilst the grown-ups discussed Rosemary amongst themselves, Hally crept back to Ferdi’s room, to find Rosemary weeping, her head bowed over her brother.

 ‘What is it, Rose?’ he asked. ‘Let me help.’

 ‘No one can help me,’ she whispered.

 ‘Let me try,’ he said. ‘Please.’ He put a cautious hand upon her shoulder, bare as it was in the low-cut gown, and took it away quickly again.

She raised her face to look at him, her expression bleak. ‘I’m pledged to marry,’ she said.

 ‘Handfasting?’ he asked. ‘Your father has arranged a marriage for you when you are older?’ It made sense, though his heart was sinking within him.

 ‘Marriage,’ she said, ‘in the Spring.’

 ‘The Spring,’ he echoed, stunned. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he stammered, and stumbled from the room.

He found the adults still talking in the kitchen, waiting for the teakettle to boil. ‘She’s pledged to marry in the Spring,’ he blurted.

There was a sudden silence as they all looked at him. He withstood their scrutiny as best he could, though normally he found trees to be more comfortable company than hobbits.

 ‘Pledged to marry,’ Gundy said slowly. ‘A handfasting?’ he said, for that was the only plausible explanation; still it did not justify dressing the child the way he’d seen her this night.

When Hally shook his head, Bittersweet stepped forward, tea forgotten. ‘Whom?’ she demanded, suspicion growing. ‘Whom is she to marry?’ But Hally only shook his head again.

Bittersweet marched from the room, the others behind her. Viola stopped only long enough to swing the little kettle away from the fire.

 ‘Your father has arranged a marriage for you?’ Bittersweet said to the girl who sat with drooping head. ‘A marriage, and not a handfasting? To the Thain?’ All save Ferdi looked at her in shock.

 ‘How did you know?’ Rosemary said miserably.

 ‘I have served Mistress Lalia for more years than you’ve been alive, girl,’ the healer snapped. ‘I know she’s desperate for her son to have an heir, and I know that none of the fine ladies of the Great Smials will have him so long as he’s under his mother’s thumb.’

She eyed the girl, nodding to herself. ‘About the only way she could find him a wife would be to coerce a girl with little other choice, and no one to protect her.’ Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what she offered her son to go along with her plans and ask Ferdinand. She knew he’d not in honour be able to refuse. She was willing to risk scandal and gossip to get her way, but then what else is new?’

 ‘We have to stop this,’ Gundy said.

 ‘How? This is the Tookland,’ Bittersweet said, ‘and it’s the Thain you’re talking about.’ She pursed her lips as her eyes shifted back and forth, reflecting her furious thoughts. ‘Unless...’ she said.

 ‘Unless what?’ Hally demanded. Ferdi’s eyes were open now, moving from one speaker to the next, apparently following the conversation, though he maintained his tight grip on his sister.

 ‘Rosemary,’ Bittersweet said slowly, her tone demanding the girl to look at her. ‘A difficult choice is before you.’

 ‘What choice?’ Rosemary whispered, her expression hopeless.

 ‘You can stay here, accept Lalia’s manipulations, marry a hobbit old enough to be your father, nay,’ she said bitterly, ‘old enough to be your grandfather,’ she shuddered at the thought, monstrous it was.

 ‘Or?’ Viola said.

 ‘Or you can run away,’ Bittersweet said. ‘I cannot believe I am saying this,’ she muttered. Raising her head, she said slowly and deliberately. ‘I am telling you to defy your father and leave the Tookland. You cannot stay where the Thain has influence; your father will only claim you’re a wayward child and send to have you brought back again.’

 ‘Where would I go?’ the girl said, her eyes wide. ‘What would I do?’

 ‘We’d take you in,’ Gundy said stoutly. ‘The Thain has no hold on us anymore, and our land is in Woody End, beyond the border of Tookland.’ Despite the seriousness of the situation he smiled faintly, feeling the roll of paper tucked away.

Rosemary’s arms tightened about her brother. ‘I cannot leave Ferdi,’ she said.

 ‘Go,’ came a whisper.

 ‘Who would care for my father if I go?’ she said. ‘At least if I marry the Thain I can stay and watch over...’ Her voice trailed off as she looked down at her brother in amazement. ‘Ferdi?’

He nodded, pushing himself up to a sitting position. ‘Go,’ he repeated. ‘I—I’ll take care—of our da,’ he finished haltingly.

 ‘She’s not safe even then,’ Viola said. ‘If there’s an agreement they can claim “breach of promise” and haul her back to the Tookland.’

 ‘Not if she’s already joined to someone else,’ Gundy said slowly.

 ‘Joined — as in married?’ Bittersweet said. ‘This whole travesty started with her being too young to marry!’

 ‘Handfasted,’ Hally spoke up. ‘I’m too young to marry as well,’ he added, ‘but handfasting is as binding as marriage — there’d be no recourse for her father or for the Thain, and we could be married when we’re old enough... if you’d have me, Rosie?’ He held his breath, thinking he’d gone too far.

 ‘O Hally,’ Rosemary breathed. ‘I couldn’t ask you to —’

 ‘But I want to do it,’ he said earnestly, and blushed.

 ‘Is this something you’d want, Rosie-lass?’ Viola asked gently.

 ‘Yes,’ Rosemary said softly, and then again with more determination. ‘Yes.’ She looked to Hally. ‘I never dared hope before this moment,’ she said, ‘but I’ve dreamed a long time.’

 ‘Then it’s settled,’ Gundy said.

 ‘Not quite,’ Bittersweet said. ‘We still have to get her out of here.’

Chapter 18. A Switch

Hally Woodcarver thought that this might be how a sizzling roast must feel, could it feel anything at all, that is. Nevertheless, he hitched himself yet closer to the blazing hearth. He thought he might possibly melt, yet doggedly he stayed in the place he’d chosen.

 ‘What are you about, Hally?’ Reginard said close behind him. ‘If you get any closer to the Yule log we’ll be roasting you instead of mushrooms.’

 ‘C-c-c-c-cold,’ Hally chattered, even as he managed a realistic shudder.

 ‘Cold!’ Regi said sharply. ‘You’ve a face as red as...’ Though Hally tried to fend off the seeking hand, Regi was able to touch his cheek, then his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘You’re burning hot, Hally!’

Hally didn’t doubt it. Bravely, he shivered and said faintly, ‘C-c-can’t seem to g-get warm.’

 ‘Let’s get you to Healer Bittersweet,’ Regi said with a frown of concern. He was gone only a moment or two, coming back with Isumbold.

 ‘Come, lad,’ the head of escort said.

 ‘Can’t get warm,’ Hally said again, slumping into their urgent grip, his head swimming. Regi and Isum lifted him between them, walking him away from the hearth. He did not have to feign the weakness of his legs; it felt as if his bones had melted within him.

 ‘Hally?’ he heard his father’s anxious voice.

 ‘Go on back to the Mistress and the Thain,’ Isumbold said. ‘We’ll take the lad to the infirmary and you can check on him when the Mistress releases you. I’m sure it’s naught but a chill—you’ve worked long hours these past days, haven’t slept or eaten properly.’ He eyed the woodcarver. ‘You’re not feeling poorly, are you?’

 ‘I’m well,’ Gundy said. He put a hand on Hally’s arm. ‘Lad?’

 ‘I’m well,’ Hally echoed unconvincingly.

 ‘Come, we’ll get you tucked up warm with hot bricks and Bittersweet will have a warming draught for you, I’m sure,’ Isumbold said.

The cooler air of the corridor was a blessed relief. Hally sighed, then managed another shiver. ‘Here,’ Isum said, taking his own cloak from his arm and putting it about the tween’s shoulders. ‘This ought to help.’

They half walked, half dragged him to the infirmary, meeting Hellebore at the door to the sitting-room. She gaped in alarm at the staggering tween, whose face had lost all colour in the walk from the great room, but quickly schooled her expression, showed them to an empty room and hurried off to fetch Bittersweet.

 ‘Well, well, what have we here?’ Bittersweet said briskly. She asked Hally a series of questions—he’d been given the answers beforehand and knew exactly what to say—looked at his throat, counted his heartbeats, listened to his breathing, and gave the hovering Hellebore instructions to heat bricks to tuck into the bed and bring extra coverings. Finally, she efficiently stripped Hally of his clothes, wrapped him in several blankets and laid him down on the bed. ‘Chills and fever,’ she said. ‘We’ve had several cases in the past week.’

 ‘Is it serious?’ Isumbold asked.

 ‘It can be,’ Bittersweet said, picking up Hally’s clothes, rolled into a neat bundle, and her sewing basket which she’d been carrying when called to attend Hally. ‘He was fine an hour or two ago, so we’ve caught it early, I think.’ She shooed Isum and Regi out of the room, saying, ‘Enjoy the celebration! He’ll be fine, I’m sure, and you can tell his father not to worry, especially since he must dance attendance on Mistress Lalia until she releases him.’

 ‘I’ll check on Hally later,’ Regi said.

 ‘You do that,’ Bittersweet agreed, nodding vigorously.

 ‘Is Miss Rosemary ready to return to the celebration?’ Isumbold asked, picking up his cloak. ‘I’d be happy to escort her.’

 ‘No, she’s sitting with her brother at the moment. I’ve half a mind to pop her into bed herself; no need for her to be up all night with the strain she’s been under.’

 ‘The Mistress expects her to be in attendance at breakfast as always,’ Isumbold warned. ‘ “Properly clad”, was the message I was to convey.’ A pained look crossed his face before he wiped all expression away; it seemed he had not approved of the fancy gown, either. ‘Of course, she does not mean breakfast in the Thain’s quarters, but the festive breakfast in the great room.’

 ‘Of course,’ Bittersweet said smoothly. ‘Why don’t you come and fetch her about an hour before dawn?’

 ‘Very well,’ Isum said gravely. ‘Glad Yule,’ he said in parting.

 ‘A very glad Yule,’ Bittersweet said, ‘and a new year, full of promise.’

Hally had thrown off the blankets when Hellebore returned with the hot bricks. ‘No,’ he moaned deliriously. ‘Hot... too hot!’

 ‘That’s the way it is with chills and fever,’ the healer’s assistant said cheerily. ‘Come let’s get you tucked up again.’ Hally suffered himself to be wrapped in blankets with hot bricks tucked around him. It was all for a good cause.

Bittersweet led Isum and Regi past Ferdi’s room. The teen was tucked in his bed, apparently asleep, while Rosmary, still in the opulent gown, held his hand and sang softly.

 ‘How is he?’ Reginard asked.

 ‘Sleeping peacefully,’ Rosemary said.

 ‘Which is what you ought to be doing, my girl,’ Bittersweet said briskly. ‘Give your brother a hug and seek your own room; I’ll help you undo your dress so that you can sleep, and one of us will help you into it again in the morning.’

 ‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ Rosemary murmured, her eyes cast down. Isum clenched his jaw but had no comfort to offer the girl. He had a very good idea of what was to happen on the morrow. There had been rumour of an engagement to be announced, and putting that together with Mistress Lalia’s excellent humour of late...

 ‘I’ll be by an hour before dawn to fetch you, miss,’ he said without expression, and she nodded without answering, hugged Ferdi, and rose wearily from the bed.

Bittersweet took Rosemary’s arm, saying goodnight to Regi and Isum. They took the hint and took their leave politely. As they were leaving, Bittersweet said, ‘Would you like to look in on your father before you retire?’

 ‘Yes, please,’ Rosemary whispered.

They found Ferdinand asleep. The fire-ravaged side of his face was turned to the pillow, the unmarked cheek was facing up, and in his sleep he smiled.

She kissed him softly on the cheek. ‘I love you, Father,’ she whispered. She looked down at him for a moment more, laid a folded piece of paper on the pillow, and turned from the bed. ‘I’m ready,’ she said.

 ‘Courage,’ Bittersweet murmured, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘Let us get you out of that ridiculous dress.’ She led Rosemary back to her room, undid the intricate fastenings of the gown, helped the girl step out of it and carefully laid out the gown over a chair, ready for the morning. Tucking the girl securely into the bed, she kissed Rosemary’s cheek. ‘Grace go with you,’ she said quietly. She lit the watchlamp and left the room.

Rosemary waited a few moments and then slipped from the bed. She opened the sewing basket that Bittersweet had absently laid down upon the dressing table along with the roll of Hally’s clothes, to find the shears as expected. Unbraiding her hair took time, but finally she had it undone and hanging loose. She looked into the mirror above the dressing table, lifted her hair in one hand and the shears in the other, and hesitated. From this point there was no going back. Setting her jaw, she made the first cut.

When her curls had been shorn to resemble Hally’s as closely as possible, she unrolled the woodcarver’s clothes and put them on. She was a little shorter than Hally, but not enough that it mattered.

Last, she took two bolsters from the corner cupboard and arranged them artfully on the bed. Pulling the covers over, she stepped back to eye the result. Yes, it looked as if there were a sleeper in the bed. She shoved the shorn hair under the mattress where it would stay hid until the bed linens were changed.

Creeping to the door, she stood and listened until she heard Bittersweet say, ‘Now, dearie, a cup of tea would not go amiss, do you think?’ That was the agreed-upon signal. Rosemary waited a minute more, to give Bittersweet and Hellebore time to reach the little kitchen, then slipped into the silent, darkened corridor to Hally’s room.

The woodcarver was waiting for her, dressed in his second-best clothing which he’d brought to the infirmary earlier, before going to the great room to set all in motion with his chills and fever. Though he’d felt weak from overheating, Bittersweet had brought him a restorative cold drink and he was nearly back to himself.

 ‘Here you are,’ he said with a bow, pulling back the coverlet. ‘A very comfortable bed, let me assure you.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Rosemary said, suppressing a nervous giggle. She slipped beneath the covers and turned her face to the wall.

’Very lifelike,’ Hally said. ‘You could be my twin.’ He patted her shoulder and in the next moment was gone.

It was the middle night, and any hobbits who were about would be in the great room or gathered with other celebrants in the public holes. He met no one in the deserted corridors, nor the courtyard when he left the Great Smials, nor in the streets of Tuckborough, though he heard snatches of song and merriment as he passed the Spotted Duck on the outskirts of town.

Snow was falling thickly, muffling his footsteps, and he thought with satisfaction that he would leave no sign of his passing. He kept walking, all the way through Tuckborough and into the night, passing several farmhouses before encountering the huge haystacks that he and his father had remarked upon their arrival back in mid-October.

Burrowing into one of these, he curled up in his cloak and munched the bread-and-cheese that Bittersweet had left in his room. Warm, drowsy, and full, he fell asleep.

Chapter 19. Into Thin Air

 ‘Where did Rosemary go?’ Paladin said, returning with Pippin, both bearing refreshments for Paladin's wife and daughters. ‘The dancing will be starting soon.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Perhaps she went to change into something more suitable.’ Although Pearl, too, wore a fancy gown such as the Smials Tooks seemed to favour—the farmer had learned how to avert his eyes from the worst—a shawl of lace had been folded round her shoulders and bosom and fixed to her dress in a way that was both pretty, and reassuring to her father. In point of fact, in order to have the concealing lace added in time she’d been sewn into the dress! ...and would have to be cut out again. She blessed Cori the dressmaker for the last-minute alteration.

 ‘The Talk is that Ferdi collapsed when the Yule log was lit, and she accompanied him back to the infirmary,’ Pearl said. She looked about the crowded room for Isumbold, but he was nowhere to be seen. So much for the first dance.

 ‘Collapsed?’ Eglantine said in shock. ‘Over the lighting of a fire?’

 ‘They’ve been very careful to keep open fires from him,’ Pearl answered. ‘He doesn’t even have a fire in his room, just a covered brazier with hot coals for warmth.’

 ‘Poor lad,’ Paladin shook his head. ‘Poor, benighted boy.’

The musicians finished tuning their instruments and soon struck up a lively melody. Paladin shook off his sorrow and bowed to his wife. ‘If I may have this dance, my lady?’ he said.

 ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Eglantine smiled, and placing her hand in her husband’s the two moved into the form.

 ‘If I may have this dance, my lady?’ Pip echoed, bowing before Pearl.

 ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Pearl said, taking his hand.

 ‘The first dance is the most important, you know,’ Pippin said as they joined a set.

 ‘Of course it is,’ Pearl answered. ‘That’s why I’m dancing it with you!’ She was rewarded by the look in her little brother’s eyes. What need had she of the head of escort?

Looking about, she saw that Pimpernel and Pervinca were dancing together, part of a set of young girls, for it would be unseemly for them at such a tender age to dance with grown hobbits, and the lads their age were too shy to ask for a dance, or else not yet old enough to find girls of interest.

Pearl danced next with her father, and then with each of her sisters, declining with a smile the eager hobbits hovering nearby. As she finished a dance with Vinca, her father came up to her, Isumbold at his side.

 ‘Pearl, this hobbit has asked my permission to dance with you, and I’ve given it,’ Paladin said. ‘If you wish to dance with him, that is.’

 ‘Indeed, Father,’ Pearl said. She twinkled at Isum. Clever of him, to enlist her father. He’d gain Paladin’s approval, and buffer any hurt feelings Pearl might harbour for his missing the promised first dance.

As they danced, Isum caught her up on the news of Ferdi’s collapse and Hally’s illness. ‘What a pity,’ Pearl said. ‘I know Hally was looking forward to roasting bacon and mushrooms over the Yule log.’

 ‘He’d probably fall asleep in the middle of it,’ Isum said. ‘I don’t know when last he and his father slept.’

Watching the dancers, Ferumbras was soothing his mother. ‘Rosemary need not dance the night through,’ he said. ‘If she prefers to spend the evening in her brother’s company, who am I to gainsay her?’

 ‘She’ll have to put her brother aside soon enough,’ Lalia snapped. ‘She’ll have other duties, other responsibilities.’ She grumbled, ‘Who are you, indeed?’

 ‘No announcement has been made,’ Ferumbras pointed out calmly. ‘I have not that sort of influence over her as of yet. It would be ridiculous for me, as Thain, to order her from her brother’s side.’

 But as her husband you’d have every right, Lalia wanted to retort. She bit back the words with difficulty. They would observe the niceties. She liked to do things correctly, after all. Of course, her own husband had never been able to tell her what to do, but Rosemary was a sweet, biddable child and would give Ferumbras, with his mild ways, little trouble.

Gundy stifled another yawn. Ferumbras said, ‘Ah, Gundavar, you’ve had little sleep the past fortnight. We ought to send you off to your bed.’

 ‘It has not yet struck middle night,’ Mistress Lalia protested.

 ‘Have pity, Mother,’ Ferumbras said. ‘The hobbit is asleep on his feet.’

 ‘Very well,’ Lalia said ungraciously. ‘I release you, Gundavar, and thank you for your company. Sleep well.’

 ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Gundavar said promptly, bowing to Lalia, and then to the Thain. ‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’ He left before the Mistress could change her mind and call after him.

He went directly to the infirmary where Bittersweet and Hellebore were still sharing a pot of tea. ‘How’s Hally?’ he asked.

 ‘Sleeping peacefully the last time I looked,’ Bittersweet said. ‘Still feverish, I’m afraid, but I’m hoping it’s merely a cold and naught worse. Would you like me to sit with him this night, so that you may go to your rest?’

 ‘No,’ Gundy said. ‘I’ll sit with him. He’s my son, after all.’ He declined a cup of tea, was shown to Hally’s room, and after spreading an extra blanket upon the floor, he laid himself down and fell quickly to sleep.

He was awakened by an uproar in the corridor. He cracked the door open to find hobbits rushing to and fro. He slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. ‘How’s Hally?’ Bittersweet said, stopping on seeing him.

 ‘Asleep,’ Gundy said. ‘Seems he’s got a heavy cold, as you suspected. What’s the flurry about?’

 ‘Rosemary’s gone missing,’ Bittersweet said.

 ‘Missing!’ Gundy exclaimed.

 ‘That’s right!’ Hellebore said, stopping to talk. Her eyes were bright with excitement. ‘Isumbold came to escort her to breakfast, and we’d let her sleep a bit, only to find it wasn’t her in the bed!’

 ‘Wasn’t her in the bed?’ Gundy echoed, confusion replacing surprise on his face.

 ‘No!’ Hellebore hissed. ‘She’d laid bolsters in the bed to look like a body sleeping. She left a note with Ferdinand to say she was running away, and it looks as if she has, for no one’s seen sight of her since Bittersweet tucked her in last night!’

 ‘I don’t know what we’re to tell the Mistress,’ Bittersweet said worriedly, washing her hands together in her distraction. ‘I’ve sent servants to search every nook and corner of the Smials, in hopes they’ll find the girl hiding. I cannot imagine her going out into the snowstorm we had last night!’

 ‘Snowstorm?’ Gundy asked.

 ‘It snowed knee-deep in the night,’ Hellebore said. ‘If the girl went out and didn’t find shelter, she could be frozen stiff even now!’

 ‘Let us not borrow trouble,’ Bittersweet said severely.

 ‘Why would she run away?’ Tansy said. She’d stopped on seeing the little knot of discussion before Hally’s door.

 ‘Word is—’ Hellebore dropped her voice. ‘Word is she’s pledged to marry the Thain.’

 ‘Not possible!’ Tansy sputtered. ‘Why, she’s only a child.’

 ‘I’m only telling you what the Talk is,’ Hellebore said huffily. ‘Believe it or not, it’s your choice.’

 ‘Well I don’t believe it,’ Tansy said. ‘I’ve been tending Ferdinand ever since he was brought here after the fire, and he’s said naught about such business to me!’

 ‘Have it your own way,’ Hellebore retorted.

 ‘Hush! Both of you!’ Bittersweet scolded. ‘There’s a sick hobbit behind that door.’ She tapped on the door and stuck her head in. ‘Hally?’ she said softly. ‘Are you awake?’ No answer came from the bed. Closing the door again, she said, ‘Good, at least you didn’t wake him with your fuss and bother. Go on, the two of you, and see if you can put together a breakfast tray for the woodcarver and his son.’

 ‘Thankee, I’m mighty obliged,’ Gundy said.

When the woodcarver brought the breakfast tray out of Hally’s room later, Hellebore was happy to catch him up with the talk. ‘They’re searching the Great Smials,’ she said, ‘every storeroom, every empty room, hoping it was just a girlish fancy for her to hide herself away. They’ve asked young Ferdi, but the poor lad hardly seems aware of anything or anyone, and of course Ferdinand knows naught more than the note Rosie left on his pillow.’

 ‘What if she left the Smials?’ Gundy said.

 ‘Riders have gone out on every road,’ Hellebore said. ‘Knocking on farmers’ doors, asking if a lass took shelter in the night... we’ll hear something soon, I hope.’

 ‘As do I,’ Gundy answered. ‘I hate to think of that poor lass out in the cold, alone.’

 ‘How’s Hally?’ Hellebore asked.

 ‘Sleeping,’ Gundy said. ‘Best thing for a cold.’

 ‘Would you like me to sit with him?’ Hellebore offered.

 ‘No, thank you kindly,’ Hally responded. ‘Healer Bittersweet is sitting with him at the moment, very kind of her, for he really doesn’t need a watcher but I could not dissuade her. In any event, I have a little business to take care of.’

 ‘We always have watchers by the bedside of a sick Took,’ Hellebore said smugly. ‘It’s the only way to keep them abed.’

Gundy nodded, repressing his opinion of Tooks in general. After thanking her once more for the breakfast, he took his leave.

Knocking on the door of the Thain’s study, he was admitted at once.

 ‘Any news of the girl?’ Ferumbras snapped, not looking up from the map he was perusing with the head of escort.

 ‘I was about to ask you the same,’ Gundy said mildly.

 ‘O Gundavar, I beg your pardon,’ Ferumbras said. ‘I thought you were one of the searchers reporting in.’

 ‘No, just a lone woodcarver come to ask a boon of the Thain,’ Gundy said.

 ‘What boon?’ Ferumbras said, straightening.

 ‘Hally’s ill, you know,’ Gundy began.

 ‘Yes, I was about to ask after him,’ Ferumbras said. ‘How is he?’

 ‘Naught but a cold, but he’s miserable as you can imagine,’ Gundy said.

 ‘I can imagine.’

 ‘He’s only a tween, you know, been away from home and mother for two-and-a-half months, and he’s that homesick. He’s not dangerously ill, but he is in misery and wants his mother.’ Gundy had prepared this argument for Lalia, who would understand such a thing and whose motherly sympathies would be stirred, but she was not in evidence. He didn’t want to improvise and perhaps suffer a slip of the tongue, so he kept to the well-rehearsed little speech. ‘I’d like to take him home with me now, if you would release us.’

 ‘I have no hold on you,’ Ferumbras said. ‘You’ve finished the task you were hired to do and received your pay.’

Gundy smiled, feeling again the roll of papers tucked securely into his clothing. ‘Yes, Sir,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t want to up and leave, like. Seemed a bit rude, and then with the excitement this morning...’

 ‘I see,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Very thoughtful of you.’ He looked back to Isumbold. ‘Have one group follow the track towards Tookbank—and have you sent anyone to Ferdinand’s old hole? She might have taken herself off home when everything got to be too much for her.’

 ‘Baragrim and Palabard rode in that direction,’ Isumbold replied. ‘I’ll send off the next few teams and report back to you.’

 ‘Do that,’ Ferumbras said, and turned back to the woodcarver. ‘Go with grace,’ he said. ‘You’ve made Mother very happy with your carving.’

 ‘Thank you, Sir,’ Gundy said with a bow.

 ‘Keep your eyes open as you go along,’ the Thain said in parting. ‘Watch out for young Rosemary.’

 ‘Rest assured that I will,’ Gundy said. With another bow he took his leave.

Back in the infirmary, he was in for an argument with the head healer. ‘You oughtn’t to take him out in the cold,’ Bittersweet said.

 ‘What if we muffle him up well?’ Gundy said. ‘It’s only one day’s ride home, after all.’

 ‘An awfully long day,’ the healer said, glaring at him.

 ‘What if we break up the journey, spend the night at the Crowing Cockerel? That’s about halfway,’ Gundy said. ‘The lad’s miserable, for sure, but he’s not dangerously ill. He just wants home and mother, and I cannot blame him. There’s no better place to be ill than in your own bed.’

 ‘Well,’ Bittersweet said slowly. ‘I suppose—if you muffle him well.’ She looked to Hellebore, who’d been hovering to hear the argument. ‘Seek out a good, thick hat and muffler,’ she said. ‘And I’m sure we can spare a heavy cloak. I want no chance of the lad taking a chill along the way.’ To Gundy, she said, ‘You can send the things back to the Smials by post, if you like, or keep them as an extra bonus for a job well done.’

 ‘We’ll send them back as quick as we can,’ Gundy responded. He patted his shirt. ‘I’ve got my pay right here.’

Chapter 20. Departure

It did not take long for the woodcarver to pack up his and Hally’s belongings. They owned little enough, the clothes on their backs and a change, their precious carving tools. Indeed, it was hardly worth the trouble of driving a waggon, but, as Gundy explained to Adelard, who’d come to see them off, they had come knowing only that the Mistress had a large commission. They had not known what pay might result: sacks of grain, crates of chickens, a load of potatoes? Gundy patted his shirt. ‘I’m well paid,’ he said with a smile. ‘Well paid, indeed.’

Bittersweet had enlisted Ferdibrand to help her escort Hally to the waggon. Hally was so wrapped-up as to be unrecognisable with thick woollen hat and muffler and heavy winter cloak, hood pulled up over his head.

 ‘Ferdi, lad,’ Gundy said in farewell, hugging him and thumping him on the back. ‘We couldn’t have done it without you.’

Hally nodded vigorously, adding his own wordless embrace, then turned to the waggon and climbed aboard.

 ‘You ought to be lying down!’ Bittersweet scolded, but Gundy interceded for his son.

 ‘He’s wrapped warm enough, and he’s eager for the journey,’ the woodcarver said. ‘Don’t worry so, missus! I’ll get scolding enough from the wife when we arrive home.’

 ‘I wouldn’t doubt it,’ Bittersweet said, shaking her head. She stepped back, joining the other Tooks in singing the waggon away.

***

 ‘You must deny your daughter,’ Ferumbras said implacably. ‘Denounce her, disown her. It is the only way to save young Ferdi and yourself.’

 ‘Save us from what?’ Ferdinand said. ‘Is the Mistress about to toss us out in the snow?’ As the Thain’s silence lengthened, his eyes widened. ‘You cannot mean...’

 ‘Not in the snow, exactly,’ Ferumbras said, hating every word. ‘In a pauper’s hole, with barely enough food to keep soul and body together, and hardly enough wood to cook it with, much less keep warm, even if young Ferdi could bring himself to light and tend a fire.’

 ‘She’d do that?’ Ferdinand said. He’d always known the Mistress to be ruthless in her dealings, but he and most other Tooks had excused her whims and ways, speaking of the warm heart that surely must beat beneath the ornate exterior. Fortinbras had been a decent sort, but then he’d always deferred to his wife.

 ‘She’s furious. If Rosemary has truly run away, and if she cannot be fetched back again...’ Ferumbras sighed. ‘I never wanted this marriage in the first place.’

 ‘I was surprised when you asked,’ Ferdinand said, then coming back to the topic of concern, he added, ‘Can you not intercede for us? Use your influence...?’

The Thain snorted. ‘Influence!’ he said. ‘When has anyone ever been able to tell Mother what to do? She told me she was getting tired, wanted to step down and just be a grandmother—but she needed grands if she were to do that. I saw a chance for freedom, and selfishly took it, and now am in a fair way of ruining your life, and Ferdi’s, in addition to Rosemary’s.’

 ‘You didn’t ruin my life,’ Ferdinand said. ‘The fire did that already.’ He sighed. He thought he had been doing the best thing for Rosemary, and Ferdi for that matter, and now... What happened to himself didn’t matter, but he knew that if they were thrown out of the Smials, Ferdi would never survive, not in his present state. What had Rosemary been thinking? ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If Rosemary is not found and returned, if she does not agree to do her duty, I will,’ he took a deep breath, ‘disown her.’

He turned his face to the wall. ‘Will that be all, Sir?’ he said tonelessly.

Ferumbras’ hand tightened on his shoulder. ‘It’s as much as I can stomach,’ he said.

***

Bittersweet had set Ferdi to scrubbing the floor in the large, pleasant sitting-room some time ago. He was still at the task when Isumbold entered.

 ‘Ferdi,’ he said. ‘Just the hobbit I wanted to see.’ Ferdi kept scrubbing, head down. The head of escort walked across the wet floor to stoop and touch the teen’s shoulder. Ferdi stopped scrubbing but did not look up. ‘Ferdi?’

 ‘What do you want of Ferdi, Isum?’ Viola said from the far doorway.

 ‘The Mistress wants to question him,’ Isumbold said.

 ‘The Mistress--!’ Viola said in outrage. ‘Poor benighted lad, doesn’t even know anything but that his sister’s gone. We just got him calmed down awhile agone and you’re going to frighten him again?’

 ‘I have my orders,’ Isum said.

 ‘Only if a healer goes with him,’ Viola said. ‘I do not know what sort of harm this will do.’

 ‘Bittersweet?’ said the head of escort.

 ‘No, she sought her pillow after seeing the woodcarver off, making sure his son was well-wrapped against the cold. She wanted them to stay, but they were eager to be off home now that their job’s done.’

 ‘The Mistress will not wait,’ Isum said. ‘I am to bring young Ferdi to her now.’

 ‘Very well!’ Viola snapped. While they were talking, Ferdi had begun moving the scrub brush in soapy circles once more. Now the healer’s assistant bent beside him, touching his hand. ‘Ferdi,’ she said, voice all gentleness. ‘Ferdi, you’ve done a fine job. Time to put brush in bucket and take a little walk with me.’

Obediently the brush went into the bucket and Ferdi stood, hands hanging at his sides, dripping soapsuds. Viola clucked like a mother hen and wiped his hands dry on her apron. ‘We really ought to run a brush over his head,’ she said.

 ‘No time,’ Isumbold answered. He forced a smile and tried to speak lightly. ‘Ferdi,’ he said, following Viola’s lead, ‘Come and take a walk with me.’

Though the teen wore no expression, Viola patted his arm. ‘That’s right, laddie,’ she said. When the twain took him between them, he walked when they began to walk, stopping when they stopped, as biddable as a well-trained pony.

Isumbold tapped at the study door and opened the door; Viola spoke gently and led Ferdi into the room.

 ‘There you are!’ Lalia snapped. ‘What took you so long?’

Ferdi’s expression did not change, but he began to breathe more rapidly. ‘Steady, lad,’ Viola said, as if he were a fearful pony. ‘No one here means you any harm.’

Pearl watched from behind the Mistress, her heart wrung with sorrow and pity. From the talk she’d heard, she didn’t blame Rosemary for running away, but—poor Ferdi!

 ‘Where’s your sister?’ Lalia said sharply. ‘Surely she said something to you!’ When Ferdi did not respond, she jerked upright in the heavy chair and signalled Pearl to wheel her forward until she was directly in front of the teen. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she asked nastily, spitting the words into Ferdi’s face. ‘Why won’t you speak? Don’t you know that you and your father are living on the Thain’s charity? My son in his generosity has seen to it that you are cared for, undeserving as you are, and this is how you show your gratitude?’

 ‘Stop it,’ Pearl said involuntarily, and when the Mistress jerked around in her chair to glare at the girl, she repeated it slowly and deliberately. ‘Stop it! Stop badgering him! Can you not see he doesn’t know?’

 ‘Good for you, girl,’ Viola said under her breath, and the Mistress turned her poisonous glare on the healer’s assistant. ‘He doesn’t know,’ she added defiantly. ‘He was asleep when his sister took herself off.’ Ferdi had begun to tremble violently, and she put her arms about him. ‘Steady, lad,’ she said again. ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you.’

 ‘Mother,’ the Thain said from the doorway. ‘You are overwrought. All of you, please,’ he said, his glance sweeping the room, ‘clear out. I do believe the Mistress needs some peace and quiet. Pearl,’ he said, seeing the girl shaking with emotion, ‘go and make us a pot of tea. Isum, help Viola take the lad back to the infirmary.’

 ‘Very good, Sir,’ Isum said promptly, stepping to Ferdi’s side and moving him quickly to the door with Viola’s help.

 ‘But I’m not finished—‘ Lalia protested.

 ‘O yes,’ Ferumbras said decisively. ‘Quite.’

Chapter 21. Good Measure, Heaped Up, and Running Over

Hally sat huddled up in his cloak as Gundy drove the waggon slowly through the snowy streets, waving in reply to shouted greetings. Many of Tuckborough had seen the mantel in progress; a few had been fortunate enough to see the finished work at last night’s celebration. The word was already spreading that, thanks to Gundy and Hally, one of the wonders of the Shire was to be found in their own front garden, so to speak.

As they passed the marketplace, a farmer hailed Gundy, running to seize the lines and stop the waggon. ‘It’s true,’ he said incredulously, eyeing the empty waggon bed. ‘You got naught for your carving?’ He turned back to the marketplace. ‘Naught!’ he shouted.

 ‘Not true!’ Gundy laughed. He pulled his precious paper from under his cloak and waved it. ‘Got land! Our land is our own, no more renting for this lad!’

 ‘Well,’ the Tooklander said, only slightly mollified, ‘that’s well and all, but still—the Smials Tooks sent you away with an empty waggon? After you spent months carving them that work? I saw it, last night I did, bringing fresh mushrooms for the roasting!’

Gundy shoved the paper back into its safe hiding place. ‘I got my pay,’ he said. ‘Mistress gave me three parcels of land, three parcels!’ He grinned widely, putting one arm about Hally. ‘But you’d better let us go. Lad is ill, and we wish to reach the Cockerel before night’s chill.’

 ‘I’d heard,’ the farmer said. ‘We will not keep you more’n a few moments.’ He gestured to the market square behind him, to a group of farmers and farmers’ wives and families coming up to the waggon, laden with sacks and crates, parcels and baskets.

 ‘What’s all this?’ Gundy said in wonder as goods began to pile into the waggon.

 ‘Two fine woollen blankets,’ a weaver told him, laying these down, ‘best of my stock. From my own sheep, they are, and you won’t find none warmer in all of Tookland!’

 ‘A length of stout rope,’ a roper said, tossing in a coil. ‘Makes for safer limbing, when you’re cutting trees, I hear.’

 ‘Chickens!’ a farmer said, loading a large, clucking crate.

 ‘And eggs!’ his wife put in, setting a covered basket on the seat next to Hally. ‘Mind those now!’ she admonished, and Hally nodded.

So it continued, sacks of taters and oats and barley, a barrel of carrots packed in sand to keep through the winter, several baskets of apples, parcels of smoked fish, hams, and sausages, a crate with two rabbits (“Won’t be two for long!”), bundles of dried herbs, crocks of butter—in other words, more than was in the woodcarver’s larder at any one time. So it kept coming and mounting up, until the waggon was groaning with the bounty.

 ‘How are we to haul all this?’ Gundy said in astonishment. ‘What’s it for?’

 ‘It’s our thanks, for the treasure you’ve given Tuckborough,’ the first farmer said. ‘As far as hauling, just take it slow and steady.’

 ‘Here!’ another farmer called, leading two ponies harnessed and ready to go. ‘These aren’t for giving,’ he said hastily, ‘but for loaning. I’ll be coming down your way to cut wood later this month and will need them to haul the waggon back here when it’s full. You’ve enough grain in your sacks, and more, that you don’t need to worry about their feeding ‘til I fetch them!’ He hitched them on, running their reins through the guides and safely into Gundy’s hands.

 ‘I—I don’t know what to say,’ Gundy stammered, while Hally looked on with wide eyes.

 ‘Say thank you!’ the first farmer retorted, and all the hobbits assembled there laughed.

 ‘Thank you!’ Gundy shouted at the top of his lungs, standing up to wave vigorously. ‘Glad Yule to all!’

Amid cries of “Glad Yule!” he slapped the reins. With four ponies pulling, the waggon moved smoothly under its load of good wishes. The hobbits of Tuckborough sang them out of the marketplace and on out of the town.

 ‘What a shabby trick we’re playing,’ Rosemary whispered—for truly, it was Rosemary, and not Hally who rode there—when they were well away.

 ‘Not on them,’ Gundy replied. He shook his head in wonderment. Who’d have expected such from Tooks and Tooklanders? Perhaps the farmers here were not so very different from those he knew in the Marish. ‘The trick is on the Mistress, and I hardly feel any pangs, for she’d have sent us away just as empty, without the land, had we not finished our work in time.’

They were approaching the farm with the haystacks, and Gundy slowed the waggon to a stop, then got down to double-check the ponies’ harness, whistling a sprightly tune. In the meantime, Rosemary slipped into the bed of the waggon, pulling over herself one of the finely woven woollen blankets for concealment and warmth. Once out of sight, she shed cloak, hat and muffler, reaching out again to place them on the waggon seat.

Within a few moments, a figure crept from one of the stacks, approaching warily. ‘Dad?’

 ‘Indeed,’ Gundy answered. ‘I thought you’d be waiting for us!’

 ‘I was,’ Hally returned. ‘Waiting for an empty waggon drawn by two ponies!’ He stared in wonder. ‘What’s all this?’

 ‘Fruit of our labours, my boy, fruit of our labours,’ Gundy answered. ‘Climb up and don hat, muffler and cloak before someone comes along and sees you!’ Hally hastened to comply, Gundy jumped into the driver’s seat, and they were on their way once more.

They did not stop at the Cockerel after all, electing to continue driving into the gathering gloom of night. Hally walked ahead of the team with a lantern to light the road. It seemed his cold was much improved. Some time between middle night and dawn they reached the little cot deep in the woods of Woody End.

***

Pearl had made the tea, but when she brought the tray to the Thain’s study, Ferumbras took it from her and dismissed her. ‘You were supposed to be off duty this day, as I recall,’ he said. ‘Go, be with your family and enjoy your holiday as well as you might with all this fuss and bother.’

 ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she said with a courtesy. ‘You’re very kind.’

 ‘Go on with you,’ he said with a smile, ‘before my Mother changes my mind.’ Pearl blinked, not sure whether it was meant for a joke or for true, and with another quick bob she left.

 ‘What’s it all about, Pearl? What’s happening?’ her father demanded. ‘The festive breakfast cancelled, Tooks rushing here and there, riders going out? And Rosemary, wasn’t she to take breakfast with us, and Ferdi?’

 ‘Where is Rosemary, is she all right?’ Nell asked anxiously.

 ‘Did Ferdi take a turn for the worse?’ Eglantine said.

 ‘That’s the burning question,’ Pearl said. ‘Where is Rosemary? She seems to have vanished.’

 ‘Like the cinder girl, who turns to ash and blows away on the wind of middle night?’ Pervinca said eagerly.

 ‘You read too many stories,’ Pimpernel said in annoyance. ‘This is Rose we’re talking about!’

 ‘Nevertheless, she might as well have turned to ash,’ Pearl said. ‘She’s gone, and nobody knows where.’

 ‘Have they asked Ferdi?’ Paladin said. ‘O that’s right, I forgot, the lad doesn’t speak.’

Paladin had never been one for gossip, and Pearl had followed in his teaching. It was hard to avoid the Talk in the Smials, but she learned a great deal through listening and managed to hold her tongue in the bargain. Now, however, she found herself indignantly pouring out the details of Ferdi’s interview with the Mistress.

Paladin’s face grew very red as he listened, and Eglantine moved behind him, to soothe his shoulders with her capable hands. ‘Temper, my dear,’ she whispered.

 ‘It’s almost more than I can bear,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘To treat a grieving lad so... abandoned by his sister, and then to shout at him, throwing charity in his face that way! I’ve half a mind to...’

 ‘Paladin,’ his wife warned.

 ‘She didn’t abandon Ferdi; she had no choice,’ Pearl said. ‘They were going to marry her to Thain Ferumbras; once the marriage was announced she’d be trapped.’

 ‘Announced?’ Paladin snapped.

 ‘It was to be announced at the breakfast,’ Pearl said.

Eglantine swayed, losing colour. ‘It is as I feared,’ she whispered. ‘O Pearlie, I was afraid something like this would happen.’ Turning to see her face, Paladin took her arm and led her to a chair. Sinking down, she grabbed at her husband’s arm and said, ‘We’ve got to take Pearl home!’

 ‘No,’ Pearl said unexpectedly.

 ‘Your mother’s right, Pearlie,’ Paladin said. ‘This is no place for you.’

 ‘No,’ she said again. ‘There’s no one now to look after Ferdi. I’m older than Rosemary; I can look out for myself. Besides, her father gave his permission when the Thain asked him for her hand. You’d never do that, would you, Father?’

 ‘I cannot imagine such a thing,’ Paladin said, ‘not unless you were the one to ask for my blessing. I know you’d do so only if you had good reason, for the sake of love.’

 ‘For the sake of love,’ Eglantine echoed.

 ‘Indeed,’ Pearl said. ‘You need not fear on my behalf, Father. Let me stay. I don’t care about the gold or the pearls, but I do care about Ferdibrand. He was doing better; Bittersweet had hopes of a full recovery. Now he’s pulled into himself again, and if all who love him abandon him, what will become of him?’

 ‘Perhaps we should take him with us,’ Eglantine said.

Paladin shook his head. ‘No,’ he said heavily. ‘He’s all that Ferdinand has left.’

 ‘That’s true,’ Pearl said, tears coming to her eyes. ‘Cousin Ferdinand has disowned Rosemary. He had no choice in the matter.’

Her parents gave soft, shocked exclamations, but soon Paladin was nodding as his thoughts brought him to understanding. ‘It’s a good thing grand-da left the Smials,’ he said quietly, bitterness in his tone. ‘I could never live amongst the Smials Tooks and all their fine ways.’

 ‘Then perhaps we should stay on, for Ferdi’s sake,’ Eglantine said, but her shoulders slumped. They could not disoblige the neighbours any longer than they already were.

Pearl looked up to see Pippin’s stricken face. Stay on? What about Merry? ‘You’ll see Merry on the morrow, Pip, remember? You’re going on to Brandy Hall.’

 ‘Mum said we’re staying on,’ Pippin said.

 ‘No lad, we cannot, though I wish we could,’ Eglantine said, instantly perceiving the problem. Pippin brightened, and she thought of an errand. ‘Why don’t you go to the stables, see if our ponies are ready to make the trip tomorrow? Nell, go with him.’

 ‘Yes’m, ‘Nell said. She knew without being told that she was to distract the lad from any idle talk that might be flying about. ‘Come, Pip, let’s take them some of these apples going wanting in the bowl, shall we?’ Taking two lovely apples from the bowl on the table of their suite, she led the boy, chattering excitedly, out the door.

***

Ferdi lay facedown upon his pillow, his shoulders shaking. Viola talked soothingly, to no avail.

 ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Reginard said from the doorway.

 ‘Herself,’ Viola said, wanting to spit out the words but maintaining a calm, even tone for the lad’s sake. ‘She put him in this state, she did, with her biting questions and her nasty words.’

 ‘Let me sit with him a bit,’ Regi said. ‘We were getting on pretty well, you know.’

 ‘I know,’ Viola said, giving the stiff back a last gentle rub. ‘His sister told me how you’d got him to where he wasn’t afraid if she wasn’t right there.’

 ‘His sister,’ Regi said, picking up on Viola’s hint, ‘told me I had a way with him.’

 ‘Very well,’ Viola said, getting up. ‘I’ll stir up some custard while you talk to him. Perhaps we can get him calm enough to eat something.’

 ‘You do that,’ Regi said, sitting down on the bed in her place. Putting a hand on the teen’s back, he said, ‘Ferdi, it’s Reg. You remember me, don’t you?’

Viola left, and Reginard continued talking, trying to break through. ‘It’s all right, Ferdi, you’re safe.’

 ‘Rose,’ Ferdi said, muffled, into the pillow.

Reginard sat back in astonishment, then leaned forward again. ‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘Rosemary’s missing. Do you know where she is?’

 ‘Gone,’ Ferdi said.

Dropping his voice, the tween said, ‘You know why she went, Ferdi?’

There was no answer, but the tousled head nodded. ‘Then you know she had to go,’ Regi said even more softly, ‘don’t you?’

Ferdi was silent a long time, then Regi heard a soft, broken, ‘Da...’

 ‘Your father had to disown her,’ he whispered. ‘Because...’ He wasn’t sure how to finish the thought, but Ferdi finished it for him.

 ‘Me,’ he moaned, and the shaking stopped. He was still, so still that Regi began to worry.

 ‘Ferdi,’ he began, but the teen clenched his fists in the pillow until they turned white.

 ‘Charity!’ he hissed. ‘Thain’s charity!’ ...and then his hands went limp and he was silent once more.

 ‘O Ferdi,’ Reginard said softly. He had a sudden inspiration. ‘Sit up,’ he said. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’ He thought for a moment that it wasn’t going to work, but the hands clenched again, and then they pushed the pillow away, and wonder of wonders, Ferdi was sitting up and looking him in the eye.

Regi took a deep breath. ‘You don’t have to live off the Thain’s charity if you pay your own way,’ he said.

 ‘How?’ Ferdi asked haltingly.

 ‘Your father liked to brag about what a good shot you are,’ Regi said. ‘I remember, you even won the tournament in the teens’ class last year. What do you think about becoming a hunter? If you bring in game for the Thain’s pot you’ll earn your keep.’ He eyed the teen. ‘Are you willing to try?’

 ‘Try,’ Ferdi echoed.

 Regi nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll begin first thing on the morrow.’

Chapter 22. On to Buckland

It was a long ride from the Great Smials to Buckland, made longer because the Ferry would not be running in this wintry weather, even if Tooks trusted the Ferry, which as a rule they didn’t. Paladin didn’t want to spend his hard-earned coin on an inn, and so he hitched up his ponies about the same time they’d be milking, back home. Pearl saw to it that bags packed with food were ready. They’d travel steadily, eating their meals on the move. Leaving now, several hours before dawn, they ought to reach Buckland in the middle night.

Now in the torchlight in the icy courtyard, Eglantine hugged her oldest daughter. ‘Are you sure, Pearlie?’ she whispered. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind and come with us.’

 ‘I’m sure, Ma,’ she whispered back, squeezing a little harder before letting go and hugging her da. When she stepped away from Paladin, Nell, Vinca and Pip surrounded her and threw their arms around her all at once. She revelled in the feeling for as long as it lasted.

 ‘Climb in,’ Paladin said. ‘Time’s wasting.’

 ‘Goodbye, Pearl,’ Pip said, darting at her for a final hug.

 ‘Give my best to Merry,’ Pearl said, returning the hug.

 ‘I will!’ Pip said brightly, forgetting his grief at leaving his beloved sister in the excitement of soon seeing his best friend. He ran to grasp Paladin’s outstretched hands and chortled with glee as his father hurtled him into the waggon bed. Nell and Vinca climbed up as decorously as was expected of them, and last Paladin handed his wife into the front seat.

Turning back to Pearl, he said, ‘Remember, Pearlie. If there’s the least bit of trouble, you send to the farm and I’ll be here in three shakes to fetch you home again.’

 ‘I’ll remember,’ she promised, turning her face up to his. He kissed her gently on the forehead.

 ‘Best get inside before you catch your death,’ he said huskily, and then he was turning away, jumping up into the waggon, slapping the traces on the ponies backs, and driving out of the courtyard.

Pearl walked slowly back to the entrance, meeting the dairymaids on their way out to do their duties. ‘Are you at loose ends, Pearl?’ Daisy said. ‘Would you like to join us this morn?’

 ‘What are you thinking?’ Prim scolded. ‘Her in her fancy dress and all!’

 ‘I would love to join you,’ Pearl laughed, ‘dress and all!’ And so she did, enjoying the feel of the soft flank against her forehead, the warm smell of the cow, the milk spurting into the bucket, the sound of the cow chewing, even the wet slap of the tail against her cheek. It was a little bit like home.

***

 ‘The Master will see you now,’ Saradoc Brandybuck said, standing at the doorway to the best parlour. Hally looked to his father uncertainly, rising quickly in obedience to Gundy’s signal.

 ‘Come along, now,’ the woodcarver said, his hand warm around Rosemary’s. ‘The Master of Buckland doesn’t eat Tooks for tea, at least, not that I’ve heard lately.’

 ‘We save them for late supper,’ Saradoc smiled, but seeing the joke lost on the tween he apologised.

 ‘No harm done,’ Gundy said. ‘We’re all a bit nervous, you see.’

They followed the heir to Buckland to the Master’s study. Rorimac rose politely from his desk to greet them, inviting them to sit down and be at ease. Saradoc offered tea or brandy. All elected tea.

 ‘Now, what can I do for you?’ the old hobbit said, settling back in his chair. ‘My son said you insisted on stating your business only to the Master, and no one else.’

 ‘This is Rosemary Took,’ Gundy said without preamble, and the shrewd old eyes widened, then narrowed.

 ‘A quickpost message came through yesterday,’ Rorimac said slowly, ‘to say she’d run away, and was feared lost, what with the bitter weather we’ve been having. You found her, then?’

 ‘I’d say that’s clear enough,’ Saradoc put in when Gundy hesitated. ‘Why bring her here? Why not take her back to the Great Smials?’

 ‘She ran away for a purpose,’ Gundy said. ‘We could hardly take her back.’

 ‘What purpose?’ the Master asked, steepling his fingers.

 ‘They aimed to marry her off to a hobbit more than three times her age,’ Gundy said, squeezing Rosemary’s hand reassuringly.

 ‘Well,’ Rorimac said slowly. ‘Such marriages have been made before, arranged marriages, amongst the great families. They’re rare, of course, and usually aimed at protecting the lass from some sort of danger or difficulty. This is the first time I’ve heard of a lass running away from such.’

 ‘How old are you, girl?’ Saradoc asked, leaning forward.

Rosemary kept her eyes cast down, but a blush rose to her cheeks. ‘Four-and-twenty,’ she whispered.

Rorimac brought his fists down upon the desk with a thump that made the girl jump, and tears spilled onto her cheeks. ‘Four-and-twenty!’ he roared.

 ‘Father, you’re frightening the girl,’ Saradoc said, rising to go to Rosemary, offering her a clean pocket-handkerchief before either of the stunned Bolgers thought to do the same.

 ‘Scandalous!’ Rorimac fumed. ‘What were those Tooks thinking?’

 ‘What do you want of the Brandybucks?’ Saradoc said. ‘We cannot keep her safe here, not if it’s the Thain she’s running away from.’

 ‘Was the marriage already announced?’ Rorimac asked, getting his temper under control.

 ‘It was to be announced at yesterday’s breakfast,’ Gundy said. ‘She disappeared the night before.’

 ‘Then there’s still a possibility...’ Rorimac said, exchanging glances with his son.

 ‘A handfasting, that’s right,’ Gundy said. ‘If she’s handfasted to another they cannot force her into a marriage not of her desiring.’

 ‘Who?’ the Master barked.

 ‘I will,’ Hally said boldly, getting up to put his arms about Rosemary’s shoulders. ‘Don’t cry, Rosie,’ he said. ‘All will be well, I promise it.’

 ‘Why the Master?’ Rorimac asked. ‘The Mayor would have been closer, or The Bolger, even.’

 ‘Or even The Baggins,’ Saradoc said.

 ‘What, young Frodo?’ Rorimac said in astonishment. ‘He’s much too young to take on such a responsibility, barely past his majority as it were. If it were old Bilbo, now, he’d relish the opportunity to laugh in Lalia’s face.’

 ‘We talked it over,’ Gundy said, ‘and this seemed the only way. The Mayor owes Mistress Lalia a favour; she was the one, sent engineers post haste to Michel Delving to help dig out the Town Hole when the roof collapsed, and they saved his life.’

 ‘Old Mayor Flourdumpling,’ Rorimac muttered.

 ‘And The Bolger is Rosemary’s uncle,’ Gundy went on. ‘Odovacar’s sister was married to Ferdinand Took, and if Ferdinand agreed to this marriage, Odo would hardly gainsay him.’

 ‘And so you came to me,’ Rorimac said, sitting up a little straighter.

 ‘Yes, sir, we did,’ Gundy answered. ‘You can perform the handfasting. You’re a disinterested party. No one can accuse you of looking for personal gain in the matter.’

 ‘On the contrary,’ Saradoc said dryly. ‘This is likely to put a strain between the Brandybucks and the Tooks for quite awhile to come.’ He thought of his Meriadoc and young Peregrin Took and his lips tightened briefly. How to explain this sort of thing to them? I’m sorry, son, but you cannot see your best friend again because your grandfather insulted the Thain...

 ‘I’m sorry,’ Rosemary whispered, burying her face in the handkerchief. There was a short silence, and then she lifted her face again, pale and resolute. ‘I didn’t mean to cause such trouble,’ she said. ‘I ought to go back.’

 ‘No!’ Hally protested, his hand tightening on her shoulder.

 ‘We will do the right thing,’ Rorimac said sternly, ‘no matter how difficult, or what consequences we fear.’

Rosemary nodded, half-expecting the Master to order her escorted forthwith back to Tuckborough, but he was looking keenly at her. ‘Do you realise, my dear, that once this thing is done you may never go back?’

She took a sharp breath and nodded once more. They had discussed this very thing on the way from Woody End to Brandy Hall. ‘Your father, your brother, your uncles, aunts and cousins, all may disavow you for this, you and your children to come,’ the Master added, his eyes holding hers until she nodded yet again.

 ‘She has a family,’ Hally said staunchly.

 ‘The Bolgers of Woody End will welcome her as one of our own,’ Gundy acknowledged. ‘I discussed it with my brothers before we left for Buckland.’

 ‘Very well,’ Rorimac said abruptly, rising from his chair. ‘Tea is about to be served in the great room. There’ll be no dearth of witnesses. Come along.’

All the Brandybucks were in their places, a pleasant buzz of conversation filling the room. When the Master entered, all rose, ready to bow when he took his place. Rorimac did not take his place, however, but gestured to the visitors following him to come to the head of the room, in view of all.

 ‘I call you all to witness a handfasting!’ he shouted. The Brandybucks looked at each other and then back to the Master. This was unexpected. They were even more mystified when they saw the two young hobbits to be joined, neither familiar, and the Master did not introduce them.

 ‘Hally, Rosemary, go forward and stand on either side of the Master,’ Saradoc prompted in an undertone. They did so, stumbling a little in their awkwardness. Rosemary had been in great rooms many times with her parents, but never before the focus of all eyes. Hally, on the other hand, was more comfortable in a forest of trees than in a forest of hobbits.

 ‘We are here to unite two lives, two hearts, two spirits,’ Rorimac intoned, taking the left hand of each, for this was the hand where the heart-blood beat most strongly. He lifted the hands, placing them palm together above head-height, and then as he spoke the remainder of the traditional words, he wound a silken cord about the hands, tying them firmly together.

 ‘...And what has been joined here, before witnesses, let no one tear asunder!’ he ended loudly. ‘You are all invited to come—’ he turned to Gundy Bolger.

 ‘Five years,’ Gundy whispered.

The Master nodded. Five years from now, the girl would be nine-and-twenty. A bit young for marrying, but not scandalously so. He humphed to himself. What they were doing was scandalous, as it was. ‘You are all invited to come five years from now to witness a wedding!’

A cheer arose from the Brandybucks witnessing the handfasting. ‘Very well,’ Rorimac said. ‘You may slip your hands loose now, the deed is done.’ He indicated three places that the servants had set at the head table when they saw him walk in with three guests. ‘How about a spot of tea?’

Chapter 23. Repercussions

After tea, Saradoc took charge, leading the visitors back to the parlour whilst the Master went to his accustomed nap. ‘We’ve Tooks arriving later for a visit,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t be here when they come.’

 ‘That meal was fine enough to see us all the way back to Woody End,’ Gundy said.

 ‘Nonsense,’ Saradoc said firmly. ‘I’ll have the kitchen pack you some rations for the journey. However...’ he looked to Rosemary. ‘Is the lass going back to Woody End with you?’

 ‘Well now,’ Gundy said slowly. ‘I had thought to ask the Master’s advice in the matter.’

 ‘He’d say the same I’m thinking, I’m sure,’ Saradoc said. ‘It’s not safe for her there. Lalia’s just ruthless enough to flaunt all custom and set aside the handfasting if she can have the girl brought back to Tookland. If her son went along with her designs and married the girl as ordered, well, we’d have a dreadful mess on our hands.’

 ‘I cannot imagine such a thing,’ Gundy said, aghast.

Saradoc’s lips tightened into a fine line. ‘You don’t know the Mistress well, then,’ he said. ‘It would be best for Rosemary to disappear until the wedding.’ He met the woodcarver’s eyes squarely. ‘If somehow word gets out as to who else was involved in the handfasting, Woody End would be watched, I’m sure.’

 ‘Five years?’ Gundy said. ‘Where are we to hide a girl for that amount of time?’

Saradoc’s voice became gentle as he turned to the frightened girl. ‘Rosemary,’ he said, ‘there’s a hobbit family I know of down in Haysend. The mum has several little ones, and twins on the way, they think, and she’s badly in need of a mother’s helper. She wrote to the Master to ask if there was a tween in the Hall who might be sent.’

 ‘Mother’s helper?’ Rosemary said.

 ‘That’s right. It’s a good family; I’d trust my own daughter to them if I had one. Will you go?’

 Rosemary looked helplessly to the woodcarver. ‘It’s a fine idea, Rosie,’ Gundy said. ‘It’ll be a relief to know you’re safe from the old vixen and her designs.’

 ‘Fine, then,’ Saradoc said. ‘We’ll send you all right off, to your various “ends”.’

 ‘Hally?’ Rosemary said, and the young woodcarver took her hand.

 ‘I’ll be working and waiting,’ Hally said reassuringly. ‘Five years from today all the Bolgers of Woody End will return for our wedding, and I’ll carry you back with me to our own house and home.’

***

When Paladin Took’s family arrived at Brandy Hall in the depths of the middle night, many of the windows were shining out in welcome. Though the sensible farmer would have been deeply asleep, had he been at home, many of the Brandybucks in the great hall were sitting down to midnight supper.

Pip and the girls were asleep under thick blankets, an oilcloth over all, in the waggon bed and Eglantine nodded beside her husband, both cuddled together under the same cloak for warmth and comfort. Paladin himself was half asleep, but he wakened when the waggon stopped in the courtyard before the Hall.

He kissed his wife on the cheek. ‘We’re here, my love,’ he said.

Yawning, Eglantine lifted her head. ‘Here?’ she said, confused, and then she remembered. No, they were not home, but still visiting, at Brandy Hall this time.

Paladin passed the reins over to his wife and jumped down from the waggon to rap at the main entrance to the Hall. A servant whose name slipped Paladin’s memory opened the door, grinning when he recognised the brother of the young master’s wife. ‘Welcome, sir!’ he cried. ‘We’ve been expecting you!’ He turned to shout, ‘Hob, fetch the young master!’ Turning back, he said, ‘But do not leave your family in the cold, sir! Come, bring them in, all is in readiness for you.’

He walked out to the waggon with Paladin, lifting the sleeping Pip out of the waggon bed. ‘My, he’s grown,’ the servant said. ‘Getting to be quite the lad.’ Nell and Vinca wakened and Paladin helped them down from the waggon, shooing them after the servant bearing Pip. They’d be shown right to their beds and would probably fall back into dream, not even really remembering the arrival the next day. Paladin rather envied them.

He helped Eglantine down as a servant took the ponies’ heads. ‘We’ll see them fed and bedded down soft, sir,’ Paladin was told.

 ‘My thanks,’ he answered. ‘They’ve had a long journey, and not much rest along the way.’

 ‘Good lad, good lass,’ the servant crooned, petting the soft noses. ‘Don’t you worry, sir, we knows how to treat ponies in this-here stables.’

Saradoc strode from the Hall. ‘Dinny!’ he shouted. ‘Well come and well met! Supper’s nearly done but I’m sure we can scare up a plate for you.’

Paladin shuddered at the thought of eating in the depths of the night. He was quite sure his stomach had gone to sleep hours before. ‘No, thank you kindly, but we ate along the way.’

 ‘A bath, perhaps?’ Saradoc said helpfully, ‘or would you prefer to go straight to your rest?’

 ‘My wife is tired, I fear,’ Paladin said as Eglantine stifled a yawn, ‘and I am not at my best, either.’

 ‘You must be exhausted after travelling all the day,’ Esmeralda said, meeting them at the door. Saradoc had forbidden her to stir beyond the threshold, “where you might catch a chill, my dear,” but she stood in the doorway to greet her brother, her toes on the threshold if not beyond.

After hugging Paladin, she put an arm around Eglantine, walking with her to the guest quarters, chattering away. ‘...and if aught is not to your liking, you tell me immediately and we shall set it to rights,’ she finished. ‘Merry wanted to stay up to see your arrival, but I told him Pip would be too sleepy to greet him properly, and he is only a teen after all, and needs his sleep, so I sent him off to bed after late supper as usual.’ Eglantine reflected that, despite her years in Buckland, Esmeralda could still talk like a Took. Naught was needed on her part but an occasional nod.

 ‘O it is so good to see you all!’ Esmeralda finished at the door to the guest quarters. She kissed Eglantine on the cheek and stood upon her tiptoes to reach her brother’s cheek. ‘Now, my loves, sleep well, and sleep yourselves out. No need to be up with the Sun, you are on holiday after all! We shall see you at second breakfast if not at early breakfast.’

 ‘Thank you,’ Eglantine murmured, and Paladin added his thanks, giving Saradoc a hug for good measure.

 ‘Good night, then,’ Saradoc said, and they turned away as Paladin closed the door.

 ‘Something’s wrong,’ Paladin said to Eglantine as they undressed.

 ‘Wrong?’ his wife said.

 ‘Allie’s worried about something,’ Paladin said. ‘I wonder what it is.’

 ‘I’m sure we’ll find out on the morrow,’ Eglantine yawned, and collapsing onto the featherbed she was asleep before she could pull up the comforter. Paladin climbed in beside her, pulled the covers up over them both, and fell asleep before he could wonder any further.

***

Pip woke everyone in good time for first breakfast. ‘Morning-morning-morn!’ he chanted. ‘Time to greet the dawn!’

Pervinca pulled her pillow over her head, but Pimpernel laughed and hugged their little brother, chanting with him the rest of the nursery rhyme. ‘Sun is up, and we must sup before the day is gone!’

 ‘Nooning-nooning-noon! Time to greet the moon!’ Pip went on.

Pervinca moaned and said sharply from under the pillow, ‘Go do your greeting someplace else! There are sensible hobbits trying to get their growing-sleep around-abouts!’

 ‘C’mon, Pip,’ Nell whispered. ‘Do go out quietly so that I may dress, and then we’ll go meet Merry.’

Pippin tiptoed from the room and Nell hurriedly donned her best dress, doing up the buttons. It was so warm! When she came into the little sitting room she saw a bright fire crackling on the hearth. Some servant must have crept in and tended the fire in the depths of the night. On the farm she would have shivered her way out to the byre after a hasty cup of tea, just as the kitchen fire was beginning to warm the room. How amazing, to have a fire all night long!

Hand in hand, smothering giggles at an overloud snore from their father, Pip and Nell crept from the suite and down to the great room where early breakfast was in progress.

Merry was watching the door from his place, and he was up in an instant to greet them. ‘Welcome!’ he grinned after hugs. ‘Father said you’d probably sleep in, but he told the servants to lay your places just in case.’

 ‘Some of us are sleeping in,’ Pip said with dignity. ‘Some of us have not had enough growing-sleep. I, on the other hand, have had plenty! I think I’ll be the tallest hobbit in history at this rate.’

 ‘No doubt,’ Merry laughed. ‘Let us give you something to grow on!’ He proceeded to load their plates with good things: rashers of crispy bacon, little sausages, chops of pork and lamb, eggs fried to a turn, fried bread, fried tomatoes (“Where do they get tomatoes in mid-winter?” Pip whispered to Nell), beans baked in tomato-rich sauce, and all the necessities of a proper breakfast.

After breakfast, Merry sought out hats and mufflers and cloaks for the visitors so that they would not have to go back to their suite, and they joined the young Brandybucks for a glorious snowball-fight in the field leading down to the Ferry landing. There had been an unusually generous amount of snow lately, and they aimed to take complete advantage of the treat until the rains returned to wash all away into the River.

Glowing, all the young folk tumbled laughing into the Hall for second breakfast. ‘Well, Pip, it seems you’ve found Merry,’ Paladin said, greeting his tousled son. ‘Now go put yourself in order before you disgrace us; we’re sitting at head table with the Master, you know.’

Pip groaned, but at his father’s stern look he sighed and turned away from the door to the great room.

 ‘And hurry!’ Paladin rapped out after him. ‘You know how Master Rorimac is about being punctual to meals!’

 ‘Come, Pip, I’ll race you!’ Merry said, coming up behind him. With Merry’s help, making the grooming a game and then racing each other back to the great room, he managed to slide into his chair just as the Brandybucks rose to acknowledge the Master’s entrance.

The talk this morning ranged over many topics, among them a mysterious handfasting that had taken place at teatime the previous day.

 ‘And no one knows who the hobbits were, and they disappeared again afterwards,’ Violet Brandybuck whispered to Pimpernel and Pervinca. Pip was much too deep in plans with Merry to listen to girls’ talk.

 ‘It’s like a fairy tale!’ Pervinca said, her eyes glowing.

 ‘You read too much, Vinca,’ Nell said, giving her sister a nudge with her elbow. ‘You need to get your head out of the clouds and into the byre.’

 ‘It is like a fairy tale,’ Violet said dreamily. ‘The girl was no older than you, Pimpernel Took, and the boy not too many years older than Merry, I think, not out of his tweens at any rate. I wonder what their story is... handfasted, and then whisked away. D’you suppose they locked her in a tower of glass-and-gold, and turned him into a frog to wait by the pond until she grew up and kissed him to break the spell?’

 ‘I would never kiss a frog!’ Nell said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

 ‘You did once,’ Pip put in. Frogs, now, that was more like it. He’d discuss frogs any day.

 ‘You kissed a frog?’ Violet was torn between amazement and disgust.

 ‘Ferdi dared her,’ Pip said smugly. To the mortification of all, Nell burst into tears, burying her face in her serviette.

 ‘Now see what you’ve done!’ Vinca snapped. Their mother was there in an instant, hands on Nell’s shoulders, explaining to the Master that the child was exhausted from the journey, and please to excuse them—she’d pop her back into bed and watch with her until the noontide. The Master gestured to a servant to accompany them, and to watch over Pimpernel so that her mother could return to finish her meal.

Paladin had his suspicions, hearing the scraps of talk floating about. He was a Took, after all, and if he did not choose to gossip, he had heard enough Talk in his life to put two and two together with a certain amount of ease. After second breakfast, in the parlour with his wife, his sister, and her husband, he came straight to the point.

 ‘The handfasting yesterday,’ he said. ‘What was that all about?’

Saradoc put down his teacup and gazed directly at his brother-in-love. ‘I expect you know what it was all about,’ he replied.

 ‘Rosemary Took?’ Paladin snapped.

 ‘And if it was?’ Saradoc said. It was a fine line he was walking. He must tell the absolute truth, but little enough of it that Rosemary would remain safe.

 ‘She ran away,’ Paladin said. ‘She ought to have been returned to her father. He’s not well, you know.’

 ‘Surely he’s disowned her already, knowing the malice of the Mistress,’ Saradoc said.

 ‘He’ll own her again as soon as she returns to the Smials to take up her duty,’ Paladin countered. ‘Surely this so-called handfasting was a farce, a ploy, and no true joining. She belongs at the Great Smials.’

 ‘Yes, well,’ Saradoc said awkwardly, ‘she is now under the Master’s protection.’

 ‘Protection?’ Paladin bristled. Eglantine put a hand on her husband’s arm, and Esmeralda tensed.

 ‘Protection,’ Saradoc repeated quietly.

 ‘Are you saying the Tooks meant the girl harm?’ Paladin said, breathing heavily.

 ‘I’m sure there were the best of intentions,’ Saradoc said, feeling his way carefully. ‘But—perhaps the results would not have been best for the girl.’

 ‘And the Brandybucks know best, it seems?’ Paladin said, his face darkening. So sure of themselves, they were. No matter that he’d had his own doubts about the situation; Brandybucks were always boasting that they knew better than the Tooks, and now it was no joking matter. ‘Where is the girl?’

 ‘Safe,’ Saradoc said.

 ‘You won’t tell me?’ Paladin said, deeply insulted. ‘You think I offer her harm?’

 ‘I think you’d have no choice but to tell the Mistress of Tookland where she was, were you to gain the knowledge,’ Saradoc said. ‘Please, Dinny, I don’t like it any more than you do.’

 ‘Was she forced into the handfasting somehow, by well-meaning but interfering Brandybucks?’ Paladin snapped.

Saradoc kept tight rein on his temper, lest unforgivable words pass his lips. ‘The handfasting was her choice,’ he said evenly, but could not resist adding, ‘unlike another matter that was set before her.’

Paladin slammed his teacup down on the saucer with so much force he shattered the delicate china. He rose abruptly from his chair, saying between his teeth, ‘Come, my love, we cannot stay.’

Esmeralda gave a sob into her handkerchief; she had followed the entire conversation without a word, unusual for her, but she had known with a sick feeling of inevitability what the outcome must be. Paladin softened at the sound and turned to his sister. ‘I’m sorry, Allie,’ he said. ‘You know how it is.’

 ‘I know,’ she whispered, rising to throw her arms about him, then his wife. She swallowed hard and added determinedly, ‘You must go. You’ll find your things are packed up, the waggon is ready, and we’ve had food prepared for you to eat along the way.’

 ‘You had a long journey yesterday, and you’re getting a late start today,’ Saradoc said. ‘Stay at an inn along the way.’ Paladin looked at him in astonishment. Of course, the Brandybucks had gold just lying about to squander on inns, but an honest farmer...

 ‘Here,’ the heir to Buckland added, pressing a folded note into the farmer’s hand. ‘The Bear and Bugle keeps a suite of rooms for the Master of Buckland, though it might be used three or four times a year.’

 ‘That’s along the Bywater Road,’ Paladin said slowly.

 ‘That’s right,’ Saradoc said. ‘You don’t have to go back to the Great Smials, to take the news to Lalia. The Master’s already sent out a quick post rider. You can go direct to your farm if you wish. I’m sure the Mistress will be sending a messenger to the farm to pump you of everything you know, as soon as you return.’

He tapped the folded note. ‘Stop over,’ he said. ‘The suite’s already paid for, just sitting empty. Your ponies are likely to pull up lame if you don’t. They ought to have had a week of rest before going on.’

Paladin’s shoulders slumped, all indignation gone. ‘I cannot,’ he said heavily. ‘If word came to Lalia’s ears...’

Saradoc nodded sympathetically, taking the note back from Paladin’s outstretched hand. ‘I understand,’ he said. The two embraced and then set to the business of packing up the Tooks for as quick a departure as was feasible.

***

 ‘But why?’ Merry demanded yet again, after wildly protesting Pip had been pried from him and forced into the waggon by his grim-faced father. He’d watched the Tooks drive away without a farewell song from the few sombre Brandybucks lingering in the courtyard to see them off.

 ‘Merry,’ his mother said soothingly. ‘Come into the parlour for some tea.’

 ‘I don’t want tea!’ Merry shouted, forcing himself to calm down only as his father’s hand descended heavily upon his shoulder.

 ‘Merry,’ his father said. ‘Apologise to your mother for shouting and come into the parlour.’ Drawing a deep breath, Merry complied.

He sat himself down stiffly on an ornate chair and waved away the tea his mother poured. ‘Why?’ he said again, forcing himself to speak calmly despite his inner turmoil.

 ‘Do you remember the handfasting yesterday?’ his father said, confusing him.

 ‘What does that have to do with this?’ he said.

 ‘Did you recognise the girl?’ Saradoc asked. Merry stared. ‘Did you?’

 ‘No,’ he said, thinking back. Her hair had been shorn like a boy’s, he remembered, but that was about all. The young Brandybucks had speculated that perhaps she was recovering from the fever that had been making the rounds of the Shire.

 ‘It was Rosemary Took,’ Saradoc said. ‘You’d heard she ran away?’

 ‘A quick post rider came from the Thain,’ Merry said.

 ‘Mistress Lalia was trying to force the girl into marriage,’ Saradoc said, an expression of distaste crossing his face.

 ‘Marriage!’ Merry said, shocked. Ferdi’s sister wasn’t that much older than himself.

 ‘She will be furious that your grandfather has taken Rose under his protection,’ Saradoc went on. ‘Any Tooks that have dealings with Brandybucks...’

All colour drained from Merry’s face. ‘Pip,’ he whispered, then added desperately, ‘but Uncle Dinny had nothing to do with it, nor Pip! Why...?’

Esmeralda leaned forward, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘Merry, you’ve heard us talk about the Mistress before, haven’t you? I know you’ve heard the talk, even though you have too much sense to repeat what you hear in the Master’s study.’

Merry nodded slowly, reluctantly.

 ‘She is The Took, the head of the family, and if she decides that a Took has harmed Tookland somehow, by his actions, she has the power to pronounce the Ban on him.’

Merry swallowed hard. ‘She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—’ he protested.

 ‘She would,’ Saradoc said grimly. ‘She’d order the entire family shunned, if she thought Paladin had crossed her. Think on it. He wouldn’t be able to hire hobbits to work his fields, he couldn’t help a neighbour in need, he wouldn’t be able to sell his crops in the marketplace.’

 ‘He could lose his family’s farm,’ Esmeralda whispered, and her son looked at her. It was her family’s farm as well. He realised, suddenly, that his mother was cut off from her roots, from her family, as effectively as if a tall, thick wall of brick had been built between Buckland and Tookland.

 ‘O Pip,’ he moaned, and buried his face in his hands.

Chapter 24. Battle Ahead 

Paladin took the journey slowly indeed, and he took the Bywater Road, an easier, less hilly route, though he did not stop at any inn, much less the Bear and Bugle. As a result, his ponies were tired and perhaps strained from the overwork, but neither was lame when they pulled into the lane mid-morning, after driving all day and through the night from Buckland all the way home.

They found the head of escort waiting for them.

 ‘We had word when you passed through Bywater,’ Isumbold said apologetically. ‘The Mistress has been beside herself with fury over the Bucklanders’ interference in a Tookish matter.’ Paladin waved to his wife and children to take the baggage into the house while the neighbour's son who'd been watching the farm for them put ponies and waggon away. Soon they had a measure of privacy.

 ‘I can only imagine,’ Paladin said wearily. All he wanted was to stumble off to his bed, but he feared that Isum brought a summons that could not be refused.

 ‘Mistress Lalia knew you were going on to Buckland for a visit as you always do this time of year,’ Isum said. ‘Of course, when word came that the Brandybucks had tossed you out on your ear shortly after your arrival there...’

 ‘They didn’t toss—’ Paladin began, appalled. How the Talk must be flying!

 ‘When she heard how the Brandybucks tossed you out on your ear...’ Isum said, giving weight to every word. Here lies safety, he seemed to be saying. Grab hold, and do not let go! ‘...she was absolutely livid, set a watch for your return, and sent me to extend her heartiest sympathy and good wishes.’

 ‘I see,’ Paladin said slowly. He thought he saw Ferumbras’ hand in this, Ferumbras, whose main function seemed to be shielding Tookland as well as he could from his mother’s whims; or perhaps it was Adelard, who ran Tookland for all practical purposes. He ought to be Thain rather than merely Steward. ‘Please convey to the Mistress our heartfelt gratitude.’

 ‘I will, sir,’ Isum said with a bow. ‘If there is anything at all that you need me to pass on to the Mistress...’ he said.

 ‘You can tell her that Rosemary Took was said to be at the Hall the day before we arrived, and was spirited away again forthwith,’ Paladin said. No harm could come to the lass, and it made him appear to be cooperating with Lalia to pass on this information. ‘Buckland’s a big place, and so is the Marish. She could be anywhere the Master holds sway.’

Isum hesitated. ‘Do you know the name of the other hobbit in the handfasting?’ he said.

Paladin shook his head. ‘Undoubtedly a Brandybuck, a younger son perhaps. They told me nothing more,’ he said. ‘I think they only told me about Rosie to set my mind at ease about the lass, seeing how close our families are—Ferdinand’s and mine, I mean,’ he clarified hastily.

 ‘Yes,’ Isum said, a distinct look of sympathy in his eye. ‘Though Ferdinand had no choice but to disown his daughter, he was at least relieved to hear she did not come to harm, running off in the cold as she did.’ He bowed again. ‘Very well, sir, I will take my leave. If you hear any more news, please send word.’

 ‘You can be sure that I will,’ Paladin said, even as he shook his head. He imagined that Allie’s weekly letters would stop cold. She would not risk his position, or the farm where they had grown up. ‘Safe journey!’

Isum vaulted lightly onto the piebald’s back and cantered down the lane, raising a hand in farewell.

***

The Thain looked up as Isumbold entered the study several hours later. ‘Well?’ he rasped. ‘What did he say?’

 ‘Are you well, Sir?’ Isum said. Ferumbras had always been pale, sweaty, and flabby, but somehow he looked paler than usual, and the jowls of his cheeks hung dispiritedly, making him look like a sorrowful bulldog.

 ‘Well enough!’ Ferumbras snapped. ‘What did Paladin say?’

 ‘He said he didn’t know where Rosemary Took was,’ Isumbold answered. ‘The Brandybucks spirited her away before his arrival and said no word to him other than “Fare-thee-well”.’

 ‘The nerve!’ Ferumbras said, watching his mother out of the corner of his eye.

 ‘Did they really throw him out?’ Lalia said, leaning forward, two pink spots on her cheeks.

Isumbold was grieved at the expression on Pearl’s face as she sat quietly behind the Mistress, a shawl over her arm, but he stuck to the instructions the Thain had given him. ‘Indeed, Mistress, they were very rude,’ he said.

 ‘What can you expect?’ Ferumbras grated. ‘They’re denizens of a backwater province, not even part of the Shire proper, and they have the audacity to interfere in a Took family matter!’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Hot in here,’ he muttered.

 ‘Sir, you... you don’t look well,’ Isum said, and got another glare for his reward.

Lalia was distracted enough from her indignation against the Brandybucks to take a good look at her son. ‘No,’ she said suddenly. ‘You don’t.’ To the head of escort, she said, ‘Fetch Bittersweet!’

 ‘At once, Mistress,’ he rapped out sharply and was gone.

He found the head healer changing a dressing. ‘If you please, missus,’ he said, ‘it’s an urgent matter.’

 ‘I’m nearly done here,’ she said. ‘Viola? Would you finish this for me?’

 ‘Gladly,’ Viola said, taking the roll of bandaging from Bittersweet.

 In the corridor, walking rapidly towards the Thain’s study, Isum was explaining, ‘...he looks as if he’s come down with that fever that’s going around the Shire. I don’t know how to explain it, but something about the look of his eyes...’

 ‘The pain in the head will do that,’ Bittersweet muttered, ‘not to mention the feeling as if there’s ground glass in your eyes. We’ve had several new cases just this morning.’

 ‘Is it dangerous?’ Isum said.

 ‘It can be, if it’s not caught early,’ Bittersweet said. ‘But of course, Lalia’s too attentive to her dearest only son for this to have gone on any length of time.’

The healer was all smiles and cheery bustle when she entered the study. She examined the Thain quickly and efficiently, managing to conceal her alarm at her findings, and briskly bundled him off to bed. Lalia would have insisted upon sitting bedside watch with her son, but the healer put her off. ‘Now, Mistress, you know that the fever can be catching,’ she said, pausing in the doorway to the study as Isumbold escorted the Thain towards his quarters, ‘and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you! I’ll have my best watchers sitting with him, and we’ll give you hourly news.’

Once in Ferumbras’ small apartment, she settled him into bed. ‘The watchers will be here soon,’ she said. ‘Just as soon as they arrive I’m going to make up a potion for you to drink, to relieve the headache and help you rest.’

 ‘That’ll be a mercy,’ the Thain muttered.

 ‘Just how long have you been ill and concealing the matter?’ Bittersweet said sternly.

 ‘A few days only,’ Ferumbras said. ‘I thought it was the effect of staying up all night from Last Night into First Day, and on top of that the excitement of Rosie Took going missing, but then I couldn’t sleep for tossing and turning, and felt even worse the next day. Mother was beside herself over this whole wretched business with the girl; I didn’t want to add to her troubles.’

He had also been quite occupied with shielding Paladin Took, a hobbit he respected highly, from suspicion on his mother’s part. It was hard enough that the hobbit’s sister had married a Brandybuck without adding the fact that he’d been making a visit to Buckland when the girl was reported to have been there. It didn’t take much to stir Lalia’s malice. At the moment she was indignant over the gossip Ferumbras had himself concocted, detailing the Brandybucks’ rudeness towards Paladin and his family. Yes, he thought, relaxing with a sigh, Paladin was safe for the moment. ‘A few days only,’ he repeated, wincing as he swallowed.

 ‘I see,’ Bittersweet said mildly, but inside she was cold with fear. The fever that was going around the Shire was not so dangerous as it might be—if it was caught early. ‘Let me take a look at your throat.’

 It was no wonder that the Thain was having trouble swallowing, and that his voice was hoarse. ‘Well now,’ she said softly. ‘I should say you’d be wanting something soothing for that.’

As soon as the first watcher arrived, Bittersweet took herself off in a hurry back to the infirmary to marshal her forces for the battle ahead.

Chapter 25. Resting Comfortably

There was not much for Pearl to do these days. Lalia did not even pretend interest in the business of Tookland but sat staring silently into the fire, clasping and unclasping her hands in her shawl. The Mistress spent every waking moment in the Thain's study, waiting, worrying, for the most part ignoring those around her.

Each hour on the hour she sent Pearl down the short corridor to Ferumbras’ apartment, where one of the escort stood outside the door at all times, turning away visitors and well-wishers. Each time Pearl was sent back to the Mistress with the words, ‘Resting comfortably.’ She wondered what that meant.

Pearl’s greatest task involved making sure Mistress Lalia ate something at each meal, talking and coaxing until the old hobbit had taken several bites at least. ‘We cannot have you falling ill, Mistress,’ was a constant refrain, both from the healers when Lalia demanded to see her son, and from Pearl and Adelard.

The steward accomplished as much as he could during the morning hours, for he relieved Pearl promptly at noon, keeping watch over Lalia from noontide until after teatime. He tried to discuss the business of the land during these visits, but it was heavy going, for Lalia hardly listened. Her worry for her son was palpable.

Pearl was glad to escape the close atmosphere for these few hours. She took herself off on long walks, revelling in the green revealed by the melting snow, breathing the fresh, cold air, swinging her arms and lifting her head to the sky. Sometimes Isumbold would accompany her. He often had news of Ferdibrand, who’d been taken under the wing of Adelard’s younger brother, a hunter. Ferdi was doing well, it seemed. Though he seldom looked any hobbit in the eye, he was a keen observer of nature, showing great promise in tracking and shooting.

Several times over the next fortnight Pearl took late supper in the infirmary with Ferdi and his father. Ferdinand was taciturn, so unlike the laughing hobbit she remembered, and young Ferdi almost never spoke. Pearl and Tansy carried the burden of conversation on these occasions. It was better than taking late supper in the great room, rife with talk and speculation. How ill was the Thain? Was he going to die? Who’d be Thain after him, if he did?

***

 ‘Resting comfortably, I hear,’ Pearl said at early breakfast with the dairymaids, in answer to Prim’s query.

 ‘That’s what you said yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that,’ Violet said.

 ‘And last week, and the week before,’ Pansy put in.

 ‘He’s been ill a fortnight, and no one’s seen him but the healers and the escort,’ Daisy said. ‘Why won’t you tell us more?’

 ‘I cannot,’ Pearl said helplessly. ‘I haven’t seen him either! The escort standing in the hallway gives me the message to take back to the Mistress. I’ve never even seen inside his apartment!’

 ‘I hear it’s as plain as the Mistress’s quarters are fancy,’ Prim said, dropping her voice, but too late. Mrs Sandytoes came from setting out fresh water for washing to scold them for gossiping, and to hurry them with their breakfast.

Midmorning that day Pearl arrived at the Thain’s apartment to find the escort not at his post and the door ajar. She peeked in, seeing servants emptying buckets of water into a tub that had been placed before the sitting-room fire. Prim was right; the apartment was so plainly furnished as to earn the appellation “austere”.

 ‘Cold water,’ one was muttering. ‘What are they looking to do, freeze the hobbit to death?’

 ‘He’s afire with fever,’ another said. ‘Haven’t you heard? The healer’s afraid his brains are roasting, he’s that hot.’

A third put in, ‘Did you see him twitching and jerking? I thought he’d die then and there...’ Looking up, he saw Pearl. ‘Here now, miss!’ he said sharply. ‘You hadn’t ought to be looking in here!’

 ‘Are you nearly ready?’ Bittersweet’s voice came from the bedroom. ‘Come, help us lift him.’

 ‘There’s a girl here,’ the second servant called in warning.

Bittersweet came from the bedroom, wiping her hands on a cloth. ‘O Pearl,’ she said. ‘That’s right, it’s about time for one of your visits. You go on back to the Mistress and tell her that her son is resting comfortably.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Pearl said, pulling back from the door and closing it firmly.

***

After another week, Bittersweet herself appeared in the Thain’s study just after teatime. The head healer was thinner, there were circles under her eyes and her hair was in need of washing, but she smiled reassuringly at Pearl as she made her courtesy before the Mistress.

 ‘Don’t tell me,’ Lalia said dispiritedly. ‘Resting comfortably.’

 ‘How about “out of danger”?’ Bittersweet said with a broad smile.

Lalia picked up her head. ‘Out of danger?’ she said softly. ‘Is it true? It’s not that he’s dying, and you’re afraid to tell me.’

 ‘Not at all,’ Bittersweet said. ‘He’s very weak, but his fever broke this morning. You may see him, Mistress.’

 ‘I may see him,’ Lalia said. ‘And not to take my leave of him.’

 ‘He is not dying,’ Bittersweet said firmly. ‘We just need to build him up again, feed him up, and he’ll be his old self.’

Lalia sighed and a tear trickled down her wrinkled cheek. Pearl hastily proffered a pocket-handkerchief, which the old hobbit took gratefully, with a murmured, ‘Bless you, child.’

When she’d wiped her eyes, she looked up at the healer again. ‘When may I see him?’ she said, a little of the old officiousness creeping back into her tone.

 ‘Now, of course,’ Bittersweet said matter-of-factly. ‘That’s why I’m here!’

 ‘What are we waiting for?’ Lalia said. ‘Come now, Pearl, look lively!’

Pearl jumped up to take the handles of the rolling chair. As they proceeded the short distance from Lalia’s quarters to Ferumbras’ door, Bittersweet warned, ‘He’ll be very weak and pale, thinner than he was, and probably quite sleepy in the bargain. You don’t want to tire him...’

 ‘You think I don’t know what’s best for my son?’ Lalia demanded.

 ‘I’m only letting you know what to expect,’ Bittersweet said calmly. ‘I’m going to allow you to see him briefly, but only briefly, and then you’re going to go back to your quarters for a good nap. I do believe your son will be taking a nap of his own.’

 ‘Very well,’ Lalia said regally.

Baragrim met them at the door to the Thain’s apartment and swung it wide for Pearl to wheel the Mistress into the sitting room. Lalia was anxious, Pearl thought, seeing her breath come fast and sharp, but her voice was calm and soothing as they entered the darkened bedroom.

 ‘My boy,’ she said. ‘My beloved child.’

 ‘Mother,’ came a whisper from the bed. Pearl wheeled Lalia forward until the Mistress could seize one of the hands lying limp on the coverlet. At this distance, Pearl could see the sunken eyes struggling to stay open in a face wan and wasted, and she was shocked. The Thain looked as if he were on his deathbed.

 ‘My sweet boy,’ Lalia said, raising the hand to her lips. She was weeping again.

 ‘Don’t worry, Mother,’ Ferumbras whispered. ‘I am well.’

 ‘That’s enough now,’ Bittersweet said quietly. ‘Time for you to rest, Sir.’

 ‘Yes,’ Ferumbras murmured. ‘Tired.’

Lalia took one hand from her son’s to stroke his forehead with a gentle hand. ‘Of course you are, son,’ she said. ‘Sleep well, love. Rest and grow strong.’

 ‘Yes,’ Ferumbras said again, his voice trailing off. ‘Yes.’

 ‘Come now,’ Bittersweet whispered, and Lalia laid the hand down upon the coverlet again, giving it a last caress. Pearl wheeled her out of the bedroom.

 ‘He will be well?’ Lalia whispered.

Bittersweet smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on the old hobbit’s shoulder. ‘He will be, Mistress. He’s fought hard, and used up a lot of himself to win this battle, but he will be well,’ she said.

 ‘Good,’ Lalia said softly. ‘I do not know what I’d do were I to lose him.’

Bittersweet nodded to Pearl, and the girl wheeled Lalia out, not back to the Thain’s study, but to Lalia’s quarters, where her personal servants were waiting per the healer’s orders to put the Mistress to bed.

That evening Pearl faced the usual inquisition when she returned to her quarters. This time Mrs Sandytoes herself asked the first question.

 ‘Word is that the Thain’s fever broke today, that he’s on the mend,’ the holekeeper said, after sitting Pearl down at the table and pouring her a cup of tea. ‘How is he, really?’

 ‘Resting comfortably,’ Pearl said, sipping at her tea, ‘and that’s all I can tell you.’

Chapter 26. The Colour of Sunshine

It was not long before the Thain was walking the corridors of the Great Smials once more, supported between Baragrim and Isumbold. He joked about being half the hobbit he’d been before, but it was too close to the truth for the comfort of the Tooks. He had lost a great deal of weight in three weeks of illness, and to the worry of the healers his appetite did not return when the fever broke. He continued to drop weight even with all the healers and servants and his mother badgering him to eat, until he resembled the hobbits of his escort more than a son of Lalia the Fat.

With healthful, strengthening food, exercise, fresh air, and tonics brewed by Bittersweet, Ferumbras soon claimed to be feeling better than he had in years. As soon as he was strong enough to ride, the Thain rode out with his escort for several hours each day. It was mild for February. Bittersweet decreed that the fresh air would be beneficial, and so Lalia did not fuss at his absence from the Smials, but actually urged him to go out daily.

 ‘Well old fellow,’ he said on a ride near the end of February, patting his pony’s neck. ‘You must wonder what’s happened to your old master... and who this new hobbit is on your back. I imagine it is quite a relief to carry such a light burden as I have become.’

Straightening in the saddle, he said, ‘Who’s that?’

Isumbold looked in the direction indicated. Two hobbits were coming out of a small copse of trees, bearing a small deer hanging from a pole.

 ‘Young Ferdi,’ he said. ‘Verilard has been training him in the hunt. Looks as if he’s an apt pupil.’

Ferumbras reined his pony in their direction, hailing the hunters. ‘Fresh venison for the Thain’s table!’ he said cheerily as he approached. ‘My thanks, Veri!’

 ‘Ferdi’s shot,’ the hunter said laconically.

 ‘Well Ferdi,’ Ferumbras said. The teen kept his eyes on the ground, but the Thain could see that he was listening. ‘Be sure to take a haunch for your father; I’m sure he’d like a good venison stew.’

Ferdi nodded without looking up. ‘Thankee, Sir,’ Veri said for the lad. ‘Very kind.’

 ‘You’ve earned it, lad,’ Ferumbras said. ‘I’ve had good reports of you. Keep going as you’ve begun and you’ll go far.’ He looked to Isumbold. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘time’s a-wasting and I promised to be back in time for tea.’

He found his mother quite animated this day, chattering as he poured out their tea, asking questions without waiting for the answers.

Pearl appeared before teatime was over, as was her duty, and Ferumbras glanced at her sharply. She too was more animated than usual, her eyes dancing with secret delight. She and the Mistress were more like two girls than an ancient hobbit and her companion. Ferumbras sipped at his tea, figuring that the secret, whatever it was, would soon come out. He was not mistaken.

 ‘Pearl,’ the Mistress said peremptorily, putting down her teacup. ‘Bring it out, girl.’

The girl brought out a bulky paper-wrapped bundle from under the desk, setting it in Lalia’s lap. ‘Here you are, Mistress.’

 ‘Thank you, lass,’ Lalia said. ‘I sent Pearl out with a little commission, and she has done wonderfully well.’

 ‘O?’ Ferumbras said, lifting an eyebrow as he sipped his tea.

 ‘O aye, I sent her to the marketplace with a few coins, told her to make a good bargain and she could keep half of what she brought back to me.’

 ‘And did she make a good bargain?’ Ferumbras said.

His mother actually laughed. ‘A fine bargain!’ she said. ‘I was so pleased I let her keep the whole of the coins she brought back, for what a treasure she brought me!’

 ‘What is it?’ Ferumbras said curiously.

 ‘Open it!’ Lalia demanded, giving the package a little push. Her son put down his teacup, got up and bent over his mother, undoing the string, pushing the paper back to reveal a cloak of the finest wool, dyed a buttery yellow that brought sunshine into the room.
 
 ‘How fine!’ he exclaimed. ‘Indeed, Miss Pearl, you’ve a good eye for weaving.’

 ‘I bought it for you,’ Lalia said. She’d sent Pearl to the market in Tuckborough in search of a light but warm cloak, and fretted until the girl returned in triumph. ‘Your old cloak is too heavy, and I fear you will leave it off if it encumbers you too much, and then you might catch a chill.’

 ‘Ah Mother,’ Ferumbras said fondly, ‘you know me all too well.’

 ‘I do!’ Lalia said sternly. ‘This cloak is so finely woven as to be light and easy to wear, yet of fine wool that will keep the spring breeze from your bones. Go ahead,’ she urged, ‘put it on!’

Ferumbras stood tall and slung the cloak about his shoulders, fastening the clasp and striking a pose. His mother clapped her hands together in delight. ‘You look like a king!’ she said.

 ‘Whatever one of those looks like,’ Ferumbras said dryly, but he wore a pleased smile as he fingered the soft wool. ‘If the King ever does come back, demand what he might, he may not have my cloak!’ All laughed, and he added, ‘Well chosen, Mother, indeed.’ He nodded at Pearl with a smile, and she returned the nod with a smile of her own, glad to have afforded the Mistress such pleasure after the long, anxious weeks.

Chapter 27. Missing

In the second week of March the weather turned cool, but ploughing and planting were in full swing. Thus Pearl was greatly surprised when Paladin Took was shown into the Thain’s study mid-morning of a fine spring day.

 ‘Paladin!’ Ferumbras said, rising from the desk with a smile, hand extended. Paladin shook the proffered hand without an answering smile. ‘What brings you to the Smials?’

 ‘My son,’ Paladin said, voice breaking on the last word, and Pearl rose from her chair in alarm. Her father’s face was pale and strained, dark circles stood under his eyes, and he twisted the hat he held in his hands.

Ferumbras came out from behind the desk, taking the farmer’s arm, guiding him to a chair by the hearth. ‘What has happened?’ he asked. At a look from the Thain, Isumbold fetched a mug and poured out a cup of strong tea for the farmer, sweetening it well.

 ‘We’ve searched and searched,’ Paladin said, absently taking the mug.

 ‘Drink,’ the Thain said, and the farmer looked down in surprise, and then sipped obediently. ‘You’ve searched... the lad’s gone missing then. How long?’

 ‘We first missed him yesterday morning,’ Paladin said. ‘Nell rode out to the fields to tell me. I thought nothing of it; he often goes to play when he ought to be working...’

Ferumbras nodded. He’d been a lad once. How well he remembered.

 ‘At noontide I rode back to the house to deal with the lad, but he hadn’t returned. You know lads, they might take bread and cheese in a bag but when that’s gone they’re back and ready for a hot meal.’

 ‘I know,’ Ferumbras said. ‘So you searched.’

 ‘Aye,’ Paladin whispered. ‘We looked all over the farm, my family and the hired hobbits, and then I sent hobbits out to the neighbours to tell them. We must have had an hundred hobbits combing all the land around Whitwell, and no sign...’ Pearl gave a little sob, and he nodded at her apologetically. ‘We took lanterns and searched all through the night.’

 ‘And...?’ Ferumbras pressed.

 ‘Nothing,’ Paladin said. ‘One of my dogs had gone missing as well, and I thought Pip would run into little trouble with Lop along, but neither one has come home and there’s no sign.’ He bowed his head. ‘No sign,’ he repeated.

 ‘You think he was coming to the Smials, to see Pearl perhaps?’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘Did he go to see Frodo?’ Pearl said. ‘Have you sent word to Bag End?’ Mistress Lalia took one of the girl’s hands in hers and patted it gently.

 ‘I sent off to Bag End,’ Paladin said, ‘and when word came back from Frodo this morning I didn’t know what else to do. Pip’s not been there, nor been seen in Bywater, nor by any of the farmers between.’ He looked desperately to the Thain. ‘You have hunters and trackers working for you,’ he said. ‘Please...’

 ‘O please,’ Pearl sobbed. ‘O Pip!’

 ‘Isum,’ Ferumbras snapped. ‘Gather the hunters and trackers, as many as you can find.’

 ‘Verilard’s the best we have,’ the head of escort replied. ‘Shall I send someone out after him?’

 ‘Indeed,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Have them go to Whittacres, that’s where the trail would start. Send messengers to the farms between Whitwell and Tuckborough, have them join the search. If the lad’s to be found, we’ll find him.’ Turning to Paladin, he said, ‘Have you eaten?’

 The farmer didn’t seem to understand the question, but sat holding the forgotten mug half-full of tea.

  ‘Pearl,’ Lalia said, giving the girl’s arm a little shake. ‘Take your father to the great room and get him something to eat. The Thain will meet him there.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Pearl said, breaking free from the frozen horror precipitated by the fact that her younger brother was missing. She sobbed again, and the Mistress squeezed her arm hard. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress,’ she gulped. ‘He’s only eleven...’ She thought of foxes and stoats and the stray dogs that had been reported to be worrying sheep lately. Surely Lop would protect Pip; he followed the lad everywhere when not called upon by Paladin to mind the sheep.

 ‘Go now,’ Lalia said, and Pearl went to her father, encouraging him to get up and walk with her to the great room.

 ‘I can’t,’ Paladin muttered when she put a plate of eggs scrambled with bacon and potatoes before him. ‘I cannot.’

 ‘When did you last eat?’ Pearl said. If she could just keep busy thinking of inconsequentialities...

Paladin shook his head irritably. ‘I don’t remember,’ he said.

 ‘Then eat,’ Pearl said sternly. ‘Don’t make me feed it to you!’

Paladin looked at his eldest daughter in surprise.

 ‘I will, too,’ Pearl said. ‘I’ve had plenty of practice managing people.’

 ‘I’m sure that you have,’ her father said. She was glad to see him pick up his fork, and sank down next to him.

 ‘Do you think...?’ she whispered when he’d taken a few bites. Paladin looked to her but continued to eat rapidly, not from hunger. He knew he needed his strength to continue the search. ‘Do you think he was on his way to see... Merry?’

 ‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Paladin murmured, looking about to see if any was attending their conversation. ‘He’d have to go by Tuckborough or Bywater, depending upon which route he’d take.’

 ‘He’d know the Bywater road better,’ Pearl whispered, ‘since that is the road we always have taken on our Yuletide visits.’

 ‘But this last visit we sledged to Tuckborough and took the Stock road onwards,’ Paladin said. ‘He might have thought that way easier, once he got past the greater hills.’

 ‘But...’ Pearl said, and lowered her voice still more. ‘What if the Mistress finds out?’

 ‘We’ll bake that bread when it’s risen,’ Paladin said heavily. He put his fork down to lay a hand on his daughter’s. ‘If the trackers are able to track him, even if it’s past Tuckborough and on the way to Buckland, if they are able to find him and bring him safely home, I won’t care what anyone thinks.’ He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. ‘I just want my boy back safe, that’s all.’

 ‘O Da!’ Pearl sobbed, burying her face in his shirt. He put his arms around her, holding her close, having no words of comfort to offer. The wild Green Hills were no place for a young hobbit to wander alone, even with the most faithful of sheepdogs by his side.

Chapter 28. The Search

 ‘Well Ferdi-my-lad, we’ve our work cut out for us,’ Verilard muttered when the Thain had finished speaking to the assembled hunters. ‘I imagine all those neighbours have spoilt the ground with their searching.’ The lad did not meet the old hunter’s eyes, but the latter could tell Ferdi was listening by the slight tilt of his head. ‘Come then, lad, we’ll get faster to the start of search mounted, I think.’

He rose and stalked from the great room, trusting the teen to follow. Ferumbras had given them the most direct line between Whittacres and the Great Smials. The hunters would ride to Paladin’s farm and then fan out, seeking to pick up the trail of a small boy and sheepdog. It seemed an impossible undertaking. Other searchers would be combing the countryside, blowing horns and calling for dog and lad.

 ‘Paladin has had the hobbits of Whitwell searching since yesterday. Frodo Baggins has searchers working between Bywater and Tookland, and the Boffinses have organised the search near Waymoot,’ Ferumbras had told the hunters. ‘I’ll have Tooks looking from Tuckborough to Tookbank. Your job is to pick up any trail you can. If you cannot find a trail, join the hunt.’

Ferdibrand waited in the courtyard while Veri went into the stables with the other hunters and searchers to fetch ponies. He never went into the stables if he could avoid it. Swinging onto their ponies, the Tooks left the Great Smials in the wake of their Thain and his escort at a ground-eating trot. The grassy heather-covered hills, dotted with copses of woods, rose ever greater as they rode westwards; the country grew wilder, more suitable for sheep than farming. A track ran along the side of one hill, into the valley, crossed a rocky, singing stream and climbed another hill, up and down, winding its way through the highlands and lowlands.

They ate their noontides in the saddle, pushing the ponies to their best pace, for Ferumbras wished to reach Whittacres by mid-afternoon at the latest, when there would be a few hours of light left in the sky.

Just east of Tookbank the greatest of the Green Hills loomed above the village. ‘Here’s where we start to search,’ Veri said, reining his pony off the path on the outskirts of Tookbank, to let the others pass them. A large group had set out from the courtyard of the Great Smials, hobbits dropping off periodically to begin the search. More would begin searching between Tookbank and Whitwell, but the Thain had assigned Veri the area east of Tookbank as a likely place for the lad to be found had he headed due east.

‘If I were a lad on my way to Tuckborough, or beyond,’ Veri said now, with a searching look at Ferdibrand, ‘I’d follow the road from my farm to Tookbank. No one would remark a lad and a dog traipsing along of a morning, especially if the lad had a sack o’er his shoulders. Visiting his grandparents more likely than not, or running an errand whilst his da’s out in the fields.’

Ferdi nodded.

They followed the track out of Tookbank, no more than a farmer’s lane; wide enough for a loaded waggon between the village and the first few farms, it would narrow as it wound its way into the hills.

 ‘How long would he keep to the track, I wonder?’ Veri said. ‘If he strayed he might become lost... Would he turn aside, seeing a spring coming out of the hillside, for a drink?’ He pointed to a trickle of water on the hillside above them.

The hunter slid from his pony, tossing the reins to his young companion, scouting the ground. Ferdi waited on the path. Soon Veri returned. ‘Not this spring, at any event,’ he said. They walked slowly along leading the ponies, each scrutinising his side of the path with sharp eyes. ‘Twill be a wonder to find any sign at all,’ Veri grumbled to himself. He looked up, hearing an echo in the hills, the lad’s name, borne faintly on the breeze. ‘Ah, well, we might track him yet, only to discover he’s been found safe by the others.’

Safe? Ferdi wondered, looking at the wild hills.

 ‘We can always hope,’ Veri said, reading the look.

Verilard left the track at every spring he saw trickling from the hills on either side, but it was nearly sunset when he found the first sign, and even then he was not hopeful. ‘A small hobbit and a dog,’ he said. ‘Could be anyone’s boy.’ He squinted westward at the lowering sun. ‘Too late to follow far,’ he said. ‘We could wander and call, or eat a good meal and sleep and start fresh with the dawning.’ He looked to Ferdi. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘Let us climb to the top of this hill.’

They did so, seeing the valleys spreading on either side, hills surrounding. Tiny lights flared up near and far and they knew that searchers bearing torch or lantern walked and called, though hope diminished with every hour that passed.

Ferdi shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Looking at the teen’s bleak expression, Veri said softly, ‘They say the lad took his cloak with him; there’s a mercy for you.’ He pulled his oilskin from the lacings that fastened it to the saddle and rolled it out upon the grass, laying his bedroll atop, nodding to Ferdi to do the same. The two sat down upon their blankets and munched sausage rolls and dried fruit, drinking icy water from the bottles they’d filled at the last spring, watching the torches of the searchers on the hillsides around them.

Next morning they were up early, wakening as the Sun threw her promise into the sky but before she peeked over her coverlet to greet the day. They looked about themselves in wonder: fog shrouded the valleys, and the hilltops were islands in a misty sea. Veri was out of his bedroll before the slightest creak in his bones might awaken to plague him, and before Ferdi had stretched and sat up Veri’s blankets were rolled in the oilskin and fastened to the saddle again.

The hobbled ponies had not wandered far, and before long all were ready to travel again. Veri handed Ferdi several dried-apple tarts, saving a few for himself; they munched as they walked down into the mist. Stopping once more by the spring they filled their bottles and Veri scrutinised the tracks he’d found the previous day, then began to follow, ‘For want of anything better to do,’ as he grumbled to Ferdi.

They walked slowly as the Sun arose, shaking off the clinging mist. When they’d been walking perhaps an hour, they heard the first calls of the searchers, resuming the hope-dimming task. Several times Veri lost the trail and had to cast about, fretting about wasted time, but he found it again with patient searching, once finding a clear print in the mud on the far side of a sparkling stream. ‘Good thing it hasn’t rained,’ was all he said.

The Sun was high in her dance across the sky when Ferdi suddenly pulled at Veri’s sleeve. The hunter had his nose nearly to the ground, but at the tug he stopped with a patient, ‘What is it, lad?’

Ferdi’s face had lost all colour; he pointed. Veri followed the line, shading his eyes with his hand, and muttered an oath. Carrion birds circled not far from a copse of trees, in the direction that the trail was leading. The hunter straightened, nodded reassuringly. ‘Probably not our lad at all. A sheep, most likely, strayed and broke a leg or somewhat.’ The teen was not reassured, but set his jaw and indicated he was ready to continue.

Chapter 29. The End of the Trail

The trail led straight towards the place that drew the harbingers of death, some circling, others already on the ground, smaller ones waiting and watching as the larger ones tore at something. Verilard gritted his teeth and mounted his pony, leaning forwards to urge the beast swiftly towards the spot. It might not be the lad, he told himself, and he might be spoiling the trail riding so incautiously, but if it were the lad... well, if it were not the lad they’d cast about for the trail again after driving off the birds.

The smaller carrion crows lifted into the sky at their approach, but the larger ones, buzzards and kites, spread their wings and extended their necks to express their displeasure in loud mewing calls. Stopping short of the site, for he could not bring himself to spoil the ground, Veri slid from his pony’s back, pulling off his cloak and whipping it menacingly, shouting at the creatures until they hopped and flapped away, taking to the air to escape him. Veri frightened his pony as well and the beast reared up at the end of its rein, eyes showing white, while Ferdi fought his own pony for control. Veri had to calm his pony before he could toss the rein to Ferdi.

 ‘Stand here with them,’ he said, and stalked away without waiting for an acknowledgment.

The dried-apple tarts lay uneasily on his stomach as he began to read the ground. Wild swine, it looked like. They were shy and retiring for the most part, but always bad-tempered, and they’d eat just about anything that didn’t eat them first. Veri himself had been treed a time or two by a pack of the creatures. He hunted them not by choice but by necessity, wily intelligent things that they were who could turn hunter into prey in a twinkling. When wild swine ranged too close to habited lands the Thain would declare a hunt, and afterwards there’d be roast boar and suckling pigs turning on spits over the great room hearth to recompense the hunters. Ah but it was a hard-won reward...

He found a bag, badly torn, that might have held bread and cheese, but what made his blood run cold was the torn and trampled cloak a few steps away. He picked it up slowly, balling it in his hands—and then Ferdi was there, for he’d hobbled the ponies and then ventured onto the ground, his eyes taking in the signs that Veri had been at pains to teach him over the past weeks. The teen grabbed the cloak away, burying his face in the fabric while his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

 ‘It’s his, then?’ Veri asked. The teen nodded, face still covered. Ferdi’s own father had given Pip the cloak the previous summer, a birthday present. Ferdibrand remembered the pride shining in Pip’s eyes as he’d helped his young cousin settle the fabric on his shoulders, “Fine as any the Thain might wear, away there in the Smials!”

 ‘Ah, lad,’ Veri breathed regretfully, then left the teen to his grief, trying to piece together the story. As he ranged farther, he saw the prints of boy and dog travelling together. He saw where the boy’s walk became a panicked run, where the dog turned to face the attackers, traced the battle itself on the roiled ground as best he could. Yet the only leavings he found were scraps of tattered, bloodstained black-and-white fur and spatters of blood turning from red to brown against the fresh green backdrop of grass and undergrowth. The hogs must have torn the dog to pieces in their fury. He could see no remains of the lad, however.

He went to Ferdibrand, touching the lad’s shoulder. ‘I cannot find him,’ he said. ‘Come and help me look.’ Ferdi lowered the cloak slowly from his reddened eyes; Veri nodded. ‘There’s no trace,’ he said. ‘I found evidence of a dog, yes, but no lad.’

Veri knew the look that came then into the teen’s eyes; he felt it himself. Hope, yet not daring to hope. Ferdi turned to the nearby copse of trees then, scanning the branches eagerly. He caught hold of Veri’s arm, pointing with a trembling hand.

Caught high amongst the new-green of spring leaves, was that a bit of white? The hunters stumbled free of the churned up ground, running to the copse, no longer looking for tracks to follow.

Veri paused to finger the bark of a tree; the rubbing told him how great at least one of the creatures had been. A boar? Scrapings head-high to an adult hobbit on the trunk of another tree bespoke wicked, razor-sharp tusks.

Ferdi was already climbing, up, up to that speck of white in the high branches, so high that they creaked ominously beneath him as he reached his goal. It was, indeed, Pippin, the shirt not so white as it had seemed below, torn as it was and streaked with dirt. The lad clung to the tree, his head buried in his arms, and he did not move when Ferdi touched him, nor even at a light shake.

Ferdi found his voice. ‘Pip,’ he said. ‘Pippin! Do you hear me?’ The lad did not stir. His skin was cold to the touch and clammy, but he breathed and Ferdi took comfort in that fact. ‘Pip,’ he said again. ‘Pip, we’re here to take you home, safe.’ He tried to loosen the lad’s grip on the tree but could not. Helpless he sat back, stymied.

Veri waited and wondered below. His wonder grew as Ferdi called down to him—called! ‘He’s alive, but I cannot get him to move.’

 ‘Wait!’ he shouted back. ‘I’ll come up to you anon.’ He ran from the copse, to where his hobbled pony eagerly cropped the grass. Seizing the horn from the saddle pad, he blew a great blast, and another. He waited until he heard an answering horn, then blew two more long blasts. Another horn sounded closer. He repeated the call until he was sure they were headed in the right direction. Hanging the horn on his belt he ran back to the little wood. ‘They’re coming!’ he said. ‘Hold fast, Ferdi!’

Slower than the teen, for he was old enough to be Ferdi’s father, he began to climb. ‘They’re coming,’ he repeated when he reached the others. He had to stop a few branches lower, being older and heavier, but if he stretched he could just touch Pippin’s icy-cold feet. ‘Two nights in the cold, and fear and grief in the bargain,’ he muttered. He unslung his cloak from his shoulders and tossed it up to Ferdi, who wrapped it about the lad, adding his own cloak for good measure.

Somehow Ferdi managed to pry loose the stiff, cold fingers, though it took time and patience. One of the arriving rescuers climbed up with a coil of rope over his shoulder, and they used that to lower Pippin safely to where the branches were thick enough to take the combined weight of the lad and a rescuer.

When Ferdi reached the ground, Pip had already been wrapped in blankets and was on his way at full gallop to the Great Smials in the arms of one of the searchers. Ferdi and Veri accepted the congratulations of the other searchers. Veri detailed someone to bury what remained of the dog, faithful guardian, and then he and Ferdi unhobbled their ponies and set off for the Smials at best speed.

Chapter 30. Mistress Lalia's Revenge 

A deferential knock sounded on the study door and a servant stuck his head in at the Mistress’ sharp, ‘Yes!’

’They’ve found the lad, brought him to the infirmary, Mistress.’

Pearl started up from her chair, looking to Lalia, who snapped, ‘Go! What are you waiting for?’ 

 ‘Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress,’ she gasped and with a hurried bob she was gone.

Pearl found the infirmary a scene of controlled chaos. Hobbits were darting in and out of the bath room where Bittersweet could be heard snapping orders. ‘More hot water!’ she was saying as Pearl entered. ‘He’s as cold as ice!’

The healer was holding the lad upright in a tub set in front of a bright fire as helpers added buckets of steaming water. ‘Ah, Pearl,’ she said. ‘Good. Talk to him, lass. A familiar voice will be of great help.’

Pearl knelt by the side of the tub, taking a cold little hand in her own. ‘Pip,’ she said and forced a smile. ‘Pip, whatever were you thinking, coming to visit without giving the cooks enough warning to bake sufficient seedcake?’

She stopped, at a loss, but Bittersweet urged her again to talk or sing, so she began to sing a nursery song, one of Pip’s favourites, about the fox that hunted a clever coney.

Halfway through the song she was interrupted by a soft voice. ‘Not that one.’

Looking up she exclaimed in astonishment, ‘Ferdi!’ She hadn’t heard him come in, but he was standing there, Veri at his shoulder, a curious expression on the hunter’s face.

 ‘He was the coney,’ Ferdi said, paying no mind to the odd looks his remark garnered. ‘Sing a different song.’ He knelt down at Pip’s other side, taking up the lad’s hand. ‘It’s all right, Pip,’ he said. ‘You’re safe.’

 The lad groaned, his head moving back and forth. ‘Merry?’ he said clearly. ‘I’m sorry, Merry, it’s too far to Buckland...’ Pearl gasped, feeling a tightness in her gut. If word were to come to the Mistress... ‘I tried, Merry, really I did.’

 ‘That’s all right, lad,’ Ferdi said. ‘It’ll be our secret.’ He made a hushing noise. ‘Sing the acorn song, Pearl,’ he added.

Pearl began to sing and her brother quieted. The warming effect of the hot bath was bringing some colour to his face. Viola brought a hot, sweet drink and Bittersweet got it into him though he was only half-awake.

The helpers dipped cooling water out of the tub and added more warm water. For over an hour Pearl sang as her brother soaked in the warming tub. Viola coaxed several more cups of hot, sweet milk into him. Finally Bittersweet nodded in satisfaction as Pippin became more awake and aware, able to answer her questions. ‘He’s warm enough. Let’s bundle him well and get some solid food into him.’ As they were lifting Pippin out of the tub, wrapping him in a warmed bath sheet, there was a stir at the door and Paladin was there, seizing his son from the healers, hugging him tight and repeating his name.

 ‘Well now,’ Ferumbras said from the doorway. ‘All’s well that ends well, is what I always say.’

 ‘When can I take him home?’ Paladin said. ‘His mother is beside herself.’ He thought of Eglantine as he’d last seen her early this morning, just sitting, staring at nothing, her fingers knotted in her shawl as silent tears traced their way down her cheeks while neighbours quietly went about making breakfast. He couldn’t stay in the same room with her soundless grief; he had to get out, rejoin the search, do something.

 ‘Just as soon as he’s properly awake and has eaten a good meal,’ Bittersweet said firmly.

 ‘A messenger was dispatched to Whittacres at the same time they sought us out, cousin,’ Ferumbras put in. ‘Your wife will soon know the lad is safe.’

 ‘O thank you, Sir, a thousand thanks!’ Paladin said effusively, grasping his son more tightly with his left arm and putting out his right hand to wring the Thain’s vigorously. He was not usually demonstrative, but three days and two nights of anxiety had undone his typical reserve.

 ‘My pleasure,’ Ferumbras beamed.

 ‘Had it not been for your hunters...’ Paladin continued, but the Thain interrupted him.

 ‘That does not bear thinking about,’ Ferumbras said firmly. ‘Come now, I’d imagine you could use a bite yourself.’

A servant cleared his throat in the doorway. ‘Yes?’ said the Thain.

 ‘The Mistress wishes to see Farmer Took,’ the servant said tonelessly. Ferumbras glanced at him sharply then chose to laugh in response, though he wondered at the summons. His mother did nothing without purpose.

 ‘Undoubtedly she wishes to congratulate you on the safe recovery of your son,’ he said heartily.

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Bittersweet said briskly, holding out her arms for Pippin. ‘Let us dress and feed the lad and when you finish your interview with the Mistress you can take him back to his mother.’ Paladin accepted a last sleepy hug from his son and then allowed the healer to take him.

 ‘Stay here with him,’ the relieved father said to Pearl.

 ‘I have to attend the Mistress before teatime ends,’ she answered.

 ‘I won’t be long,’ Paladin promised.

Ferumbras and Paladin talked of planting as they walked to the Thain’s study. Reaching the door, the Thain raised an inquiring eyebrow at Isumbold who stood outside, receiving the slightest shrug in return as the head of escort opened the door for them.

 ‘There you are,’ Lalia said cordially, but something unpleasant glittered in her eyes and her son stiffened, knowing her all too well. ‘I wondered if my message went amiss.’

 ‘Perhaps the messenger did,’ Ferumbras said smoothly, moving to pour a cup of tea from the tray on the desk. ‘We came immediately when we received your summons.’ He served his mother and moved to pour a second cup, but as he started to pour a third his mother arrested him.

 ‘Paladin needs no tea,’ she said sweetly. ‘He won’t be staying long.’

Paladin held tightly to his temper as Ferumbras answered, ‘Of course he will be wanting to take his son home again just as soon as may be, but certainly he has time for a cup of tea and a bit of sustenance.’

 ‘No,’ Lalia said flatly. ‘That is not what I meant.’

 ‘What did you mean, Mistress?’ the farmer said cautiously.

 ‘Give me one good reason why I should not put you under the Ban,’ Lalia said abruptly, dropping all pretence of civility.

 ‘The Ban!’ Ferumbras gasped.

Paladin was too shocked to reply at once, but finally managed to splutter, ‘I am a loyal Took!’

 ‘Are you?’ Lalia snapped. ‘And yet I find you still have dealings with those Brandybucks!’

 ‘Dealings...’ Paladin said, breathing shallowly, feeling sick. How had she guessed that Pip might be making his way to Buckland? He swallowed hard, trying to smile ingratiatingly though it was harder than ploughing the southwest field, with its crop of rocks that rose renewed each Spring. ‘I do not take your meaning, Mistress.’

 ‘Mother,’ Ferumbras said. 

 ‘You stay out of this,’ Lalia said nastily. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ Turning back to the farmer, she said, ‘Are you prepared to renounce all ties with Buckland and Brandybucks?’

All ties... Esmeralda. How could he cut off Allie? ‘I... you cannot ask that, Mistress.’

 ‘Can’t I?’ Lalia said, drawing herself up in her chair. ‘Renounce them at once, or suffer the consequences.’

 ‘Mother, his sister...’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘Hold your tongue or I’ll put you on water rations!’ Lalia said.

 ‘But...’ Ferumbras persisted.

 ‘That’s it!’ the Mistress shouted, pointing a menacing finger at him. ‘Water rations for the rest of the day! And if you speak again I’ll have Isumbold escort you from the room until we’re finished!’

Ferumbras took a breath to answer but thought the better of it and subsided. How could he hope to help Paladin if he didn’t know what passed?

Paladin stood straighter as Lalia’s gaze returned to him. ‘I cannot,’ he said quietly, ‘and I will not. You cannot ask such a thing, it would be...’

 ‘The act of a petty tyrant?’ Lalia said. At the farmer’s expression of shock, she nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve heard that the words came from your mouth in the marketplace some years back, but I, in my infinite mercy and patience, have chosen to disregard your insubordination up until now. However, I find that you are teaching your children to follow your example.’ She smiled again. She would break him, or ruin him, it hardly mattered which. ‘Now, will you renounce all ties with the Brandybucks? Adelard here is ready to take down your sworn oath.’ She gestured to the steward, holding his quill in a white-knuckled hand.

 ‘I am trying to teach my children to follow my example,’ Paladin said between his teeth. ‘An example of honour and honest dealings, of working hard to earn what you hold, an example of...’

 ‘Enough!’ Lalia cut him off. ‘Will you renounce your sister!’

 ‘I will not!’ Paladin shot back.

 ‘Out of your own mouth you bray your disloyalty and defiance,’ Lalia hissed. ‘Paladin Took, as head of the Tooks I hereby pronounce upon you the Ban.’ Ferumbras took a sharp breath though he’d had no doubt, since the moment his mother had brought up the snippet of gossip from that long-ago market day at Whitwell, that this would be the outcome.

Paladin stood firm before the Mistress, as still as a rock save a muscle that jumped in his jaw.

Lalia continued implacably. ‘You may speak to no other, and none may speak to you. You must eat your meals in silence, and avoid gatherings, feasts, and festivals. You are under the sentence of shunning, until you return to hear the Ban against you lifted. Have you anything to say before the silence begins?’

 ‘How long?’ Paladin managed to say.

 ‘Until you come to your senses, apologise for your disloyalty, renounce your sister and swear an oath of loyalty to the Tooks,’ Lalia said smugly.

There was a gasp from the doorway where Pearl stood frozen in place.

Paladin turned his head slowly, breathing hard, and raised a shaking hand to point at his eldest daughter. ‘You stay out of this, girl,’ he said. ‘This has naught to do with you!’

 ‘But...’ she whispered.

 ‘Obey me!’ his voice cracked like a whip. ‘Do as you’re told!’

 ‘Yes, Father,’ she said, her eyes filled with tears. Paladin nodded, bowed to the Thain, and marched from the room, stopping to hug his daughter without a word. They shared a long look while the others in the room looked on in silence, and then the farmer was gone.

 ‘You’re a good, obedient girl, are you, Pearl?’ Lalia said sarcastically.

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Pearl murmured, quickly wiping her eyes. She’d obey her father, for true, but she’d not give old Lalia the Fat the pleasure of seeing her cry.

Chapter 31. The Long Ride Home

Paladin stalked through the corridors of the Great Smials, his mind still reeling. How stupid he’d been all those years ago in the market, not to guard his tongue. The weaver had warned him at the time that the least of idle words always got back to the Mistress... and he’d heeded the advice, but only after the fatal words had been spoken: “Petty tyrant.” They must have rankled, for Lalia to have harboured her resentment all these years. He’d been a fool to think himself safe when nothing had come of it.

At a touch on his arm he glanced over. Isumbold walked beside him; the farmer hadn’t even heard the head of escort running to catch up. Isum did not meet his eyes but nodded slightly as they walked. Cheery greetings and congratulations on the boy’s safe recovery died on the lips of the Tooks who saw them walking, grim-faced, Isum holding Paladin’s elbow, and the whispers began.

Bittersweet half-turned as they entered the infirmary. ‘Ah, Paladin, back so soon! The lad’s—.’

Isum interrupted her. ‘The Thain sent me,’ he said, squeezing the farmer’s arm in unspoken message, ‘to escort them home and proclaim the Ban in Whitwell and its environs.’ Paladin nodded to himself. It would amuse Lalia to send him away without informing anyone, to prolong the agony of having the Ban imposed. Of course people would realise Paladin was under sentence of shunning when he did not answer nor look them in the eye, but it would take time and rub his nose in it all the more, waiting for others to understand and respond accordingly. Ferumbras had spoiled his mother’s game as best he could.

 ‘Shunning!’ Bittersweet gasped. ‘Whatever for?’

 ‘Disloyalty,’ Isum said succinctly. ‘Malice,’ he added, and the healer nodded slowly. She understood that the malice was Lalia’s, not Paladin’s, though Isum did not dare say so in so many words.

 ‘The whole family?’ Bittersweet asked carefully. One under sentence of shunning could not be named, not until the Ban was lifted.

 ‘Pearl has always been a good, obedient girl and so Mistress Lalia protected her,’ Isum answered heavily.

 ‘Even so...’ Bittersweet bit her lip. She could see no way of helping the farmer at the moment, and she had to walk carefully herself. Thus far everyone seemed to believe Rosemary had spirited herself out of the Great Smials without any help. The healer could not afford the least breath of suspicion. She took a deep breath. ‘The lad is dressed and fed and ready to go,’ she said. ‘This way...’

She led them to a pleasant room where Pippin started up, calling, ‘Da!’ He ran to his father for a hug, and Paladin automatically embraced his son, his face working to conceal his emotions.

 ‘I’ll return shortly,’ Bittersweet said to Isum. She was as good as her word, bringing a bag of provisions and a warm child-sized cloak, which she laid on the bed. ‘Safe journey,’ she said to Isum, ‘and may grace go with you.’ She hoped the good farmer knew that the words were not addressed only to the head of escort. She added, ‘I’m glad Pearl was not included; you can be sure I’ll watch over her.’

 ‘That is a relief to hear,’ Isum said, just as if the remarks had been addressed to himself. ‘Give her my regards and tell her I’ll see her on the morrow.’

Paladin picked up the cloak from the bed and wrapped up his son. When Pippin spoke his father shushed him. It took several repetitions before the lad understood, but since no one else spoke, he caught the idea at last. His eyes began to dance with mischief. He was good at the game of “silence” when his sisters played it with him. He could nearly always get Pearl or Vinca to laugh without making a sound himself, winning the game.

They walked out of the Smials in silence, finding their ponies saddled and ready in the yard. ‘I’ll be back on the morrow,’ Isum said to the stable hobbit.

 ‘Yessir,’ that hobbit answered soberly. The word of the shunning was already beginning to spread; Isum had sent Baragrim ahead with the news to minimize Paladin’s discomfort as he took his leave.

They mounted. Baragrim had arranged an extra pony for the lad to ride to Whittacres; Isum would lead him home, of course, loaded with delicacies from tomorrow’s market day at Bywater. The Mistress never wasted anything.

They rode from the yard of the Smials without the usual parting song. Pippin was smirking at the success of his play. No one had yet tricked him into speaking.

However, as the miles spun away beneath their ponies’ feet he found his discomfort growing. The adults showed no signs of hunger or thirst, and they played the game awfully well. Why, Isum didn’t even talk to the piebald pony as he usually did, and Paladin had no remarks on the progress of ploughing and planting. When the track splashed through yet another shallow stream, Pippin quite thought he was dying of thirst.

 ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing. ‘There’s a spring! Can’t we stop and drink? I’m thirsty! And I’m that hungry!’ If he were going to lose the silence game, he might as well lose it grandly, with an unending flow of words.

With a glance at Isum, Paladin jerked at his son’s arm. ‘Silence!’ he hissed. ‘We’re not allowed to speak!’

 ‘Not allowed!’ Pippin laughed. ‘What’s happened? Did the cat get everybody’s tongues?’ They were passing the spring and he pulled his pony to a stop. ‘I’m thirsty!’ he repeated. ‘I want a drink!’ The adults stopped their ponies so as not to leave him behind, and he grinned, assured of victory.

Not looking at him, Isum tapped the water bottle hanging from the saddle. ‘No!’ Pippin shouted. ‘I don’t want dusty dry old water from a bottle! I want fresh cold water from a spring!’

In the next moment, his mouth was hanging open with surprise and tears were starting from his eyes. Paladin had cracked him across the face with a sweep of his hand. Isum started in the saddle, kneeing his pony closer, but the farmer, his face bleached with shock at his own action, had already turned away from his son, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

 ‘Da!’ Pip cried brokenly. His father had never, ever raised a hand to him in anger before. It was as if the world had rocked beneath him and the solid earth was crumbling away. To his bewilderment, his father lowered his hands from his face, shook his head — refusing to look at him — and kicked his pony, hard, Paladin who never used whip or heels on a beast! The startled pony jumped and surged into motion.

 ‘It is not permitted for those under the Ban to speak to others,’ Isumbold said to the piebald pony, nudging him into motion, ‘nor for others to speak to them.’ He gave the reins of Pippin’s pony a forward tug and they followed the farmer, who’d pulled his pony down to a walk to let them catch him up again.

 ‘The Ban!’ Pippin sobbed, tears streaming down his face where a red mark was appearing. ‘Why would my da be shunned? He’s never done anything wrong!’

 ‘The Mistress has seen fit to place the entire family under the Ban,’ Isum said to the pony. ‘Of course, she has no way of knowing if the family speaks amongst themselves, in the privacy of their own hole, but out here in the open it is wiser to be silent.’ He patted the pony on the neck. ‘Good lad,’ he said. ‘Good old Pie, I knew you’d understand.’

Pippin might be not quite twelve years of age, but he understood, probably better even than the pony did.

Chapter 32. Food for Thought

They continued riding in silence, eating and drinking in the saddle, stopping when the lad whispered, ‘I have to...’ and then broke off with a fearful look at his father. There was another stop along the way as well. Isum led them off the track towards a copse of trees, stopping near the top of a little hill where a cairn of stones had been piled.

Isum dismounted and pointed. Paladin slid from his pony and walked slowly to the cairn, picking up the collar of heavy leather that lay atop the pile of stones. ‘Lop?’ he said, forgetting for the moment that he wasn’t allowed to speak.

The head of escort rubbed his pony’s jaw and dug a carrot from his pocket. ‘He made a good end, Pie, or so I heard. He hadn’t a chance against so many, but he chose to fight. He could have escaped them, a sheepdog is that fast, but instead he paid with his life to gain enough time for the lad to win to the trees.’ The pony lipped the carrot from his palm, ears twitching to take in the soft words, and then nuzzled at a pocket for another treat.

The farmer nodded, fingering the collar, then gently laid it to rest atop the cairn once more. The boy gave a gasping sob, but remembered not to speak, instead pulling a sleeve across his eyes and then sitting silent again. Isumbold walked to the copse, searching the ground until he found a suitable fallen branch. He stripped it bare, leaving a long, slender staff, and took a red square of cloth from his pocket, fixing it to the top. With this improvised flag, he turned back to the ponies and waiting hobbits.

Isumbold and Paladin mounted and on they went back to the track, all the long way to Tookbank, where he stopped in the centre of the village to announce the Ban—to the shock of the good hobbits there—and down the road towards Whitwell. Turning off the road onto the lane leading to Paladin’s farm, they saw a gathering of hobbits. A celebration was evidently in the works, waiting only the triumphant return of the rescued lad.

Isum’s jaw tightened and he nudged his pony ahead of the others, cantering down the lane to the yard. There were shouts of welcome, and hobbits hurried to the house to gather everyone for the greeting... but when they saw the red banner all fell silent, exchanging uneasy looks.

Isum waited until Paladin and Pippin rode up behind him, then cleared his throat. No need to blow the horn to gain attention. ‘Hear ye, hear ye!’ he called. ‘By order of The Took, until further notice, all who reside upon this property are under the Ban! Take heed, and take warning!’ The hired hobbits gave exclamations of shock, a murmur arose amongst the neighbours, Eglantine gasped and burst into tears, and none dared offer comfort.

Paladin got down from his pony and went to lift Pippin down, his hands tightening momentarily on the lad’s arms, but then he released his son and went to his wife, enveloping her in a great hug. Nell and Vinca joined the embrace, and Pip stood bewildered a little apart from the family until Nell reached out an arm to take him in.

Isum took the reins of Pippin’s pony, fastened them to his saddle, looked from face to face, and kneed his pony around. Holding the stick high, he rode swiftly to where the lane joined the road, stopped to jam the warning flag into the soil just outside the gate, and rode on to Whitwell to proclaim the Ban in the community where Paladin did most of his business. He did not linger in Whitwell, but continued on to Bywater, where he’d stay over until tomorrow’s market day. The Green Dragon inn had a decent brew, but quality was not so important as quantity after this day’s work. It was here that Frodo Baggins, stopping in for a mug after a long day of tramping the fields in search of Pippin, heard of the disaster that had overtaken Paladin and his family.

Most of the neighbours left at once, of course, shame-facedly turning away without parting words. It took the hired hobbits longer to leave, of course, for they had to pack their belongings, but before the Sun sought her bed all were gone save the hobbits who resided there.

In the kitchen that evening, the little family sat around the well-scrubbed table. Good smells of cooking and baking still lingered. The neighbours who had lingered in defiance stayed long enough to clear away before leaving, taking down the make-shift tables, putting away the festive food, washing the pots and pans. The hired hobbits fed the animals and mucked and gathered eggs and milked and did all the other chores they would have done before the evening meal, but supper found them gathered around the tables of the neighbours who’d taken them in.

No one was hungry, and no one thought to serve supper, nor even to light a lamp as the bright sunset light flooded the kitchen. They sat in silence as the light slowly faded, until Eglantine sobbed in the gathering gloom. ‘O Dinny, whatever will we do?’

***

Pearl walked through the next few days in a dream, mechanically carrying out her duties. Mistress Lalia was pleasant and gracious, her son sober and solicitous, Adelard the steward glum, speaking only at need. Though she was not under the Ban, Pearl did not want to talk to anyone. The other girls respected her wishes. Mrs Sandytoes clucked and fussed at her like a hen, though she didn’t want the attention. The other Tooks and servants in the Great Smials nodded when they met in the corridors, sympathy in their eyes, though of course none dared say what they were thinking. It’s a bad business, all around.

One evening after early supper the Mistress had sent Pearl to the kitchens with a message for the chief cook and then to fetch a specific shawl from Lalia’s private quarters, after which she was released from her duties for the day. She searched high and low for the shawl, enlisting the help of the servants, but the shawl was not to be found. Frustrated, Pearl left as the servants began to prepare Lalia’s bed. A sudden thought struck her and she turned back; perhaps the shawl had slipped behind the sofa! The Mistress had a habit of carelessly throwing off her wrap when she grew too warm. The servants were all in the bedroom, gossiping as they worked, and no one was in the sitting room. The oversized, ornate sofa was against a wall, and it was a tight fit as Pearl wedged her way behind it, pouncing on the scrap of fabric protruding from beneath, but just as she was about to crawl out again she heard Lalia’s sharp tones and stopped, hesitating, at hearing her father’s name. Speaking the name of a hobbit under the Ban was not done, though she supposed the Mistress and Thain could do so with impunity, though any other Took would face the wrath of the Mistress.

 ‘...serves Paladin right, I say! All these years he’s been sowing seeds of disrespect, and where would the Tooks be if they’re taught to disregard the head of the family?’

 ‘One remark, Mother, it was one remark...’ Ferumbras said tiredly.

 ‘One remark that we heard of,’ Lalia said self-righteously. ‘Who knows how much discord that hobbit has stirred?’

 ‘And so you’ve decided to punish him roundly for that one remark,’ Ferumbras persisted.

 ‘You are too soft-hearted for your own good,’ Lalia said fondly. ‘Why, you’d run the Tookland into ruin if I let you, forgiving everyone their debts and ignoring the requirements of good business.’

 ‘Is it good business to ruin folk and then take their land out from under them?’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘Now, darling boy, you are overdramatising. When Paladin’s grandfather left the Smials to take up farming, he could have gone and put his back into it, worked hard, sacrificed. He didn’t have to borrow money from your father; that’s a bad start to any venture.’

 ‘His family would have starved that first year,’ Ferumbras said, ‘what with drought followed by flood.’

 ‘Such is the farmer’s lot,’ Lalia sighed.

 ‘You’ve resented Paladin’s family ever since they had the temerity to choose to leave the Smials instead of living under you as Mistress!’ Ferumbras flared in an unusual flash of temper.

 ‘Ferumbras Took!’ Lalia snapped. ‘Apologise at once for such intolerable disrespect!’

There was a silence, and then a bitter sigh from the Thain. ‘I apologise, Mother,’ he said in a monotone.

 ‘There’s my good lad,’ Lalia said. ‘Now then, have a cup of tea. You’ve upset yourself over naught.’

 ‘Naught!’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘That’s what I said,’ Lalia answered. There was the sound of tea being poured, and Pearl held her breath. There was no way she would come from behind the sofa while they were still in the room, not after what she’d heard.

 ‘It was only a matter of time before Paladin was unable to pay on his grandfather’s debt. Farmers don’t raise gold, you know, but crops, and those are uncertain at best.’

 ‘He certainly won’t be able to make his payment this year on Mid-year’s day,’ Ferumbras said scathingly. ‘He cannot hire hobbits to help him work the land, and he cannot sell what he produces in the market.’

 ‘A pity, when he is so close to owning the land free and clear,’ his mother said in a satisfied tone. ‘I’m sure you wish to help him, soft-hearted as you are.’

 ‘How could I do that?’ Ferumbras rumbled.

 ‘If you would simply marry and produce an heir, I’ll step down and let you be Thain and Took,’ Lalia said. ‘I haven’t changed my mind, even though young Rosemary was so spoilt and undisciplined as to defy her father’s wishes.’ There was a slurping sound as she sipped at her tea. ‘When you’re Took you may reverse just as many Bans as you care to.’

 ‘I cannot produce an heir in the space of three months,’ Ferumbras snapped.

 ‘Pity,’ his mother said again. ‘Paladin will lose his farm, I suppose. He could always go to Buckland, live off the charity of his relations there. I wonder... is Whittacres a pleasant place?’

 ‘Very pleasant,’ Ferumbras grated.

 ‘Ah, perhaps I’ll remove there once I step down. A nice little home in the country, quiet and peaceful, away from the cares and squabbles of a large establishment,’ Lalia said complacently. ‘I’m old, you know, and ready for some peace.’ She sighed. ‘Of course, after I’m gone, you could always graciously restore Paladin’s land to him once again... that is, if his pride allows him to accept it.’

 ‘You’ll probably live another thirty years,’ Ferumbras said quietly.

 ‘Pass the Old Took? What a delightful prospect,’ Lalia said. ‘I shall make it my ambition.’

 ‘You do that, Mother,’ Ferumbras said heavily. ‘I’m tired.’ Pearl heard him rise from his chair. ‘Good night.’

 ‘And where is my good-night kiss?’ Lalia demanded. Pearl could just picture her tilting her cheek in expectation.

 ‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘That’s my boy,’ Lalia said. ‘We’ll have your favourite cake for tea on the morrow, after you return from the hunt, shall we?’

Ferumbras did not answer. Pearl heard the door close behind him, then the servants came out of the bedroom.

 ‘Bed’s all warmed for you, Mistress,’ Bluebell said cheerily, ‘and the fire on the bedroom hearth is crackling nicely.’

 ‘That does sound inviting,’ Lalia answered.

 ‘Come then!’ Bluebell said. Pearl heard the heavy chair wheeled out of the sitting room and the voices of the servants and Mistress from the bedroom. The servants sang the Mistress a peaceful song and then left the suite, all but Bluebell who would remain on duty through the night in case the Mistress wanted something. Pearl heard Bluebell moving about the sitting room, and the room darkened as she blew out each lamp, turning the last one low to serve as a watch lamp.

Pearl heard Bluebell settle on the sofa and sigh. ‘There’s another day gone,’ the servant muttered to herself. Soon a soft snore arose.

Pearl crept from behind the sofa, holding her breath, but Bluebell never stirred. The girl eased herself across the room to the door and slipped outside, thankful to find the corridor deserted.

Upon returning to her own quarters, she found the other girls asleep and only Mrs Sandytoes awake, on watch, darning a hole in a kitchen-helper’s apron. ‘There you are,’ the matron said with a yawn. ‘The Mistress kept you later than usual.’

 ‘Yes,’ Pearl said succinctly. ‘Yes she did. Goodnight.’

 ‘Would you like a cup of tea and a bite to eat before you retire, dearie?’ Mrs Sandytoes said solicitously.

 ‘No, thank you, Mrs Sandytoes,’ Pearl said with an unfeigned yawn. ‘I’m weary; I think I’ll just take myself off.’

 ‘You do that,’ the matron said. ‘You’ve not slept well these past few nights.’

 ‘No,’ Pearl said. Likely she wouldn’t sleep much this night, either. She had a lot of thinking to do.
 

Chapter 33. Seeds of Conspiracy

Earlier that day, the arrival of the post caused no little consternation at Brandy Hall.

 ‘You sent for us, Father?’ Saradoc said, seating his wife in a comfortable chair by the hearth in the Master’s study. He had been enjoying the mild weather with his wife and son, combining business with pleasure, walking along the riverbank to assess damage from the winter’s storms.

Merry busied himself bringing his mother a stool for her feet and pouring out a glass of brandy for her. Esmeralda had been poorly in the cold months and while his father said nothing, the teen had caught a look of concern on Saradoc’s face on more than one occasion.

Master Rorimac cleared his throat and said, ‘News of Tookland.’

Esmeralda half-rose from her chair. ‘News from Tookland?’ she exclaimed. ‘Lalia’s communicating with Buckland once more?’ Her face was hopeful.

 ‘Not from Tookland,’ the Master said soberly. ‘From Frodo Baggins.’

 ‘What news?’ Saradoc said, crossing to take his wife’s hand. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, not from the expression on his father’s face.

 ‘Are you well, my dear?’ the Master said, moving to take Esmeralda’s other hand.

 ‘I don’t know why people fuss so,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m perfectly well!’ She took a deep breath. ‘What is it?’

 ‘Mistress Lalia has pronounced the Ban on Paladin,’ Rorimac said. Bad news should not be drawn out, but delivered as quickly and succinctly as possible, like drawing a thorn from the flesh.

Esmeralda took the news better than he’d hoped; wrenching her hand from his, she took the glass of brandy her son held and gulped half the contents. ‘He’ll lose Whittacres,’ she said then, ‘after all his toil, after all his effort to keep his temper in check, after all...’ She was angry rather than tearful.

 ‘Tell me again, my dear, what the arrangement with the old Thain was,’ Rerimac said.

 ‘Grandfather Hildigrim bought Whittacres for a pretty penny,’ Esmeralda said. ‘He sunk all his personal fortune into the purchase of the land, with an agreement to pay an annual sum for the remainder of the debt. The farm had been badly mismanaged and the owner was asking less than its worth. It seemed a good bargain, all round, from what I’ve been told.’ She’d been four at the time that her grandfather left the Great Smials, taking his sons and their families with him.

 ‘Yes,’ Rorimac said, ‘I remember.’

 ‘The first year was spent undoing the neglect of the previous tenant,’ Esmeralda continued. ‘Neglect, and harm! He’d allowed one of the best fields to be used as a dumping ground. Father and my uncle hauled ever so many waggonloads of junk away... and then ploughing and fertilising and planting crops that would not be harvested, but merely ploughed back into the soil in the autumn to enrich the soil.’

Rorimac nodded. Good practice, planting legumes to fix nutrients and then ploughing them under, to enrich badly managed soil.

 ‘They had great hopes for the next year,’ Esmeralda said, ‘though grandfather was on very thin ice. He was counting on those crops the next year, to pay the debt and to feed all of us.'

 ‘It wasn’t a good year for farmers,’ Rorimac said quietly. ‘First drought, and when the rains came they were too late, and so heavy they washed away the few crops that had managed to come up.’

 ‘The crops were a total loss,’ Esmeralda said softly, ‘and most of the sheep and other animals drowned in the flooding. The house was badly damaged; we’d had to climb on the rooftop to save ourselves, and Uncle Hildi was swept away pushing me onto the roof… they found him miles away and days later... I still remember Grandmother weeping in the night and Mother trying to comfort her, and Grandfather saying we’d have to go back to the Great Smials, for he hadn’t enough left to buy food, much less pay on the debt.’ She took a sobbing breath. ‘They’d worked so hard, only to lose all. I remember my father’s hands bleeding after a long day... and now my uncle was gone, the farm was ruined, the animals drowned, the house uninhabitable, and all we had was the nightclothes we’d had on when we scrambled out of our beds as the waters rose around us.’

Saradoc held his wife’s hand tightly. ‘The neighbours were in similar straits,’ he said quietly.

Esmeralda smiled. ‘Thain Fortinbras was a wonder,’ she said. ‘He sent loaded ponies over the hills to the Whitwell valley. Food, clothing, tools, and hobbits! ...to help with the clearing away. Dead animals had to be buried, for starters, and quickly, and homes needed repairs with winter coming on. He came himself and worked alongside all the others.’

 ‘He was probably happy to have an excuse to get away from the Smials,’ Saradoc muttered.

 ‘I remember sitting in the mud of the yard, crying over my dolly, for my mother and sisters were busy trying to salvage dishes and cutlery though there was nothing to eat!...when he reached our farm. He jumped off his pony and swept me up in his arms—I was so filthy! The mud smeared all over his cloak but he didn’t seem to mind. He said, “There, there, now, lass, Dolly’s not so bad off... All she needs is a good washing, I’ll warrant, and one new button eye and some fresh wool on her head and feet and she’ll be good as new!” ’ She smiled faintly at the recollection.

 ‘Grandfather came to him, hat in hand, and my father behind him, sober, mud-covered and still in their night-clothes, their hands raw from digging what they could salvage out of the mud—Grandmother’s china teapot was chipped but unbroken, imagine it!’

 ‘Yes, my dear,’ Rorimac murmured.

Merry listened in fascination. His mother had never told this tale before, though now he knew why she insisted on pouring out tea each day from the chipped old pot when Saradoc could have bought her a dozen new ones.

 ‘I’ve never seen Grandfather look so old—so old and broken,’ Esmeralda said, catching her breath in a little sob. ‘He was always so strong and jolly, singing as he worked.

 ‘He came to the Thain and said, “Well, Sir, this is the end for me. There’s naught I can do, cannot even feed the wee bairns.” He reached out and stroked my mud-streaked face before he continued. “I have nothing left, and the payment for the land comes due next month. I must... must throw myself upon the charity of the Thain. May we come back to the Smials, come to work for the Thain and Mistress?” And then I saw tears in his eyes. I’d never seen Grandfather cry! And his remaining son behind him... my father’s shoulders slumped as if he carried a load that was breaking his back.’

 ‘But they didn’t go back to the Smials,’ Rorimac prompted.

Esmeralda looked up. ‘No,’ she said. ‘The Thain told him there was no room in the Smials and he’d just have to see how to keep my family on the land. Then they worked out the arrangement we’ve lived under ever since.’

 ‘And that was...?’ the Master said. He knew that Paladin made regular payments, and that the debt was nearly paid, but he’d never heard the details.

 ‘For sixty years we’d pay the shearings of fifty sheep, washed and combed and ready for dying and spinning, to commence five years after the flood. The Thain paid the debt on the land and all the repairs and bought new animals to restock, and he filled the pantry with enough food to take us through the following harvest.’

 ‘Lalia must have been fit to be tied,’ Rorimac muttered.

 ‘Grandfather died the following year,’ Esmeralda continued, ‘and Father took on the farm and the obligation. He worked hard, and Paladin worked right beside him though he’d not reached his teens.’ She took a deep breath. ‘They built up the farm and the flock and five years after the flood made the first payment, and every payment thereafter.’

 ‘Four years left on the debt,’ the Master said, pulling at his chin.

 ‘Yes, four years left,’ Esmeralda said, ‘and Lalia’s been looking for some way to ruin my brother ever since he lost his temper at Bywater market.’

 ‘The wool of fifty sheep,’ Saradoc said, ‘and he has no way to deliver it to the Smials, even if he shears them all himself, and his family washes and cards the wool without hired hobbits.’

 ‘What about the equivalent in gold?’ Rorimac said. He shook his head. ‘No, Lalia wouldn’t accept it from Brandybucks.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. The only way I can see to save your family’s farm is to apologise to Lalia.’

 ‘But—that would be admitting you were in the wrong!’ Esmeralda said in shock.

Rorimac nodded. ‘Rosemary offered once to go back and do her duty,’ he said. ‘If she is still willing...’

 ‘No!’ Esmeralda said sharply. More softly she repeated, ‘No. We will not use that girl to try to save the land. Besides, you have no guarantee that Lalia would lift the Ban against my brother, even if you sent Rosemary back to Tookland.’

 ‘No,’ Rorimac said, ‘especially if she has a grudge against your brother. Her spite is well-known throughout the Shire.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Esmeralda said glumly.

Rorimac put his hand on her arm. ‘If there is a way to save Whittacres, we will,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Frodo Baggins can make Paladin’s payment, if we can get the gold to him quietly enough. He inherited Bilbo’s estate, after all, and it’s plausible that he’d be able to pay the debt off completely. Lalia might accept payment from him, and see it as a way to get back something from Bilbo, somehow.’

Esmeralda began to shake her head, but Saradoc said persuasively, ‘And if he pays it with our gold... what’s mine is yours, beloved, and always has been. You know that, my love. There’s the gold my mother settled upon me at my birth, just waiting to be scattered.’

 ‘And if we cannot save the land, Paladin and his family will always find a welcome at Brandy Hall,’ Rorimac said. ‘We can always use another fine hobbit, and hard worker that your brother is...’

 ‘But let us first try to save the land,’ Saradoc said. ‘I’ll load a pack-pony with enough gold to pay off the debt completely and make a little journey to Michel Delving to talk to the Mayor about this year’s Lithedays fair, and perhaps stop off in Bywater on the way.’ He squeezed his wife’s hand. ‘I’m sure I can quietly get a message to Frodo to pick up “his” pony from the stables at the Green Dragon after I depart.’

 ‘You are devious, my love,’ Esmeralda said with a faint smile.

 ‘I prefer to call myself a “creative thinker”,’ Saradoc answered, kissing her fingers. ‘By hook or by crook we shall see that Lalia’s revenge is neither sweet nor sure.’

Chapter 34. For the Sake of Love

 ‘Knowing Lalia, an anonymous gift would be best, but how would one go about it?’ Saradoc said at early breakfast the next morning. The gold had been weighed and sacked, the two ponies were waiting, and he was just having a final cup of tea before departing.

 ‘Too bad Frodo cannot simply tip-toe into the Thain’s office and lay the pouch of gold upon the Thain’s desk with a note, slipping away without being seen,’ Rorimac said.

Merry opened his mouth and shut it again without saying anything. It wasn’t his secret to tell, after all...

 ‘Frodo’s in her good books at the moment,’ Esmeralda said briskly.

 ‘How’s that?’ Rorimac grunted.

 ‘You know the auction they had when Bilbo had gone missing and the S.-B.’s took Bag End? Lalia bought two lovely little matching gate-leg tables. She was so disgruntled that she wouldn’t give them back—Bilbo had to buy them back from her, and at a higher price at that!’

 ‘I cannot see how that would make her look kindly upon young Frodo,’ Rorimac said.

 ‘When Bilbo left last September, Frodo brought those very same tables to the Great Smials and presented them to Lalia. (He’s cleaned out quite a bit of the clutter since Bilbo went away.) He’s been “dear boy” to her ever since,’ Esmeralda said. ‘He wrote me about it, seemed to think it quite astonishing, said, “Bilbo ought to have given her those tables years ago; think of the trouble it would have saved him!” ’ Despite the gravity of the situation, all chuckled at the memory of Bilbo’s run-ins with Mistress Lalia.

 ‘Well then,’ Rorimac said, ‘If Frodo’s her “dear boy” there’s a chance this might work. He’s already made a name for himself as generous and thoughtful; it should be no surprise to Lalia that he took it upon himself to pay off Paladin’s debt when he heard of the shunning. The trick will be to get Paladin to accept it.’

 ‘It seems he’ll have little choice in the matter,’ Esmeralda said soberly. ‘His tongue is tied but good.’

 ‘How will Uncle Paladin know the land’s been redeemed?’ Merry asked.

 ‘Ferumbras will undoubtedly tell him. The Thain and the Took are the only hobbits who can speak to someone under the Ban, you know. It would be better if Frodo didn’t visit Whittacres.’

 ‘And Ferumbras will be glad of it, I think,’ Esmeralda said softly. ‘He’s an honourable hobbit. I think he spends most of his time undoing Lalia’s mischief, so far as he can.’

 ‘I’m surprised he asked for Rosemary’s hand in the first place; that was hardly honourable of him,’ Saradoc said.

 ‘Ah, but an animal caught in a snare will sometimes gnaw its own leg off to escape,’ Rorimac said thoughtfully. ‘If Lalia promised him a free rein, I can see him seizing the opportunity even if it tarnished his honour. Perhaps he hoped to make it up in good deeds afterwards.’

 ‘In any event,’ Saradoc said, draining his teacup, ‘I must be off. If I leave now and ride straight through I can be in Bywater before the middle night.’ All rose from the table.

 ‘It would make more sense to break the journey,’ his father said. ‘The debt does not come due for weeks yet, my son. Do not do anything out of the ordinary, or Lalia will hear of it and suspect something. Ride to Michel Delving just as if this were one of your usual visits to the Mayor on my behalf, taking three days for the journey.’

 ‘You have the right of it,’ Saradoc said in chagrin.

His wife smiled and hugged him. ‘You’re a regular Took,’ she teased. ‘So impetuous.’

 ‘It’s the influence of all the Tooks in my life,’ Saradoc replied, returning the hug and reaching an arm out to Merry.

The youngster joined the general embrace, murmuring, ‘Safe journey.’

 ‘And swift return,’ Esmeralda added.

 ‘May the Sun smile upon your road, and the smell of supper greet you on your homecoming,’ Rorimac intoned. ‘Now be off with you!’

***

Pearl rose with the dairymaids and shared their breakfast as if it were any other morning.

 ‘I’m glad to see some colour in your cheeks, Pearl,’ Daisy said, pouring her a cup of tea.

Pearl reflected that she ought to, having pinched her cheeks well standing before the glass this morning. She’d take a brisk walk in the gardens after breakfast to complete the effect. She knew from experience that the exercise in the early-morning chill would bring out the roses in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes for all she’d had a short night. Her sleep had been peaceful, for all that, once her mind was made up.

 ‘Here, have some bread twists, and look, it’s gooseberry jam this morning!’ Violet put in, passing the basket of bread and then the butter and jam.

 ‘Mmmm, nearly as good as my mother’s jam,’ Pearl said bravely, biting into her breakfast. Thoughts of mother and home did not bring tears this morning, for she no longer felt helpless and carried about like a leaf on the wind.

The other girls were happy to see her improvement though they had enough sense not to remark upon it. All in all breakfast was a jollier affair than it had been in days.

 ‘I’ll walk you out,’ Pearl said as they rose from table, and she joined in the chatter as she threw her cloak over her shoulders.

 ‘Will you join us this morning, dearie?’ Prim said, for though Pearl did not often risk dirtying her clothes she would sometimes come out to watch them milk and join in the songs.

 ‘Not this morning,’ Pearl answered. ‘I thought I’d take a turn about the gardens, get a lungful of fresh air before being shut up for the morning.’

 ‘Ah,’ Pansy said wisely, exchanging glances with her sister. ‘So that’s how you manage it.’ She added no more and Pearl did not ask her meaning; it was better that way in the corridor where anyone could hear.

After a long walk, Pearl picked up her skirts and ran up the steps to the Great Door and paused at the top, turning round to take one last deep breath of the chilly air. The stars shone down remote in their beauty. She’d always thought the stars a friendly sight back home, but here they were as cold as the stones beneath her feet. She estimated that she had a little more than an hour until dawn. It would be enough for her purposes.

She found Ferumbras at his desk in the Thain’s study, concentrating so intently on the work of his hands that he did not hear her light step. Pearl watched as he wound a delicate wire around a tiny arrangement of feathers. Though his mother seldom gave him a free day for fishing in the Green Hills, the Thain was well-known for the fine flies he tied, works of intricate beauty that were quite attractive to the local trout.

Only when he had finished the careful operation did she clear her throat. Ferumbras looked up. ‘Yes?’ he said absently, and then recognising the intruder he rose politely. ‘Pearl? Did my mother want something?’

 ‘It is not yet dawn,’ Pearl said, and gathering her courage she added, ‘It was yourself I was wanting to speak with, Sir.’

 ‘Very well,’ Ferumbras said. He gestured to the chair by the desk and waited for her to be seated before he resumed his own chair. ‘Would you care for some tea?’

 ‘No, thank you kindly, Sir,’ Pearl answered, looking down at her hands entwined in her lap.

 ‘Very well,’ Ferumbras repeated. When Pearl did not speak further he said, ‘What did you wish to see me about, Pearl?’ He noted the colour that bloomed in her cheeks; the eyes she raised to meet his were clear and luminous. Isumbold would be a lucky hobbit indeed, to win such a gem... at least, once this sad business of her family was resolved.

 ‘I came to see you about...’ Pearl began, and swallowed. This had seemed so simple in the solitary darkness of her room. ‘That is to say, I came to tell you...’

 ‘Yes?’ Ferumbras said encouragingly.

 ‘I will marry you!’ The words came out in a rush, and Pearl added breathlessly, ‘if you’ll have me, that is.’

The expression of polite interest lingered on the Thain’s face for a moment before shock wiped it away. He opened his mouth, but no words came for the longest time. Pearl found her fingers trembling and squeezed her hands together hard.

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Ferumbras said at last.

 ‘You’re in need of a wife, and an heir,’ Pearl said, blushing at the last word in spite of herself.

 ‘What is it that you want?’ the Thain said slowly, his eyes narrowing. He’d never in a million years think of Pearl as the mercenary type.

 ‘I want...’ Pearl said, finding it hard to breathe for some reason. ‘I want...’ she said again.

 ‘Yes?’ Ferumbras said, his voice not quite so kind as usual. Indeed, he had puffed himself up like a ruffled cock about to peck at an intruding cat.

 ‘When the Mistress steps down, you can lift the Ban against my father,’ Pearl managed at last.

The Thain let out a long exhalation that seemed to deflate him back to his usual quiet unassuming self. ‘O Pearl,’ he said, his expression grieved.

 ‘Hear me out,’ Pearl said, sitting straighter in her chair. When he would have spoken, she held up her hand to stop him. ‘I’m old enough to know what I’m doing,’ she said firmly. ‘You don’t need to ask my father—I doubt he’d give his consent, but he’s not talking much these days I’d warrant.’ Thain Ferumbras winced at her choice of words.

Pearl rushed on, determined to do this thing before she lost her nerve. ‘He told me he’d approve any match that was my choice, if it was for the sake of love,’ she said. ‘Well, this is my choice. I’m young and strong, and I’ve been able to hold up well in the face of your mother, wouldn’t you say?’ she challenged him, her chin high.

His nod encouraged her to continue. ‘I’m not so young as Rosemary, not so likely as she would be to die in childbearing,’ she said bluntly. ‘I’ve nearly got my full growth.’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat and added, ‘My father is descended from the Old Took himself, so it’s not as if you’d be marrying beneath yourself. It’s a good match all around.’

 ‘Pearl,’ the Thain said again.

 ‘I know what I’m doing!’ Pearl said stubbornly. ‘You will not find me "fair and fickle and changeable as the wind!" ’

 ‘You are fair indeed,’ Ferumbras said softly, and something in his tone caused her to fall silent. ‘Bold, and courageous, like your father before you,’ he added. As if against his better judgment, his hand rose to touch her cheek, thumb gently stroking the roses blooming there. ‘Very fair indeed,’ he repeated, and sighed. ‘Such a gift you offer, and of your own free will! Shall I take it?’

Pearl raised a hand to cup his against her cheek. ‘Go ahead,’ she said recklessly. ‘What’s stopping you?’

Something came into the Thain’s expression then, an emotion she could not quite read, but it seemed to her that his eyes grew hard and his jaw tightened.

‘You meet all of my mother’s requirements,’ he said, his hand still on her cheek. ‘Good teeth,’ his thumb caressed her mouth, ‘good breeding,’ his eyes surveyed her from head to foot and she blushed under his perusal. ‘A sturdy frame, well-suited to child-bearing.’ She stiffened in outrage and mortification. She had thrown herself at him, she knew, but still, to be treated so! She endured his gaze until he raised his eyes again to hers and nodded, adding, ‘As you meet my requirements.’

Lifting her chin, blinking back tears for she would not cry, she demanded, ‘And they are...?’

 ‘A quick mind, a lively wit, a kind and loving heart,’ he said. Her retort died on her lips as she sat with mouth half-open in her confusion. ‘Very well,’ he added. ‘If this is truly your choice.’

 ‘It is,’ she whispered.

Ferumbras sat back in his chair, taking his hand from her cheek. ‘You are saving your father from more than the Ban, you know,’ he said.

 ‘What do you mean?’ Pearl asked faintly. She could not quite believe that her plan was to succeed.

 ‘Should I die without an heir, he will be the next Thain,’ Ferumbras said. ‘If he is not under the Ban, that is.’ Another facet of Lalia’s revenge that he would take away. Confident that Paladin would never give in, Lalia had imposed an indefinite period of shunning, ensuring that Paladin would be passed over if something were to happen to her beloved son. It would never occur to Lalia that she was doing Paladin a favour.

 ‘But...’ Pearl sputtered, ‘But his grandfather left the Great Smials. I thought...’

 ‘He did not renounce the succession when he took his family away,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Your father is next in line to be Thain, should my line fail.’ He smiled faintly. 'He may not know it, thinking as many would that his grandfather leaving the Smials was enough to release his line from any obligation, but then he has not been reading the dusty old records as I have.'

 ‘But that would kill him!’ Pearl gasped. ‘He loves the land. To leave it, to live enclosed in walls of stone, directing the affairs of hobbits instead of walking the fields...’

 ‘Well then,’ Ferumbras said, taking her hand between his own and patting it gently. ‘I’ll just have to produce an heir to spare him such grief.’

There was a tap at the door and his grip on her hand tightened before he laid it gently upon the desk. ‘The escort is ready,’ he said. ‘We’ll take care of those pesky hogs and be back in time for tea. A formal announcement is the thing, I think.’ Raising his voice, he said, ‘I come!’ Looking back to Pearl, he took her hand once more, lifted it to his lips and said, ‘You have made me very happy this day, my dear. And I bless you for the joy you will bring my mother. Until later, sweet Pearl.’ Speechless she watched him go to the door and yank it open, revealing Isumbold waiting, the new butter-yellow cloak draped over one arm.

 ‘Ready for you, Sir,’ Isum said. He looked beyond to see the blushing Pearl and added, ‘Miss Pearl.’

 ‘Isumbold,’ Pearl said, acknowledging him with a nod, but she had no smile this morning for the head of escort. Nor any other morn, from this day forward, her heart told her. She was pledged to another and must put him behind.

Chapter 35. Best Laid Plans

Verilard rode grimly beside Ferdi, blessing the lad’s silence. Behind them he heard talk and laughter—laughter! Boar hunting was a dangerous business at best. There was no room for jesting here. He pulled his pony to a stop.

 ‘What is it?’ the Thain said, coming up on his other side.

 ‘Sir,’ Verilard said shortly. ‘If you wouldn’t mind sending away the tweens and those who think this a laughing matter, I would be beholden to you.’ His nerves were ragged as it was.

 ‘And Ferdibrand?’ Ferumbras said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘Ferdi’s my helper, and a steadier hobbit I’ve yet to find for all his tender years,’ Verilard said. ‘But a boar hunt is deadly serious, Sir, and likely more than not to be deadly to any who fail to pay proper heed.’

Ferumbras turned to Isumbold, riding at his flank. ‘See to it,’ he said. Isum nodded and reined his pony around. They didn’t hear what was said apart from a few protests which were quickly quelled, and then nearly half the hobbits turned their ponies back in the direction of the Great Smials.

 ‘They’ll live to feast on fresh roast boar,’ Verilard said. ‘That’s something.’

Ferumbras smiled and nodded. ‘I’m sure they’ll thank you later,’ he said.

 ‘They may, and then again they may not,’ Verilard said philosophically. He nudged his pony into motion again.

Reaching one of the fields on the far side of the great hill to the West of the Great Smials, he reined in again and pointed. There was no need for words. The young growing plants had been uprooted, ploughed under, trampled, torn, eaten. Much of the field had been ruined. ‘A fair sized sounder,’ Verilard said. ‘Quite a few swine, I’d say. The field’ll have to be replanted, and who knows how many others they’ve ruined in the past few days?’

 ‘We’d have had to do something about them even if they hadn’t gone after the lad and his dog,’ Ferumbras said. ‘They’re a menace to crops, not to mention unwary hobbits minding their own business, off on a picnic or whatnot. You’ve been scouting the last few days; what’ve you found?’

 ‘The ground is well-watered by all the rain we've had this Spring,’ Verilard said. ‘Almost boggy in the lowlands, they like that. There’s a marshy place not far along where I found spoor and signs they were settling in there. From the tracks we have several adults and a raft of little ones.’

 ‘Roast suckling pig,’ Ferumbras said with a satisfied smile.

Verilard gave him a sharp glance. ‘We’ve got to catch ‘em first,’ he said dryly.

 ‘I have complete confidence in you, Veri,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Lead on.’

Low clouds had rolled in with the dawn. A drizzly rain commenced as they reached the outskirts of the marshland. Verilard dismounted, spear at the ready though he expected little trouble this early in the game. Wild swine were shy and likely to stay in their hidey-holes, but you never knew for sure what they’d do, especially with young to protect... He walked forward studying the ground, Ferumbras and Ferdi to either side. The hobbits of the escort followed in the Thain’s footprints like shadows, tense, alert, their own bows strung and arrows with wicked hunting tips nocked. At the Thain’s signal the rest of the hunters remained with the ponies. It was probable that once Verilard had scouted out the ground, he’d split the group, the majority forming a line to sweep through the marshland, beating the wild swine out of their hiding places, into the bows and spears of the waiting hunters.

Verilard crouched and the hobbits with him stopped. He pointed silently and the Thain peered, then nodded. Verilard scanned the ground around them, peering suspiciously into the undergrowth, then stood to move cautiously to the scats he’d found. Nudging the droppings with his spear, breaking them up and examining the evidence, he said in a low voice, ‘Looks like they’ll have settled in here, for they’ve been eating very well indeed by all indications.’

 ‘Eating well of Great Smials crops!’ Ferumbras snorted softly. ‘Well now they’ve had their supper it’s time to pay the innkeeper!’

Verilard smiled faintly and turned to wave to the riders to come up. In that same moment there was a snorting from the nearby brush and a great boar weighing twenty stone or more charged into the open, head down to bring to bear the razor-sharp tusks that gleamed wickedly. Grunting, small eyes glaring, the boar targeted the old hunter who stood a little ahead of the group.

Ferdi pulled back the arrow he had held ready and let fly. The arrow flew true, lodging in the thick skin that armoured the beast for nearly his entire length. The boar gave a squeal more of annoyance than hurt and changed its direction in order to trample and slash the teen. Verilard yelled a warning, bringing his spear to bear even as arrows from the hobbits of the escort impacted the beast. The spears still strapped to their saddles some yards away might have had more effect. Ferdi leaped aside at the last minute and the boar passed close enough that its bristles raked his unprotected forearm.

With an agility that belied its bulk the boar turned furiously to renew the attack. The Thain’s bright cloak drew its eye and it charged.

***

It was nearly time for elevenses before Mistress Lalia was finished with the domestic affairs for the morning: choosing menus for the coming week, dictating the sequence of spring-cleaning, ordering the sewing of new frocks for the warmer weather, and a flock of other sheep to be herded in the proper direction for the smooth running of the Great Smials. Hobbits bustled in and out of the Thain's study.

 ‘Well,’ she said at last, dismissing Adelard to carry out the latest of her orders, ‘there’s a well-spent morning. I’ve earned a rest.’

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Pearl said, as was expected of her.

Lalia glanced at her sharply. ‘You’ve been rather quiet and out of sorts all morning,’ she said.

Pearl smiled. ‘Not out of sorts at all, Mistress,’ she said lightly. ‘I haven’t had much to say.’ She wondered what Lalia herself would have to say at teatime when Ferumbras made his announcement. Quite a few Tooks ought to be gathered in the great room to hear about the progress of the hunt.

 ‘That’s one thing I like about you, girl,’ Lalia said approvingly. ‘You don’t chatter on about nothing, but make your words count for something.’ She gave a nod. ‘Don’t you think I’m not grateful for all you do.’

 ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Pearl said with a smile. She was always careful to turn a pleasant face to the Mistress. To show one’s true feelings as anything but cheerful and nonchalant was to be vulnerable to Lalia’s whims, whether false sympathy put on for effect, or stinging sarcasm aimed with precision. ‘You are too kind,’ she added.

 ‘Indeed,’ Lalia said, puffed up by the praise. ‘Well,’ she said again. ‘At this rate we won’t get our breath of fresh air this morning! Let us be brisk!’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Pearl said, drawing the shawl from the chair and tucking it around Lalia’s shoulders.

 ‘Fuss, fuss, fuss,’ Lalia complained with a complacent smile.

 ‘A rug for your knees, I think, Mistress,’ Pearl said, suiting action to words. ‘While the dawn was bright, Steward Adelard did say something about a mist rolling in.’ She made sure the knitted coverlet was clear of the wheels and then said cheerily, ‘I do believe we’re ready!’

 ‘We’d have been already taking the air at the Great Door if you didn’t fuss so!’ Lalia snapped.

 ‘Yes, Mistress, I’m a terrible one for fussing,’ Pearl said calmly, opening the study door and returning to the chair to push Lalia into the corridor. She’d grown quite used to the heavy chair and its heavier occupant. The journey down the corridors to the Great Door was quite pleasant, with Lalia nodding graciously to left and right and greeting the Tooks and servants who stopped to wish her good day.

At last they reached the Great Door. Pearl stopped the chair short, resting a hand on Lalia’s shoulder. ‘A moment, Mistress,’ she said firmly, ‘until we see what sort of day we have to behold.’

 ‘Fuss, fuss, fuss,’ Lalia clucked contentedly.

Pearl stepped forward to tug at the heavy iron ring in the centre of the round door, pulling until the Door began to move on its well-oiled hinges. She swung wide the Door and paused to take a deep breath of the damp air. ‘It’s turned quite damp, Mistress,’ she said, turning to Lalia. ‘Are you sure you ought to...?’

 ‘Nonsense,’ Lalia snapped. ‘Fresh air never hurt a body! Come now, girl, look sharp!’ She jerked in the chair, moving it forward, and Pearl hastened from the door to take the handles once more and push Lalia nearly to the threshold.

 ‘Now Pearl!’ Lalia scolded. ‘How many times to I have to tell you? Right up to the threshold, and none of this hanging back! I want to see the gardens, not hear rumour of them!’ She always pressed to the limit, took as much as they’d give her, more if at all possible.

Pearl obediently pushed the chair a little, until the front wheels bumped the threshold and stopped. ‘That’s as far as you go, Mistress,’ she said. ‘I won’t be responsible for pushing your chair too near the stairs.’

Lalia had felt the bump and relaxed, smiling, knowing that the wheels were resting against the raised lip of the doorway and she’d won as much ground as was prudent.

There in the doorway they stayed, watching the low clouds rolling over the near hills, shrouding the valleys in fog and mist. The stones of the courtyard were dark; moisture beaded the plants in the gardens to either side of the stairs. Lalia breathed deeply. ‘There’s nothing like fresh air,’ she sighed. When Pearl suggested that they go in, Lalia baulked. ‘Just a few more moments,’ she said. ‘Look! The Sun is trying to break through. Let us wait to greet her!’

 ‘Yes Mistress,’ Pearl said for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. In truth she was in no rush to go on with the day. After teatime, life as she knew it would be over and she’d be starting a new life as a new hobbit. Pearl the farmer’s daughter would be well gone. As the Thain’s intended, moreover, all the friendships and easy relations she had with the other Tooks and servants would be transformed into something else. What, she wasn’t quite sure. She suppressed a sigh and squared her shoulders as her mother’s voice came back to her. We cannot always have what we want, so we’ve just got to make the best of what we have.

The Sun found a small hole in the clouds and smiled through, turning drops of moisture into sparkling jewels. Pearl heard the Mistress give a sigh of satisfaction and pleasure. ‘Look at that, girl,’ Lalia said grandly, with a sweep of her arm to encompass the gardens. ‘Tell me, “what other Hobbit is so rich as we, with all these jewels and treasures to see?” ’

The next line of the old song came to Pearl’s mind. But kettle and hearth and home are fine, and all the better for being mine. She answered only, ‘It is a glorious sight, Mistress.’

But Lalia’s attention had been caught by dark shapes emerging from the fogbank to the west. ‘What is that?’ she said, leaning forward to peer, blinking in irritation. ‘Tell me!’

 ‘I don’t see,’ Pearl said. ‘Hobbits, carrying something... a pony...’

 ‘Nonsense!’ Lalia snapped. ‘Why would hobbits carry a pony?’

Pearl hadn’t meant to say that at all; she’d seen a pony just behind the group of laden hobbits, being led, not ridden. On its back... she gasped, hand leaving the chair to press her bodice, for suddenly the moisture laden air was ominously heavy and difficult to draw into her lungs. The pony’s burden...

 ‘What is it?’ Lalia said, her voice rising in aggravation and the beginnings of fear. She didn’t see as well as she ought, but she saw enough. ‘Ferumbras!’ she gasped.

Playful Sun found another opening in the clouds and peeked through, casting mischievous beams on the slow-moving group. Hobbits bearing another hobbit wrapped in a cloak the colour of sunshine... a cloak stained with splotches of bright crimson dulling to purple-brown. The pony bore another hobbit shrouded in cloaks and laid gently over the saddle. More hobbits came into view, limping, leaning on their fellows.

Too late, Pearl grabbed at the heavy rolling chair. Lalia, for all her bulk, had stood, tangling her feet in the footrests, jerking the chair forward. It was a mercy for the girl that she missed her hold, for the weight of Lalia and the chair would have carried her as well in the terrible tumble that resulted as Mistress and chair somersaulted down the stairs. Lalia’s keening wail cut off abruptly halfway down and she came to rest in eerie silence.

 ‘Mistress!’ Pearl gasped, half-falling down the stairs in her haste to reach Lalia. On her knees beside the hulking figure, she reached out a trembling hand, hearing cries from the courtyard. Fetch a healer! Call Bittersweet!

A hand touched Pearl’s shoulder and then a cloakless, blood-spattered Ferumbras pushed past her, kneeling by his mother’s side, pleading with her to speak. Her head swimming, Pearl looked past him, seeing Isumbold laid down upon the stones by the weary and bloodstained hobbits who’d carried him. He’d been the one wrapped in the Thain’s cloak, borne slowly back to the Smials from a hunt gone terribly wrong.

The world spun about Pearl. She’d heard plenty of threats from Mistress Lalia about fainting and now she realised with an odd detachment that she was the one about to faint. She welcomed the darkness that closed about her.

Chapter 36. Aftermath

Pearl wakened slowly but the nightmare continued. Feeble moans sounded nearby, overlaid by healers’ croons and punctuated by pain-filled outcries from other hobbits. Bittersweet was snapping orders and someone was sobbing softly. Pearl squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, willing herself to waken, but the hard surface under her did not turn into the softness of her mattress, nor did the distressing sounds cease.

 ‘We carried him back as gentle as we could,’ Baragrim was saying brokenly. ‘He begged us not to lift him—he said to let him lie—how could we? How could we leave him to lie?’

 ‘Of course you couldn’t,’ Viola said soothingly, then raised her voice, ‘Hot tea, plenty of honey! Help him drink it if he cannot seem to manage.’

‘Isumbold...’  Baragrim half-sobbed. ‘Palabard...’

 ‘I’m sorry, Barry, there’s naught to be done for him,’ Viola said. ‘Now you drink this; it’ll do you good.’

 ‘Isum’s still among the living,’ Bittersweet said, ‘and I mean to keep him here if at all possible. Tansy! Send word to Coriander, we could use the seamstresses here. They can sew up slashes just as well as frocks if need be... Where do you think you are going, Sir?’

Ferumbras said, ‘You’ve stitched me together nicely, Bittersweet, you’ve poured strong spirits over all to keep away the red swelling, you’ve forced honeyed tea down me until I’m ready to float away. I think I’m done nicely to a turn and if you leave me on this table any longer they’ll start to stick forks into me.’ Though the words were light, his tone was heavy with grief.

 ‘You’re not going back to the hunt,’ Bittersweet warned.

 ‘I left hobbits out there,’ Ferumbras said. ‘If one singular could do so much damage, what will a whole sounder do?’

 ‘Verilard is a competent hunter,’ Bittersweet countered. ‘He’ll bring the rest back as safe as may be, and you know he won’t rest until they have the last squeaker.’

 ‘Besides, they’re hunting from pony-back now, and that’s always safer,’ Viola put in.

 ‘I’ve arrangements to make,’ Ferumbras said heavily. ‘Messengers to send out, a burial to...’ His voice broke and he could say no more.

 ‘Adelard, you know what to do,’ Viola said briskly. ‘Send messengers to all the corners of Tookland and the heads of the great families. The burial will be at dawn, the day after tomorrow.’

 ‘The Brandybucks as well?’ Steward Adelard said.

Pearl heard no answer, but Viola said gently, ‘There-there, Sir, lie yourself back down. We’ll have hobbits to carry you to your bed soon.’

Pearl stirred and heard Daisy say, ‘I think she’s coming round. Pearl? Pearl? Are you with us?’

 ‘What?’ Pearl said, lifting a hand that felt like lead to her aching head.

 ‘You fainted and hit your head,’ Daisy said. ‘All the healers are a bit occupied at present so they brought you in here with the rest.’ She helped Pearl sit up. She was lying on one of the tables in the great room. Other tables were occupied by half-a-dozen hobbits in various states of distress as healers or healers’ assistants tended them, while others sat on the benches, stoically being stitched or having lighter injuries washed and dressed.

Pearl blinked away bewilderment as the Thain was helped down from his tabletop, eased onto a litter though he protested he could walk, and carried away. Bittersweet and two others were working furiously over the limp figure lying upon the butter-yellow cloak while the head healer continued to give orders to the hobbits around her. Baragrim sat as near to the head of escort as he could while his own slashes were tended. Violet stood by holding a steaming cup, trying to get him to drink.

 ‘What happened?’ Pearl asked.

 ‘One boar decided to cut a piece of hunter pie,’ Daisy said. She added under her breath, ‘He went for the Thain, and you can imagine what happened next.’

Memory came flooding back, and Pearl gasped, ‘The Mistress!’

 ‘Steady, Pearl,’ Daisy soothed, but Pearl was near hysterics.

 ‘It’s all my fault!’ she cried wildly. ‘I should have kept hold of the chair! I should have...’

 ‘Hush now,’ Viola said intensely, coming to her side. ‘Here, drink this!’ She picked up a half-filled cup from a tray and thrust it against Pearl’s lips, effectively silencing her. Pearl sipped automatically; it was brandy with a bitter aftertaste. Even lower, the healer added, ‘Daisy, take her to her own bed and don’t let her talk to anyone.’

 ‘Come now, Pearl,’ Daisy coaxed. Viola took her other arm, overriding her protests, and helped Daisy half-carry her from the great room.

At the doorway Viola released Pearl’s arm. ‘Can you take her from here?’ she asked.

 ‘We’ll manage,’ Daisy said.

 ‘Sit with her until I send another watcher.’ Viola reminded. ‘Not a word, mind!’

 ‘That’s right,’ Daisy replied firmly, and began an unending string of talk and encouragement as she walked Pearl down the corridor, so that Pearl could not get a word in edgewise even had she not had to concentrate on walking.

Mrs Sandytoes was not in their quarters, and Daisy quickly undressed Pearl, whose fingers did not seem to be working quite right, but were stiff and clumsy. She pulled Pearl’s nightdress over her head and tucked her into bed. ‘I’ll be right back with some warmers,’ she said, and true to her word, returned soon with flannel-wrapped hot bricks which she tucked all around Pearl before heaping the covers high.

Sitting down next to the bed, Daisy said, ‘There, all cosy.’

Pearl said fuzzily, ‘I...’

 ‘No talking now, healer’s orders,’ Daisy broke in firmly, and to preclude further effort on Pearl’s part, she softly began to sing.

***

Fast riders, pushing their ponies hard, passed Saradoc on the Road but did not pause to answer his hails. He decided not to stop over as planned but to proceed directly to Bywater; perhaps the hobbits there had news of some sort.

Reaching Bywater long after the Sun sought her bed, he was astonished to see that many of the holes were lit up and the Green Dragon Inn was doing a bustling business in the common room. Hobbits crowded the tables, talking in low voices.

Saradoc gave his ponies to the ostler and entered the inn. ‘I’d like a room for the night, and to send a message up the Hill at Hobbiton to Mr Baggins,’ he said.

 ‘I’m sorry,’ the innkeeper said, ‘Your message won’t find him at home.’

  ‘It won’t?’ Saradoc said, wondering that the innkeeper knew where Frodo might be at present, unless... ‘Is he here?’ he asked hopefully, his eyes eagerly scanning the crowded room. If Frodo had come to the Green Dragon to hoist a pint, Saradoc’s task would be quickly accomplished.

 ‘He’s gone down to the Great Smials,’ the innkeeper said. He lowered his voice. ‘Haven’t you heard the news?’

***

Pearl awakened groggily, hearing voices in her room. Mrs Sandytoes was saying in outrage, ‘Sir, you cannot come in here! It isn't…’

She was interrupted by Frodo Baggin’s firm tones. ‘It’s all right, I’m family. I practically changed her nappies, you know.’

 ‘But...’ Mrs Sandytoes squawked like a ruffled hen.

Pearl felt herself lifted into a sitting position and she opened her eyes to see Frodo holding her. ‘Come cousin,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you home.’

Chapter 37. Last, But Not Least
 
Next morning Saradoc Brandybuck rode up before the Great Smials, half wondering if the Tooks would turn him around and escort him out of the Tookland again. No one looked at him twice, not even the stable lad who took his pony. Large pavilions were being set up in the field next to the Great Smials; it looked as if a great crowd was expected. The hobbits worked in an uncommon silence. There was no singing and very little talk.

He’d never look at the Great Door in quite the same way again. Perhaps he’d have to go into the Great Smials through the ceremonial entrance when he became Master of Buckland, but this day Saradoc elected to slip in through one of the lesser doors at ground level as if he were a tradeshobbit or servant or one of the family. He made his way directly to the Thain’s study, guessing correctly that he’d find Ferumbras there.

Ferumbras looked up at the tap on the door. He raised an eyebrow, seeing the heir to Buckland. ‘News travels fast,’ he said tonelessly. ‘She’s not even cold in her grave yet, and you’re here already.’

 ‘I was in Bywater when I heard. I came to offer my condolences,’ Saradoc returned, maintaining an even tone.

 ‘Very well,’ Ferumbras said. He dipped his quill in the inkwell and went back to writing.

Saradoc crossed from the doorway to the desk. The Thain paid him no notice until he placed the heavy leather pouch on the desk. Looking up again, Ferumbras said, ‘What’s this?’

 ‘Payment of Paladin Took’s debts,’ Saradoc said. ‘This will satisfy his grandfather’s obligation in full.’

 ‘Your gold is no good here,’ Ferumbras said, pushing the bag away.

Saradoc bristled, opening his mouth to protest. He got no further than ‘I...’ before he was interrupted.

 ‘The debt has been forgiven,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Paladin owes me nothing.’ He put the paper aside, took a blank piece from the pile to his left, dipped his quill and resumed writing. Saradoc watched. He had not been sure what to expect, but he had not expected this.

 ‘Take your gold and go,’ Ferumbras said abruptly. Saradoc wanted to argue, but the Thain looked up then, and at the look in his eye the heir to Buckland subsided without a word. He silently took up the bag again and turned to go.

 ‘Your quarters are prepared for you,’ Ferumbras said when Saradoc was halfway to the door. ‘I expect Master Rorimac will arrive with a contingent of Brandybucks later this evening, your wife among them.’

 ‘I beg your pardon?’ Saradoc said, turning to face the Thain.

 ‘I’ll see you at the burial in the morning,’ Ferumbras said in dismissal, dipping his quill. ‘I have no time at the moment. I have quite a bit of business to see to, you know.’

 ‘Until the morning, then,’ Saradoc said for want of anything better to say.

Ferumbras nodded, his eyes on his writing. ‘Until morning,’ he answered.

And so Mistress Lalia was laid to rest by the side of her husband, and there followed a great memorial feast of roasted boar and suckling pig. The heads of all the great families were there, as well as the Mayor, and many Tooks and Tooklanders travelled from all over Tookland to pay their respects to the Mistress.

The day after the burial, a lone rider left the Great Smials, travelling through the Green Hills to Tookbank.  There he blew loud and long on his horn to gain the attention of the hobbits of Tookbank, and then made an announcement which was met with cheers, a curious thing indeed when contrasted with the sober previous day. Though the hobbits of Tookbank pressed him to partake of a celebratory mug with them, he demurred and rode on towards Whitwell after posting a notice in the market square.

He stopped where a lane led from the road to a farmyard. At the entrance of the lane was a roughly-fashioned flag, red fabric tied to a stick and thrust into the ground, warning hobbits from entering the premises. The rider stopped just long enough to yank the stick from the ground, carrying it before him into the yard before the comfortable but hushed dwelling.

There were no greetings for him. Silent hobbits emerged from home and byre: the farmer, his wife, his daughters and his young son, all weary from trying to do the work of many, from discouragement, from being sick at heart over circumstances beyond their ken.

The rider tore the fabric from the stick, broke the stick in half and cast it into the mud, then tore the fabric in half, saying, ‘By order of Thain Ferumbras II, the Ban is lifted! Paladin son of Adalgrim of the Tooks, you are free.’

 ‘What is this, Reginard?’ Paladin said. His voice sounded rusty as from disuse. Reginard wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the family had hardly spoken a word, even in the privacy of their home, since the shunning had begun.

 ‘Just what I said, Paladin,’ Reginard said. ‘Would you have a cup of tea ready? I find my throat is dry, and I have yet to announce the news in Whitwell and Bywater.’

Eglantine broke into a wide smile. ‘Come in!’ she said, ‘Come in! It won’t take long to put the kettle on.’

 ‘Pip, take the gentlehobbit’s pony,’ Paladin said, finding his own tongue again. The lad hurried to obey as Regi dismounted.

Over tea, Regi said, ‘The Thain would have brought the news himself, but for the fact that he’s still too stiff and sore to ride.’ He told about the hunt, and the killing of the entire sounder of wild swine.

Young Pip kept his eyes on his plate through the narrative, only looking up at the end to say, ‘They’re all dead, then?’

 ‘Dead and gone,’ Regi said firmly. Eaten, actually, but he thought it best not to say so. ‘Properly one of the escort should bring this news to you, barring the Thain, but...’ His lips tightened. ‘Palabard is dead, and Baragrim too stiff to ride, and fevered in the bargain.’

 ‘And Isumbold?’ Paladin said quietly. He patted Pearl’s hand and took it gently in his while they waited for an answer.

The girl sat very still, but her eyes were full of tears, Regi saw. ‘He is still in the world,’ he answered. ‘It’s early days yet, too soon to tell if he’ll stay or go.’

Paladin nodded. Pearl blinked, and a tear spilled down her cheek. She rose abruptly, murmuring something about brewing more tea, and hurried from the room.

Regi drained his cup and rose. ‘I thank you,’ he said, ‘but I dare not stay. I am to ride to Whitwell and over to Bywater and return to the Great Smials again, for there are more messages to be delivered.’

He reached under his jacket, bringing out a roll of papers. ‘Here,’ he said, untying the ribbon that held them. Handing the first to Paladin, he said, ‘The Thain’s signed proclamation, rescinding the Ban.’ With the second he said, ‘Here is the title to your land, free and clear.’

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Paladin said. ‘I cannot accept this. I have not paid the debt in full!’

 ‘Thain Ferumbras has cancelled all debts held by Mistress Lalia, as well as lifting all Bans imposed by the Mistress,’ Reginard said. ‘It is his way of honouring her memory.’

Paladin could find no words to reply to this extraordinary statement.

Pearl returned with a fresh teapot, putting it down and taking up the nearly-empty one. Regi stopped her before she could return to the kitchen. ‘A moment, Pearl,’ he said.

 ‘Yes?’ she whispered.

 ‘The Thain wished me to convey to you that he considers you to have fulfilled all your duties, responsibilities, and agreements.’

 ‘Thain Ferumbras said...’ Pearl said, standing straighter.

 ‘He said you are released from any future obligations,’ Reginard said firmly. ‘He wished you all the best, Pearl, and said you brightened his mother’s last months with your dedicated care. Mistress Lalia was quite fond of you. She spoke very highly of you and your devotion to your duties.’

 ‘I... thank you,’ Pearl said slowly, ‘and please convey my best to the Thain.’

 ‘I will be sure to do that,’ Reginard said. Turning to Paladin, he shook the farmer’s hand. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ he said. ‘You and your family are welcome at the Great Smials any time, though I imagine you will be busy with all the demands of the farm for the foreseeable future.’

 ‘I imagine we’ll be quite busy with planting,’ Paladin said. ‘We might not be able to attend Thain Ferumbras’ confirmation as The Took, though we wish him all the best.’

 ‘That would be perfectly understandable,’ Reginard said, carefully not looking at Pearl.

 ‘We understand one another,’ Paladin agreed. Pearl gulped back more tears; her mother put a comforting arm about her while Pippin looked from face to face in confusion. How to explain to him that his sister was in disgrace? The Talk was that Pearl had clumsily let Lalia’s chair run over the sill of the doorway, tipping the chair and the Mistress down the stairs.

Bittersweet and Viola had quite deliberately started this rumour, for it was better than the ill-natured whispers that Pearl had acted intentionally out of spite. Lalia had, after all, pronounced the Ban on the girl’s family. While everyone half-sympathised with Pearl they were Tookishly prepared to believe the worst, and more inclined to assign fault to someone than to believe in accidents. Better to leave the matter unspoken before the lad, for it would only upset him. He’d learn about the perils of the Talk when he was older.

 ‘Well then,’ Reginard said briskly. ‘I’ll be on my way.’

***

Months passed much as they always did on the farm. Paladin Took and his family did not attend the confirmation of Thain Ferumbras as The Took. Neither did they participate in the festivities, though they heard about the great feast, for it was the talk of Tookland for some weeks afterwards.

Late in the autumn another lone rider turned in at the gate to the farm, greeted wildly by Pippin, though this time no sheepdog ran beside and then behind him, nipping at his heels.

 ‘What is that boy yelling about now?’ Pimpernel said, stirring the simmering apples. Though the day was chilly, the kitchen was hot and steamy with the preparation of apple butter well underway.

 ‘Visitor!’ Pervinca announced, passing the window with a bowlful of apples ready for the next pot.

Pearl looked out the window and dropped the knife she was drying. Fortunately it did not land on her foot.

 ‘Pearl!’ her mother scolded. ‘You’re usually more careful than that... you might have...’

 ‘It’s Pie,’ Pearl whispered, ‘Isum’s pony.’

 ‘Isum!’ her mother said. ‘Quick, girl, splash your face with cold water and put on a clean apron. Vinca, put those apples down and get a tray ready for tea! Nell, put the kettle on!’

Paladin emerged from the barn where he’d been treating a lame pony. ‘Isum!’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you!’

Isumbold slid from the saddle, took a sturdy stick from a holder riveted to his saddle, and walked stiffly—ah, but he was walking!—to meet the farmer’s outstretched hand. ‘Paladin,’ he said, leaning heavily on the stick.

 ‘What’s the occasion of this visit?’ Paladin said. ‘Do you bring us word from the Thain?’

 ‘No occasion,’ Isumbold replied. ‘This is just a social visit.’

 ‘You are well come,’ Paladin said.

 ‘Are you going to keep the hobbit standing in the cold wind all the day?’ Eglantine said, emerging from the house, wiping her hands on a towel.

 ‘Come in!’ Paladin said immediately, putting an arm about Isum’s shoulders. ‘I do believe that currant scones were promised for tea.’ 

 ‘Hot out of the oven,’ Eglantine agreed with a significant nod to Pimpernel, who was hovering in the doorway. Nell hurried to the kitchen and began shaking the dry ingredients for scones into a bowl.

 ‘What is it?’ Vinca said.

 ‘Currant scones,’ Nell answered breathlessly. ‘Here, Vinca, cut the butter in for me whilst I get the currants from the pantry.’

In no time at all the teapot was warming in preparation for the tea, the kettle was singing, and the scones were adding their aroma to that of the simmering apples, filling all the rooms with promise. Isum sniffed appreciatively as he eased himself down. Paladin had shown him to the best chair in the parlour, walking slowly from the yard to accommodate Isum’s halting pace.

 Isum laid his walking stick down beside the chair with a sigh. ‘My thanks,’ he said to the hovering Paladin.

The farmer nodded and took his own seat. ‘It is good to see you so well-recovered,’ he said.

 ‘Recovered, you might say,’ Isum returned wryly. ‘Well-recovered, now... it is a good thing I can depend on Pie’s sturdy legs, for my own are nearly useless. Still, they bear me where I wish to go.’

As Isum was speaking, Eglantine had entered with the tea tray and Pearl behind her laden with a platter of hastily-assembled sandwiches to "hold" the guest whilst the scones baked. They were followed by the rest of the family who settled themselves about the parlour. ‘No, no, sit yourself down,’ Eglantine scolded as Isum struggled to rise from his chair.

Paladin nodded to himself. He had heard that Isum was no longer head of escort but not the reason why. Now he understood. To be a hobbit of the escort one had to be able to shoot accurately, ride skilfully, and run far. ‘What are you doing these days?’ he asked.

Isum chuckled. ‘I have found a position as tutor,’ he said. ‘There will always be young Tooks needing instruction in the fine arts of riding and shooting. There’s quite a bit of prestige in learning from a former head of escort. It pays well.’ He accepted the cup that Eglantine poured out for him with a nod of thanks.

They talked of inconsequentialities: the weather, the annual pony races, the harvest, and more such. Before long Pimpernel excused herself, returning quickly with a tray of smoking-hot scones, butter, cream and preserves. There was silence for a few moments as all applied themselves with due seriousness to the business of enjoying the treat.

The guest praised Pimpernel’s scones to the skies, accepting more than one helping and washing all down with quantities of strong tea while regaling the farmer and his family with tales from the Great Smials. Pearl listened quietly, sitting on a footstool at her father’s feet as any simple farm girl might, the firelight playing across her face. Indeed she was a world away from the bright and fashionable life of the Smials.

Tea over at last, Isum put his cup down upon its saucer and sighed. ‘A fine meal,’ he said. ‘It seems almost a pity to get to business.’

 ‘I thought you said this was a social call,’ Paladin said with raised eyebrow.

 ‘It is, but when the Thain heard I was coming out this way he asked if I would deliver a parcel or two,’ Isumbold said. To Pippin he added, ‘Lad, in my saddlebags, you’ll find a leather pouch in one and a brown-paper parcel in the other. Would you fetch them for me?’

Pip was off as quick as an arrow from the bow and Isum looked after him with a smile. ‘A good lad you have there.’

A shadow crossed Paladin’s face. ‘He might be,’ the farmer said quietly, ‘if I could get his head out of the clouds.’

Eglantine hastily changed the subject, asking after Ferdibrand, and Isum was happy to tell of the teen, growing steadily in knowledge and skill under Verilard’s tutelage.

Pippin returned bearing the requested items, though it looked to be a heavy burden for a lad of his age. ‘Bring them here,’ Isum said, taking them on his lap. He looked at the curious faces surrounding him. ‘Thain Ferumbras has been working through his mother’s papers,’ he said, ‘from earliest to latest. He’s been tidying up her affairs, finishing out agreements, settling debts and the like.’ Paladin nodded.

Isum went on. ‘Just yesterday he found an agreement that had gone unsatisfied, a matter of service for payment agreed-upon beforehand. The service was performed but payment was never made.’ He loosed the string on the pouch and poured a bright cascade of gold pieces onto the table beside him. ‘Pearl’s salary,’ he said simply, then extended the parcel, a long boxlike shape, to Paladin. ‘This was part of her payment as well.’

Paladin took the box, weighing it in his hand, and then handed it to Pearl. ‘It’s yours,’ he said. ‘You earned it.’

All eyes upon her, Pearl slowly undid the string and folded back the brown paper to reveal a finely-carven box of dark wood.

 ‘Go ahead, Pearl-love, open it,’ Eglantine said quietly, her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

As carefully as if the box had teeth to bite, Pearl undid the latch and lifted the lid, revealing a necklace wrought of lustrous pearls of remarkable size and beauty.

 ‘This is far too fine for me,’ Pearl whispered, her eyes fixed on the glowing orbs. As if against her will she picked up the necklace, feeling the cool smoothness of the pearls in her hand and cascading down her wrist.

 ‘I had no idea,’ Paladin said slowly. He looked sharply at Isum. ‘This is not the necklace that the Mistress showed us when we signed the agreement.’ That had been a small cluster of pearls suspended from a finely-wrought gold chain.

 ‘This is what the Thain sent,’ Isumbold said firmly. ‘Take it up with him if you are dissatisfied.’

 ‘Wear them,’ Eglantine said, unexpectedly firm. ‘Wear them with pride, daughter. You earned every one of those fine name-jewels, you did.’

 ‘But...’ Pearl said in real distress, holding the necklace out to Isumbold.

 ‘The Thain sent his best wishes,’ Isum said, closing her fingers over the pearls in her palm. His hand lingered on hers as he looked to Paladin. ‘But that was not the reason I came,’ he added.

 ‘Yes, you said he sent the parcels along with you because you were coming this way in any event,’ the farmer remembered. ‘Why did you come?’

 ‘I came to ask for Pearl’s hand,’ Isumbold said, and held his breath.

The farmer broke into a broad smile. ‘I’d say you already have it,’ he said.

Pippin gave a whoop and mother and sisters gave pleased exclamations while Pearl sat as if turned to stone. Paladin turned a quizzical eye on her.

 ‘Well, daughter?’ he said. ‘Does this match not meet with your approval?’

 ‘Oh,’ Pearl said, and drawing a great breath she turned a dazzling smile upon her father. ‘Yes, Father, indeed!’ She withdrew her hand from Isum’s just long enough to deposit the necklace in the box in her lap, then held out her hand once again to meet Isumbold’s clasp. ‘I will gladly marry you, Isum.’

Isumbold let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘Are you willing to come to the Great Smials to live? That is where my livelihood is,’ he said. Pearl understood at once. She'd been sheltered from the Talk, living on the farm again. She'd put aside fine ways and dealing with the pretensions of the families living together in the old manse. Life on the farm was free and easy, compared to life with the Tooks of the Smials. 

She smiled. ‘My mother has always taught us, Home is where your husband is,’ she said with a glance at Eglantine.

 ‘I’m sorry, Missus, I must beg to differ,’ Isumbold said with a smile, not taking his eyes from Pearl. ‘Indeed, I believe the old saying is, Home is where your treasure is. ’

 ‘I believe you have the right of it,’ Eglantine said softly. ‘Indeed.’

Explanatory note: Someone dear to my heart was so distressed at Lop's gallant sacrifice in this story that I promised I would try to figure out how to rewrite what happened. The desire to save Lop grew even stronger after we lost to cancer last year our own crooked-eared pup, whose always-joyous welcomes formed the basis of all the doggy greetings I've written into my stories. The revision proved a bit tricky, but I think I finally managed it by changing a few details in earlier chapters and writing an epilogue. As a bonus, you are cordially invited to attend a wedding. (Dinossiel, thank you for your encouragement.)

Epilogue

Shepherds have long been something of an oddity amongst Shire-folk, almost since the founding of the Shire. The Little People, as old Bombadil calls them, spent years as a wandering folk, possibly beginning when the Fallohides, Stoors and Harfoots came over the mountains for reasons that are no longer remembered, or possibly before then, in times beyond living memory. Their rootlessness went deep, it seems, but instead of making them a restless folk, after following the brothers Marcho and Blanco to the new country granted by the King, they scattered across the land and sank deep roots where they came to settle.

...with a few exceptions. Mostly comprising those with a large proportion of Tookish blood. And shepherds.

And even shepherds in the Shire did not wander aimlessly but followed established paths. Gorrus Brockbank was one of these. He inherited a small parcel of land in the high Green Hills of the Tookland, part-way between Tuckborough and Tookbank, and there he'd dug a smial into the hillside for his new bride and constructed a sheepfold. Young Brockbank had apprenticed with a reputable shepherd and learned his vocation well. Being both clear-sighted and ambitious, he thus had the knowledge and skill to establish his own paths and grazing places and way-stations (with all the necessary and legal permissions in place).

Generous quantities of exercise and fresh air would likely keep him vigorous long past his hundredth birthday, though of course he had too much sense to borrow against the future or fix his attention on the past. Now, poised upon the threshold of his hundredth year, he knew contentment – cultivated that attitude, in fact, in areas that might have troubled him otherwise, such as his and Gladdy's childless state, except for the apprentices he'd trained up over the decades, some of whom would inherit the shepherd's worldly possessions once Gorrus and Gladdy no longer needed them.

But on a fine spring evening like this one, few shadows of dissatisfaction would be able to persist within the light filling Shepherd Brockbank's mindset. True, his new apprentice had fallen asleep at his post, allowing the sheep to scatter. At sunset, when they'd counted the sheep into the fold at their current waystation, they'd come up short. So, leaving the sheep safely shut in, old Brockbank and young Sorley had each taken one of the dogs and gone their separate ways in search.

The stars were bright above them as Gorrus sent his dog ahead on another sweep. He was at the edge of his territory now – the area of Tookland where the old Thain, Fortinbras, had granted him permission to wander and graze his sheep. Beyond the slopes on the far side of this valley, any of his sheep that might wander that far would be "fair game" to anyone who could catch them.

But what was this? Folly had returned with the silence and stealth of her kind, so quietly that he was only aware of her presence when her head pressed hard into his thigh. 'What is it, lass?' he said, reaching down to stroke her silky coat. 

She was trembling.

Gorrus's hand tightened around his sturdy staff. Not stray dogs, he thought. They tend to lose their heads with the excitement of the hunt, barking or baying their death-song.

'Steady, lass,' he said, lifting his staff at the ready. 'We'll sort it, whatever it is.' It wasn't sheep, that was for certain. Not live ones, anyhow, for she'd have joyously taken charge and harried any live sheep she'd found, whether one or several, back to the shepherd to receive her due praise – and for the sheer joy of the exercise.

Somewhat farther along, he stumbled over rough ground. The moon, rising in the Eastern sky, helpfully added his light to the scene as Gorrus stopped and looked around him. As he concentrated, a faint reek of blood arose in his nostrils, and a chill went down his back. Had he found his missing ewe and her lambs? Or what was left of them?

The ground underfoot was churned... some sort of struggle, he thought. But the blood scent was not that of a fresh kill, he deemed. He stood as still as the piled stones he could just make out in the moonlight, ahead and a little to one side.

Folly pressed closer. When the shepherd lowered his hand to soothe her silky neck, he felt the vibration of a whine in her throat.

Stones did not naturally pile themselves, Gorrus thought. He patted the fearful dog and moved in that direction. Atop the pile was a leather collar that smelled faintly of blood when he lifted it in his hand. 'What have we here?' he whispered.

At his side, he felt Folly lift her head into the air, and he thought for a moment she might break into a howl, not a common sound for one of her ilk, but not unknown, either. In the dim light, he saw her mouth open – but no sound issued. Instead, she dropped her head, and her trembling increased. The dog was obviously in great distress and labouring under the weight of overwhelming fear.

A premonition of grave danger swept over the old hobbit, and as silently as he could, he began to edge backwards, step by slow, soundless step. Even as he felt Folly's hackles rise under his fingertips, the back of his own neck prickled. Something deadly must be lurking nearby, he thought. Wild swine, he guessed. That might explain the churned-up ground. And they killed a dog here, earlier today? Perhaps one of Fernhollow's dogs? For his territory overlapped with the other shepherd's in the valley where he now stood.

But suddenly there was only air where, seconds ago, Folly had pressed against his leg. He had the presence of mind not to whistle to her – not when savage wild beasts might be within hearing range. He continued to back away, slowly, listening with all his might. She'd find him easily enough.

...which she did. But then, uncharacteristically, she nipped at him, surprising a quickly-suppressed Hoi! from his lips. He stopped, and she jumped away and then jumped in and nipped him again!

Belatedly, he realised she was herding him after a fashion. Sheepdogs typically used stares and body language to move sheep in one direction or another. Here in this dark place, Folly was doing the best she could to move her shepherd where she wanted him to go.

Gorrus quickly caught her intention; as he started to move in the direction opposite her nips, the nips turned to nudges to keep him on track. Step by step he followed her lead... or rather, moved under her ceaseless guidance. All he could think was that she was herding him away from the area of greatest peril, to a place of relative safety.

As he moved, Gorrus scanned his surroundings. There were a few climbable trees rising out of the underbrush ahead of them, he deemed, though that kind of safety must be a last resort. For though a hobbit might climb out of reach, a dog could not. He'd not abandon Folly unless he had no other choice.

But now he felt Folly brush past his leg, moving from behind to ahead of him. A moment later, he tripped over the dog in the darkness under the trees, and stifled an oath.

Pushing himself to his knees, Gorrus ran his hands over her back, up and down her spine, roughing and then smoothing her coat. 'Come, lass,' he said in the barest whisper. 'What is it now?' He felt her body vibrate with the force of the whine she did not voice.

From the brambles immediately ahead of them, a low, sobbing whine answered.

What?! Gorrus thought. He pushed his crook into the brambles and lifted the thorny vines. Moonlight reflected from a pair of eyes – he thought they were eyes, anyhow – very close to the ground under the sheltering growth. He reached forward with cautious fingers and touched... a furry head.

*** 

Gorrus was the first to return to the waystation. After leaving Folly with the sheep in the fold, he entered the shelter, laid his burden down on a soft bed of piled sheepskins and began to build a fire on the hearth. Bare moments later, young Sorley pushed open the door and reported his safe recovery of the missing ewe and her two lambs.

'Well done, lad,' he said. 'Now give Folly and Tass each a good rubdown, and feed both dogs well, for they've more'n earned their wages this day, I deem. I'll soon enough have our own supper cooking.'

When his apprentice entered the small shelter after caring for the dogs, Gorrus had the fire burning brightly and had filled the stewpot with spring water, dried meat and veg to simmer into soup, and the loaves of quick-bread he'd formed were baking on the stones.

'What's that?' Sorley said in startlement, pointing to what might have been a black-and-white rug, not smoothed out but crumpled into a heap atop a pile of sheepskins laid upon the stony floor.

'Might've been a dog at one time,' Gorrus answered as he continued his ministrations, gently washing one of the many wounds prior to applying salve and binding up what injuries he could. 'Might be again someday, if the luck is with us.'

Looking up, he said, 'Stir the soup now, there's a good lad, and turn the bread so it doesn't burn. O' the morrow, we'll be making tracks out o' this territory, just so fast as we can drive the sheep along... we'll skip over the next shelter and graze in the meadows beyond, and I'll have you take the sheep on to the shelter after that before nightfall.'

'But where'll you be? And...' his apprentice gulped, 'ye'll trust me wit' the sheep, after... after I fell asleep this day...?'

'That was this day,' Gorrus answered. 'The morrow is another day altogether, I warrant. No,' he said, 'but I'll be striking out for the smial, carryin' this'un to Gladdy, for she's a deft hand at nursing lambs and sheepdogs, she is. If anyone can save this poor fellow, she's the one.'

*** 

Gorrus thought about sending a message to Fernhollow, but his duties currently kept him more than fully occupied. His young apprentice was more work than help at the moment, and the old shepherd didn't want to leave him alone and responsible for the sheep for the time it might take him to find Ferny as he followed his own paths through the Green Hills with his flock. Besides, it would be some time before he was sure the dog would survive its injuries.

Every time Gorrus and Sorley's rounds, which lasted from a week to ten days, brought them home again to the smial where Gladdy kept the home fires burning, the "found" creature resembled more and more a dog than a limp sack formed from black-and-white fur and wound around with bandages. Within a month he could drag himself about after a fashion. After the weather warmed, he took to sleeping on sunny days in the sheep fold, whether the sheep were in residence or off on another round of grazing the fields and meadows in this part of the Green Hills. The old sheepdog seemed to gain in courage and strength from just the smell of the sheep, the promise of their presence, or so Gladdy thought. 

On rainy days, he seemed content to doze by the hearth. 'He's such good company,' Gladdy told Gorrus and Sorley about a month after the old dog had regained his feet and could totter about the smial and yard, a far cry from the slinking elegance of a graceful sheepdog, but able to move on his own without any need of a helping hand. New fur was growing in – all white – where his numerous wounds had healed, giving him something of a ghostly look. Or, possibly, a sheepdog that had got hold of a flour sack and shook it all over himself.

'Ee looks like the dogs that helped dig old Mayor Flourdumpling out o' the chalk when the Town Hall collapsed,' Sorley said one day later that summer. Somehow, they'd dubbed the dog "Dumpling" on the spot. He seemed to appreciate the joke, laughing up at the hobbits with his tongue lolling over his teeth, his crooked ear adding to his humorous mien.

By the time the leaves started to turn, the old dog had grown steady on his feet once more. He could stalk along quite credibly, though of course Shepherd Brockbank did not put him to minding the sheep except here, at home. The sheepdog had paid more than his due, from all appearances. Earlier in the year, after hearing that hunters from the Great Smials had wiped out a dangerous sounder of wild swine in the region, Gorrus had returned to the spot where he'd found Dumpling and taken another look at the ground. Though time had softened the evidence left in the churned-up ground near the cairn of piled-up rocks, he thought he could piece together the tale well enough. 

It seemed likely to him that Shepherd Fernhollow had been tracing a strayed lamb of his own in the valley where his territory overlapped Brockbank's, when that dangerous sounder of swine had attacked. Unquestionably, Dumpling had put himself between the vicious hogs and the shepherd – and, perhaps, the lamb; the valiant dog had held off the attackers until Ferny was able to climb to safety. Perhaps something had diverted the hogs' attention, enabling the dog to crawl away and find a hiding place. From the amount of fur the dog had lost, along with the bloody wounds he'd suffered, Dumpling's shepherd might even have seen the scraps of fur and spatters of blood and thought the dog torn to pieces. Such a conclusion would explain the piled stones, topped by the dog's collar and left as a memorial.

Over the winter, the old dog regained much strength and stability, though he betrayed some stiffness when the weather was both damp and chilly. 'But then, he's in good company!' Gladdy would say. 'We make a pair, we do!' she'd add, thus making light of her own difficulties with painful joints and constrained movement that seemed to worsen a little more with every passing year. Indeed, Dumpling became her ever-present shadow, except during brief stretches of fine weather which found him stretched out on the ground in the sheepfold, basking in the thin winter sunlight.

Early the next spring, Gorrus held a council of sorts around the little table in the smial: himself, his Gladiolus, and his apprentice, Sorley. Dumpling also attended, curled asleep under the table, his lop-ear perked as if listening. 'He's well enough to make the journey northwards, I think,' he said. 'It's time to reunite him wit' his master. I'm sure Ferny's thought him dead all this time...'

'Iffen he's thought him dead, then couldn't we...?' Sorley protested.

But the old shepherd shook his head. 'Were it our own Tass or Folly, wouldn't you want someone to bring the dog home again, though you'd mourned its loss months before?'

Gorrus's apprentice bowed his head. 'Aye,' he whispered.

'Gladdy?' Gorrus asked. For she would lose the most, considering how Dumpling shadowed her day and night, except when he was sun-sleeping in the sheepfold, of course.

'Aye,' she said stoutly. 'For 'twould only be right, I deem. Now that he's well enough to walk all the way home on his own furry feet, he ought to know the joy of seeing his true master again!' She smiled at the rumpled head that rested on her feet. 'I won't forget him, and he may or may not forget us... but as is the way of things, as I know it, he remembers and misses his true master, I'm sure of it! Especially when he dreams, and his feet twitch, and his tail wags, and he whines, soft, in his sleep.'

'I think you have the right of it, my dear,' Gorrus said, covering her hand with his own. 'And so, Sorley, when we take the sheep out tomorrow, we'll take Dumpling wit' us, as far as the third shelter. And from there, you'll take the sheep to the next meadow and the shelter beyond, whilst I take Dumpling and find where Shepherd Fernhollow's sheep may be grazing...' For by now, Sorley could be trusted to take the sheep out alone and had gained enough knowledge to be able to deal competently with almost any potential situation that might arise.

But things were not to be so simple. For when Gorrus caught up with Ferny and his flock, the younger shepherd first looked puzzled and then shook his head. 'I've lost no dogs, not recently, not last spring, and not in this past year! He's not mine.'

'Then whose?' Gorrus said in consternation. 'For you 'n' I, we're the only shepherds i' these parts! And I doubt he was ever wild, for he knew his manners when he came to us (once he was well enough, that is), and I don't think he was a stray, or he'd've disappeared again instead of sunnin' in our sheepfold all summer long!'

'You said he was badly hurt,' Ferny pointed out. 'P'rhaps even if he did stray, he's not been well enough to find his way home...?'

'He's a good dog,' Gorrus said emphatically, and then he stroked the silky back as Dumpling waved his flag of a tail in response to the praise. 'I hate t' think o' his owner missin' him still...'

'Ye might ask the Shirriff who watches over this area,' Ferny said. 'It's his job to keep track o' missin' and strayed animals, after all.'

Gorrus clapped his fellow shepherd on the shoulder. 'That's a good idea,' he said. 'My thanks, Ferny. May you allus find green grass and still waters on your wanderings...'

'May still waters and greening grass lie along your ways as well,' Ferny said in farewell. To the dog, he added, 'May the road rise up to meet ye, and may ye find your heart's desire, old fellow...'

*** 

Spring is the traditional time for weddings in the Shire. Thus, on a fine Spring day, Whittacres Farm was decked out in its finest, for Paladin's eldest daughter would be married this day. Paladin and his hired hobbits had erected poles in the yard and strung sturdy lines from pole to pole and between the buildings and poles. Bright garlands of flowers and bunting hung above the yard, interspersed with lanterns (unlit at the moment, but ready to extend the feasting and dancing well into the night hours). Tables and benches surrounded the central area where the toasts would be spoken and stories told and, eventually, dancers would swirl to the tune of fiddle, pipe, harp and drum.

Some traditions had been adjusted to accommodate the bridegroom, though no one would dare grumble about the current departure from the way things always were done. A little less than a year ago, Isumbold, while serving as the head of the Thain's escort, had thrown himself between Ferumbras and the murderous charge of a wild boar more than three times his size. He'd nearly died of his injuries from the boar's trampling hoofs and slashing tusks, and even after all the healers could do for him, his legs remained nearly useless.

'P'rhaps there shouldn't even be a wedding,' he'd said in despair to his about-to-be father-in-love a few days before the event. For he could hardly walk to the top of the nearest hill from the wedding breakfast to where the ceremony should, by tradition, take place when the Sun reached her zenith.

'We'll play such a trick on the Tooks, we'll stun them to silence,' Paladin had replied. 'No one will dare to talk about it for years after, lest it become the new fashion!' And so contagious was the mischief in his eye and voice as he continued, that soon he had everyone around the table, wife and children and hired hobbits and even his soon-to-be son-in-love laughing in disbelief and growing appreciation and agreement.

And so it was, after the wedding breakfast, when Baragrim (whom Isum had asked to stand up with him) rose, walked to the centre of the circle of tables and raised his glass high to propose the traditional wedding toast, he met the eye of his former head of escort and winked. Everything is in place. Aloud, he shouted, 'Laugh long and oft!'

'Aye!' the crowd returned.

'Live long!' Baragrim called.

'Aye!'

'Love forever!'

'O aye!' the merrymakers made the farmyard ring with their answering shout, and then all drank the toast, even Isum and Pearl, who toasted each other.

And then a crowd of tweens and older unmarried hobbits swarmed the head table, but instead of following tradition by lifting Pearl, chair and all, they took hold of Isumbold and his chair and hoisted him over their heads with a shout of Hurrah! from young Pippin.

Chair and all, they carried the bridegroom out of the farmyard and started up the nearest hill. The crowd followed them, half of them cheering and the other half bewildered and probably wishing to be able to feel scandalised (yet at the same time not sure they should indulge themselves in such feelings, considering the joyful noise so many in the body of celebrating hobbits were raising).

Paladin, as host, had provided a waggon for the infirm to ride to the ceremony in. So gentle was the hill behind the smial, however, that most of the guests chose to walk up the wildflower-bedecked slope, enjoying the freshness of the grass underfoot. Even Thain Ferumbras, who had come to perform the ceremony, was happy to walk with Paladin and Eglantine rather than ride a pony to the top of the hill.

Baragrim and Pearl remained in the empty farmyard. The head of the Thain's escort glanced around the circle of abandoned tables and then looked down at Pearl, quirking an eyebrow. 'Well,' he said. 'I think we've accomplished as much as might be wished here... Shall we...?'

'I think we must!' Pearl answered with a grin, taking his arm.

'I must say, you're a fair sight prettier than the hobbit I ought to be escorting to the ceremony, at least as far as tradition goes...'

Pearl pretended to pout. 'I find Isum suits my taste quite well, thank you very much!'

Baragrim laughed down at her. 'You are more than welcome, my dear.' As he finished speaking, he gallantly lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the air just above her knuckles.

But as they began to follow the rest of the partygoers up the hill, a shout of alarm sounded behind them. Before even Baragrim, with his archer's reflexes, could react, something bowled into Pearl's back, wrenching her from her escort's grasp and knocking her flat on her face.

Baragrim had managed to keep enough balance to fall to his knees as his charge was flattened, and he jumped to his feet quickly enough, but then he hesitated, unsure of his next move.

A hobbit was jogging down the lane towards them, shouting breathless apologies, but the escort's immediate attention was fully occupied with the situation at his feet. A large furry body was turning circles over and around the bride, nudging at her and opening its mouth to grasp her dress or her arm or hand – and here he was without any weapons to withstand the vicious attack of the obviously maddened dog.

His guts twisted within him as he heard Pearl cry out, and he reached to grab at the flying, undulating mass of fur, intending to wrestle the dog away so that the lass could flee to the safety of the smial – only to be knocked back, off his feet, for the beast was nearly as large and well-muscled as the escort himself.

...and then he realised that Pearl was laughing and weeping at the same time, calling words of surprise (quite naturally) and welcome (astonishingly enough). Sitting himself up again, Baragrim saw that the bride had rolled over in the dirt and was trying to hug her attacker while, at the same time, fending off its enthusiastic tongue from washing the entirety of her face and neck, shoulders and hair.

'I'm sorry, sir... I'm sorry, miss... Had I known there was a wedding here today, I'd've waited until the morrow to bring 'im home again...' From the feather in his hat, Baragrim worked out that the fellow was one of the Mayor's Shirriffs, responsible for rounding up strayed animals and bringing them to their owners.

'This... dog...' (he'd been tempted to say monster or menace) '...belongs to you?' the escort asked Pearl.

'Not much doubt about that,' the newcomer said, taking off his hat and wiping his red, sweating face. 'Not with that greeting!'

'He belongs to my da,' Pearl gasped, pushing the great head away and then clenching her fists in the silky fur of the dog's shoulders to haul herself to her feet once more. As if recalled to his manners, the sheepdog sat himself down politely at her side, his plume of a tail swishing a back-and-forth pattern in the dust. 'We thought he was dead! Last spring...'

'I remembered!' the Shirriff exclaimed. 'He fought off them murtherin' swine, just long enough for your little brother to climb a tree...' And then, with the dog seeming under control, he remembered his manners and added, bowing to the hobbit of escort, 'Daw Brackenbush, at your service, and your family's service. I'm the Shirriff for the local area.' He was a short, spry fellow with wrinkled, faded clothes and a luxuriant crop of untidy black hair with an unexpected shock of white at the back of his head, a little longer than convention demanded.

'So your service now includes bringing old friends back from the dead?' Pearl said with a laugh. She no longer resembled Isumbold's lovely bride. Many tresses had escaped from her elaborate braided crown, her circlet of wildflowers hung askew, fully half of the lace tucked in around the top of her bodice had come loose, and where her bright yellow dress was not decorated with muddy dog prints, it was smeared with dirt and stained green from rolling on the grass. Luckily, the necklace of her name-jewels shone as it had since she'd put it on at the start of the day, luminous and, frankly, breathtaking, having by some miracle escaped harm in the recent commotion.

'Pearl!' Baragrim remonstrated under his breath. Bowing to the newcomer, he answered as custom (and the Thain) demanded, 'Baragrim son of Horogrin o' the Tooks, at yours and your family's service!' And then he looked at Pearl – really looked – and groaned. 'Isum's going to put me on water rations for sure and certain!'

And then Pearl gasped, 'The wedding!' ...as if the dog's sudden onset had driven every other thought from her head. Considering the overwhelming nature of the greeting, perhaps it had.

'I'll just take my leave, then,' Daw said hastily, putting his hat back on and touching his fingertips to the brim.

'Why not come to the wedding?' Pearl said gaily. 'More guests bring more joy, as they say!'

'Beggin' your pardon, Miss Pearl,' Daw said, 'but when your da takes a look at you... let's just say, I think I'll let him cool a bit before I come this way again...' He looked down at his hand, still holding a rope attached to an empty collar that had probably been around Lop's neck when they'd started for the farm. 'Oh,' he said, holding the rope out to the couple. 'Here you go. For all the good it does...' And to Baragrim, he said, 'May I be the first to congratulate you!'

'My thanks,' Baragrim said, not wanting to delay them any longer with explanations to the Shirriff. 'Good hunting!'

'My thanks,' Daw echoed. Forestalling any further conversation, he turned and jogged across the yard to the lane and away.

Hallooo! rang through the air, and looking towards the hilltop, Baragrim and Pearl saw Paladin standing at the edge of the crowd and waving his arms.

As did the sheepdog. At the sound of his beloved Master's voice, Lop was in motion, a streak of black and mostly white racing up the hillside. Oof, Baragrim said softly in sympathy as he saw the dog cannon into the farmer, knocking Paladin to the ground and out of their sight.

'Come on!' Pearl shouted joyfully, seizing his hand and pulling at him until he gave in, and they raced together up the hillside in the dog's train, arriving breathless and laughing.

When they reached the top, Lop still covered Paladin like a large, furry blanket, whining frantic greetings, alternating licking the farmer's face and rubbing his head against his Master's chin and chest, his tail sweeping in wild circles.

And Paladin... who'd been all too sombre and serious since the deadly fire that had changed his beloved cousin forever... was laughing helplessly, even as the tears ran down his face and were washed away by the ecstatic dog. His arms encompassed Lop, and he hugged the dog gently to him, while the wedding guests gathered at a safe distance and goggled. (Once again, half of them were tempted to be scandalised at such goings-on at a wedding, but the Thain's booming guffaws held them in check.)

'So this is what you get up to when I'm not around!' Isum scolded, staring daggers at Baragrim. They hadn't noticed him limp up to them under cover of the astonishing welcome and the mingled laughter and cheers from the crowd. But as his former subordinate launched into profuse apologies, he broke into a grin. 'Never mind, Barry,' he said. 'I can see you were beset by forces beyond your control.'

The sheepdog had calmed and now lay quiet in Paladin's embrace. Ferumbras stepped forward and helped the farmer sit up. 'Well now,' he said. 'I must say, the liveliest weddings are to be found in the fair Green Hills...!'

'Beg pardon, Sir,' the farmer began.

'What're you begging my pardon for, I'd like to know?' Ferumbras demanded. 'Seems as if this unexpected guest ought to be begging Miss Pearl's pardon, for starters, and perhaps Isum's as well, and yours!'

'I am well!' Pearl protested, reaching up to try to straighten her wreath of wildflowers at the very least. 

'You look beautiful,' Isum said, taking her hands. Eglantine and several aunts converged on her then, pushing the bridegroom gently aside in their determination to undo as much damage as possible, though a bath and change of clothes would probably have been the best starting place. 

Luckily, Baragrim was on the spot and kept Isum on his feet with a lucky grab.

When the curtain of aunts parted, a slightly less dishevelled Pearl beamed at her beloved. 'Well then,' she said brightly. 'Shall we get started?' She pointed to the sky above their heads. 'The Sun is about as high as she can be!'

'Would you like to go back to the smial and start over again?' Ferumbras asked her in honest concern.

'I would not!' Pearl said, softening the strong response with a smile. 'Sir,' she added. 'It's very kind of you, but I think we should simply go on as we've begun and get the whole business safely behind us, so that the feasting and dancing may commence!'

Ferumbras smiled at this lass, who would have set aside her own happiness to save her family's farm. Who would have sacrificed her dreams and left behind those she loved best while making him the happiest of hobbits, a husband and, perhaps, a father, had things worked out differently on that spring morning almost a year ago. He'd found her courage and determination inspiring, giving him the strength to stiffen his backbone and release her from her pledge upon his mother's death, when marrying and getting an heir no longer seemed to matter. 

And now, her least wish was his greatest desire. He held out his hand. 'Come, my dear,' he said. 'We'll show them how a wedding ought to be done!'

As they walked hand in hand to the centre of the hilltop, with Baragrim helping Isum along behind them, she whispered, 'At least my cousins don't have to help my brother arrange a mishap to ensure good luck for our marriage!'

'I do think that facet of tradition has been more than adequately observed,' the Thain agreed.

Paladin solved the problem of a sheepdog at the wedding by telling young Pippin to stand in place between Pervinca and Pimpernel and then ordering Lop to "hold" the small flock. Lop laid himself down before the children and fixed his eyes upon them, and all of them were "as good as gold" for the entire ceremony that Ferumbras conducted, even though the Thain gave a rather long-winded speech into the bargain.

Pearl and Isum and Lop rode down the hill in the waggon with the rest of the crowd surrounding them and walking slowly along. When they reached the farmyard, the musicians struck up the first of many tunes, and the dancing and feasting and storytelling began.

If any of the wedding guests visiting from the rather stratified Great Smials were tempted to be scandalised by the sight of a sheepdog dancing and feasting in the midst of the celebration, they were wise enough to follow their Thain's lead and laugh instead.

And a good time was had by all.

~ * ~ *~ * THE END * ~ * ~ * ~              

***                

Author's notes: 

According to Dreamflower's age conversion chart, Shepherd Brockbank would have been the equivalent of about 64 in Man years when this chapter takes place, and about age 71 (in our years) when he and Pippin cross paths again in Thain.

Shepherd Brockbank was introduced in Thain. He's about ten years younger in this story (as is everyone else), and while Paladin knows him well at this point on the timeline, Pippin is not going to meet him until the events in Thain take place. Much later, during the Troubles while Pippin is away on the Quest, Brockbank is the "courageous old shepherd" serving on the front lines, watching for encroaching ruffians at one point along Tookland's border, though he may not have been mentioned by name in those stories.

Lop has also appeared in A Healer's Tale and You Can Lead a Took to Water.

Daw Brackenbeater was introduced in The Farmer's Son, a work in progress that is scheduled to begin posting again later this year.

***

February 9:
The story is finished. Now my editor gets to have her way. If you have comments on any of the chapters, have at it! She will take your opinion into consideration as she wields her scalpel.

January 9:
The current chapter, the first part of which is titled "Missing", just split itself into pieces, so there are still four chapters or so to go.

January 8:
Sorry for the delay between updates, have been sick as the proverbial dog. Managed to type in one more chapter of "Pearl" from the rough written copy. Four chapters, perhaps, to go.

January 3:
Can there really be only five chapters to go? That is what the outline says, and the first draught has been written and agrees with the outline. Unless one of these chapters splits out into two then this story is nearly finished! Cannot believe it.

December 26:
Have nearly finished the Yule chapters. Merry Christmas and Happy Yuletide!

Have had to revise chapter 3 slightly: Rosemary is not Pearl's age as originally stated, but two years younger (between Pearl and Pimpernel in age).

December 18:
Don't know how much writing I'll be able to do on the weekend. People are probably too busy watching ROTK to read fanfic, in any event, so I'm not worried about anybody sitting about twiddling their fingers, and then next week is the holidays and there will be no such thing as free time! i'd like to write the story while it's fresh in my mind, but "Shire" is also clamouring for attention. We'll see. Anyway, Ferdibrand has turned the corner, I'm glad to say. Stay tuned for burgeoning... ah, romance is such an over-abused term. Burgeoning something. Burgeoning, anyhow. Coming soon: Yuletide.

December 13:
Hoorah. Got the computer working again. Whew. Have finished writing chapter 9, but still working on chapter 8 (it is the more difficult chapter), so will hopefully be able to post both chapters on Monday.

December 12:
Got out of the shower to a "lovely" surprise... cannot bring up the computer that has all my writing files. I may have to wait at least a week before a trouble-shooter can look at the problem. It is an enforced vacation, I suppose, and just when I had some time to do some serious writing... back to yellow legal pads, I suppose, but I was getting terribly spoilt by the word processor.

December 1:
Got the rough draft written over the weekend and if the story lives up to its promise it will be one to please even me. The Muse has done an outstanding job, I think. Hope it all falls within canon. You readers will let me know, won't you?

November 29:
This story sprang full-blown from the Muse as I was perusing Tolkien's letters last night. The outline practically wrote itself, let us hope the story does the same.

Bear with me, those of you who have read chapter 1 and are picking flaws. I know that F. is not Thain quite yet, rather the son of the Thain; that will be clarified in an upcoming chapter.

Later:
FantasyFan informs me that F. really is Thain, so I will do some more research before posting the next chapter Monday or Tues. Thankfully it is only a minor revision.