This story references events in “Moon Over Tookland”, “Pimpernel, Pervinca and Pearl’s Perfectly Plotted Prank” and “What Goes Around”, and serves as a prequel of sorts to “The Trouble with Love”, but it will not be necessary to have read those to understand anything that happens here.

Written for Marigold’s Tale Challenge #44: “The moral of the story is…” My moral was “The empty vessel makes the most noise.”

Much Ado About Nothing

Wedmath 1415 SR
Cedric and Pimpernel are 36, Everard 35, Aidan 33, Ferdibrand 32, Mora 31, Pervinca 30, and Pippin 25 (or 23, 22, 21, 20, 20, 19 and 16 in Man years)

  
 
Part I

On the top of a little hill about a quarter-mile from Great Smials could be found four friends of the prosperous Took family. They were reasonably sensible lads during the best of times, but too much time on their hands combined with the unrelenting heat wave of late summer could cause even the most level-headed of young hobbit lads to find practicality in the most inane of pastimes, and these friends were no exception.

They were all cousins to one degree or another and they had grown up together since they were bairns crying in their cots. Their leader, and the eldest, was Cedric Briarmoore. Cedric was a real tease with the lasses, and if rumors were to be believed, he did far more with them than just tease. His second-in-command – and some would say the true leader – was Everard Took. There was no one better than Everard at hatching schemes and seeing them through to their usually successful ends. Everard and Cedric didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but their daring was perfectly matched. Rounding out the group were Ferdibrand Took, Everard’s closest friend, and Aidan Chubb, two very agreeable lads whose laidback manners often kept their more hot-headed companions from going too far with their antics. ‘Often’, sadly, did not equate to ‘always’.

On this particular day, the four friends were clustered together under the shade, vainly attempting to get away from the sweltering heat. They soon realized that this plan was not going as well as they had hoped.

“It’s hot,” Everard declared, quite unnecessarily after an hour of sweaty torment. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and wiped his hand on his trousers, his shirtsleeves and handkerchiefs now being too grimy with dried sweat to be of any use. He frowned down at his favorite shirt and wondered what he had been thinking when he put it on that morning.

“It’s very hot,” Ferdibrand agreed, rolling up his shirtsleeves for the tenth time with frustrated little jerks. He was close to yanking his shirt off entirely, but considering that he would look like a wet noodle if he did so, especially whilst in the company of his more robust companions, he resisted the temptation.

“It’s too hot,” Cedric joined in. He had all of his Took mother’s wiliness, but none of her looks, taking instead after his brawly Northfarthing father, much to the delight of the lasses all over Tookland. However, the muggy heat was proving disastrous to his usually handsome visage. He ran his fingers through his russet curls, but they remained stubbornly lank and limp, drooping around his chiseled yet clammy face like so many wilting flowers in a vase. He sighed, defeated: the lasses wouldn’t look at him twice with his hair in such a pathetic state.

“It’s abominably hot,” Aidan backed them up, just in case anyone was of the mind that he refuted this fact. He lifted the water bottle to his lips only to find it empty. He tossed it to the ground and looked around, as though he hoped to magically find a source of cool, refreshing water nearby. The only thing he saw was a rock baking in the sun on an adjacent hill, and he imagined he could even see the heat rising up from the rock’s flat surface. “This must be what the inside of an oven feels like.”

“I pity bread and all things that bake inside ovens,” Ferdibrand said.

“Only the things that bake?” Everard asked.

Ferdibrand considered the question for a minute before amending, “Broiling can’t be much fun either. Nor frying, for that matter.”

“I bet we could fry an egg on that rock over there,” Aidan suggested.

“You think so?” Cedric asked, his interest peaked. He nudged Aidan on the shoulder. “Go get an egg then and we’ll find out.”

“Me?” Aidan asked, suddenly unenthused by the experiment.

“It was your idea,” Everard pointed out.

“But that would involve going into the sun again,” Aidan said, forgetting for the moment that the shade was hardly any cooler.

“Actually,” Ferdibrand said with an ominous voice, “I just remembered hearing a story about a lad over in Tookbank who tried to fry an egg on a rock once.”

“And?” the others asked.

“It worked. The egg fried almost instantly, but then it caught fire and exploded. A piece of the yolk burned itself into his eye and to this day, the healers can’t get it out,” Ferdibrand elaborated with much gusto.

“What?” Aidan asked in disbelief as the other two barked with laughter. “That wouldn’t happen.”

“It’s true,” Ferdibrand said. “It really happened.”

“Then how it is none of us ever heard of this before?” Aidan shook his head. “I never heard of an egg exploding, much less of some poor lad walking around with a yolk for an eye. Who told you this story?”

Ferdibrand thought hard, as it had been a good many months since he first heard this cautionary tale of curious lads and poultry products. “Pippin,” he finally answered.

Now Aidan joined in the laughter, and soon the three friends were lying upon the ground with tears of mirth running down their faces and stitches forming in their sides. Ferdibrand, not understanding what the joke was, waited patiently until his friends were coherent again. When they were finally able to reduce their laughter to the occasional snicker, Everard sat up and choked out, “And you believed him? Ferdi, he’s even more gullible than you are.”

“And I bet I can tell you who fed him that piece of nonsense,” Cedric said with certainty.

“Merry Brandybuck?” Ferdibrand wagered. “What would he know of anything happening in Tookbank, real or not?”

“Absolutely nothing. No, this culprit is much more devious and diabolical than good ole Merry. In fact, even Merry doesn’t dare cross paths with this schemer,” Cedric said.

“Who then?”

Everard and Cedric met eyes and winked knowingly. “Pervinca,” they said.

Pervinca Took was a foil to all lads living in and around Great Smials. She wasn’t a typical lass. Sweet and complying, eager to please, prim and proper would not be the words that came to a lad’s mind when he thought of Pervinca Took. Cold and calculating, shrewd and shrewish, an insufferable know-it-all, immune to the charms and flirtations of lads everywhere, she was every chap’s worst nightmare: an uncompromising lass. Her determination to reduce unsuspecting lads to a nervous bundle of tears or a hollow shell of his formerly-confident self was known far and wide, and there wasn’t a lad within a ten-mile radius who knew what it meant to be targeted by her wrath. She has outsmarted, out-pranked, and outdone every lad who has ever had the nerve (or idiocy) to go up against her. Every lad, that is, except one.

He never talked about it overly much, but they all knew that Everard had once waged his own private war against Pervinca, a war of wills and imaginative pranks and just plain luck. He had never sought his friends’ help, but he had always briefed them once the dust from the latest engagement settled. The war had lasted many long years, spanning through most of his teens and tweens, and involved many inspired feats, such as putting a grass snake in Pervinca’s bed to get back at her for pouring sugar over him while he dozed in the afternoon sun, so that he woke up covered in ants and melted sugar. They also enjoyed the tale they called Blue Teeth, No Hair, in which Pervinca had managed to put food dye on the rim of Everard’s teacup, turning his lips and teeth blue. Everard had retaliated by putting glue in Pervinca’s shampoo bottle, so that she lost much of her luxurious, voluminous curls attempting to comb it out. She had repaid them all well for that, biding her time over the following year until the perfect opportunity presented itself, and in this her true genius shined through. She had merely to plant the seed, and the others had fed it on their own. The next thing they knew, Everard, Ferdibrand and even poor unsuspecting Pippin, who had nothing to do with anything except being in the wrong place at the wrong time, found themselves mooning The Aunts whilst in a drunken stupor at the Harvest Moon dance, a spectacle of which they were still reminded every year come Harvest time.

As eventful and inspired as their war often was, there had also been various truces and stalemates over its unpredictable course, coming usually, though certainly not always, when one or the other needed something. In this way, they had come to hold the record of the fastest three-legged race in the Free Fair’s history. Everard’s friends had quickly come to realize that his war with Pervinca had been ruled by laws they could not comprehend. There had been a rhyme and reason to it that only the participants understood, so that they could be at each other’s throats one day, and happily ignoring each other or even getting along like old friends the next.

Everard claimed it was the onset of adulthood that had caused him to raise the banner of truce and leave it up these last two years. Certainly, coming-of-age had a maturing effect on him that none of them could have predicted, least of all Cedric, who seemed determined to hold onto his tweens for as long as he could. While Pervinca was still three years from her majority, everyone knew that lasses matured faster than lads and she was more than happy to leave the old pranks behind. Yet the newfound tranquility between the life-long foes was a deceptive one at best. Both Everard and Pervinca were competitive by nature and it seemed to his friends that their war had simply evolved from pranks to debates. Considering all that he had lived through, it was no wonder that Everard was considered as something of a hero amongst the lads of Tookland.

Now Cedric turned a calculating eye on his friend, a plan quickly forming in his mind. Everard’s intimate knowledge of Pervinca’s strengths and weaknesses would prove indispensable, and since Everard was his ally, he would have to disclose any information he had of their common foe. This was, after all, for the greater good of all lads everywhere.

Cedric slapped the ground with his hand and stood up to give more emphasis to his words. “My good lads,” he began in his most commanding and inspiring voice, “I for one am tired of tiptoeing through Great Smials in fear of rounding a corner to find Pervinca breathing down my neck. … Although, that really would depend on the manner of her breathing.”

“What’s your point, Ced?” Everard asked.

“It’s time for Vinca to be put in her place,” Cedric announced, “and we’re the chaps who are going to do it.”

Everard, Ferdibrand and Aidan exchanged doubtful glances. They looked up at their leader with a growing sense of alarm, wariness and foreboding as they slowly began to realize that he was actually being serious. In the half-minute it had taken Cedric to pinpoint the culprit of the frying egg tale, he had pieced together some nefarious plan that he believed would forever liberate the lads of Great Smials from their fear of the notorious Pervinca Took.

Everard wasn’t so sure, but it took the silent urging of Ferdibrand and Aidan for him to speak. “Are we now? I wasn’t aware that Vinca had lost her footing,” he said.

“Come off it, Everard,” Cedric said. “You hate her just as much as I do.”

“I don’t hate her,” Everard refuted.

“Fine, you don’t hate her, but you can’t deny how impossible she is, going on and on about anything and everything that pops into her head, whether she knows what she’s talking about or not. You know that better than anyone,” Cedric persisted. “It’s the empty vessel that makes the most noise and she’s the loudest one of all.”

“I guess,” Everard replied.

“Then you’ll further agree that something has to be done to silence her,” Cedric continued with absolute confidence.

“Is this because she wouldn’t agree to court you?” Everard teased.

They had all been surprised when Cedric had not only asked Pervinca to the Spring Fest but had been truly upset when she turned him down. He had carried a grudge ever since, as he had been convinced that there was no conceivable way she would say no. After all, none of the other lasses had ever denied him the pleasure of their company, and he was always certain to tell his friends just how pleasurable that company had been. His most enjoyable courtship thus far had been with Mora Took, one of old Isembold’s many descendants, who could do things with her tongue that were to be marveled at, or so he claimed.

“I would never court that shrew,” Cedric retorted heatedly, in vagrant denial of the truth, “especially not when I can have my pick of any lass I set my eyes on.”

“Except Pervinca,” Everard amended, but Cedric ignored this.

“We have been living too long in fear, my friends,” Cedric began anew, pacing back and forth on the edge of the shade. “To have our freedom, our right, to be boisterous and frolicsome held hostage by one lass is a crime too grievous to allow it to continue any longer. We cannot rely on the help of the Thain and Took in this matter, since the culprit is his own daughter and in his eyes, she can do no wrong. No, it is up to us to liberate our fellows from this She-wolf of the Smials.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Aidan asked.

“The simplest approach is often the best one,” Cedric informed them knowledgably. “Therefore, I propose that we gather the bravest of our fellows behind the stables and lure Pervinca there. Once we have her surrounded, we will simply inform her that we will not be intimidated by her anymore and make her admit to her crimes against us and promise to be submissive to us from here on out.”

Stunned silence followed this proposal as the others attempted to understand why Cedric thought this was a good idea. The moments stretched into minutes but this did not sway Cedric in his conviction. He was standing before them, bouncing on his feet with a smug, all-knowing smirk, and he was looking down at them with eager anticipation, absolutely certain they would all come to the conclusion that he was right. Again, Everard, Ferdibrand and Aidan exchanged skeptical glances. Ferdibrand gave the smallest of shrugs.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Aidan queried again.

This was the question Cedric had clearly been waiting for. He bounced on his feet with extra zest and curled his fingers around the inner edge of his waistcoat as old Thain Ferumbras used to do when making his celebratory speeches at banquets. “First, we’ll have to gather data and determine the location and condition of our mark. Second, we’ll need to decide on the course of action that has the best success ratio of getting Pervinca where we want her. Third, we put our plan into motion and await the triumphant results,” he informed them with a nod of finality.

“And we’re going to do all this before supper?” Everard asked.

Cedric shrugged carelessly. “I don’t see why not.”

“We best get started then,” Everard said, and with him onboard, the others fell into line.    

Just a short distance away in the marketplace of Tuckborough was a little fabric shop, its walls and tables clustered with fat, round bolts displaying a rainbow of fabrics. Customers bustled in and out all day, taking various bolts outside to see the fabric in the full light of day, or discussing and comparing in pairs or groups the quality and prints of the cloth.

Pimpernel and Pervinca entered the shop in a gust of warm air, but they were too deep in speculation to notice the complaints aimed in their direction when they didn’t shut the door right away.

“Where do you think they’re going to send us?” Pimpernel wondered with a somewhat dreamy air. She had spent much of the day, indeed most of the last six months since she accepted Fendon Burrows’s proposal, in a near constant state of wonder and awe, mixed occasionally with nervous excitement. She breezed through the shop to the table filled with bolts of yellows, leaving Pervinca to trail along behind her with plodding steps.

“I don’t know, Nell, and you have no hope of finding out until the day,” Pervinca repeated for what was easily the fifth time since leaving their mother and Mistress Burrows in the teahouse two minutes ago. “There’s at least a dozen smials to choose from. Maybe they’ll send you to the same one they sent Pearl.”

“Wherever they send us, I hope it’s not too far away,” Pimpernel said, instantly beginning to shuffle through the disorganized rows of bolts. “I don’t know if I could spend a whole month away from home.”

“You could do what the working-hobbits do: spend a week at an inn somewhere, but then you’ll have to worry about a gaggle of pranksters finding you to ruin your first night of passion,” Pervinca said, reaching her sister at last and watching her work her way through the bolts. Pimpernel paused only long enough to favor her sister with a trying look but Pervinca did not relent. “That’s what they do. One of the sempstresses told me. On her wedding night, a group of tweens followed their wagon to the inn where they were staying and waited outside until the lights in their room went out, then they started making all sorts of racket, hooting and hollering and making lewd noises for hours. Then in the morning, when they came out of their room, the tweens and all the patrons of the inn were waiting in the common room to give them equally kind and polite morning-after greetings.”

“That’s awful!” Pimpernel exclaimed with horror.

Pervinca only shrugged. “She said she couldn’t complain really. She’d done the same thing to all her older cousins when she was a tween.”

“Well, Mum and Mistress Burrows won’t let that happen to Fendon and me,” Pimpernel said with confidence.

She was, of course, correct. Only the most affluent families could afford to give their children a true honeymoon, sending the newlyweds to an undisclosed location where they could spend their first month of marriage in absolute privacy, so that they could truly get to know each other and learn how to live together without all the pressures and prying eyes of their families upon them. There were various secluded smials tucked into the hillsides all about Tookland that served just this purpose, and only The Took’s Lady knew where they were all located. She alone was responsible for reserving the smials, and in this way it was ensured that the smials’ locations were relatively secret and that no one need worry about arriving for their honeymoon and finding another couple already there. Luckily for Pimpernel, her mother was The Took’s Lady, so that meant one less person who would know where she and Fendon would be staying.

Once The Took’s Lady decided on a location, after having received all the necessary information and been informed of the couples’ wishes (which were usually for the smial to be somewhere far enough away that they won’t have to worry about trespassers but still close enough that they could visit their families or go into market when they needed to) she would then take the mothers of the couple to the chosen smial. It was then the mothers’ job to stock the smial with food and prepare it to greet the new couple on their first night together. The only other person who knew of the smial’s location would naturally be the coachhobbit driving the carriage and he was paid very handsomely to keep his mouth shut.

“So you’re set on a cream-colored dress?” Pervinca asked, still standing back and watching her sister make her way through the various fabrics. “The wedding will be at Yule, and blue is so much better for your complexion. I think a soft powder blue or periwinkle would be better for you than a cream.”

“Fendon will be wearing a deep violet for the breeches and jacket, fern green for the waistcoat and cream for the shirt and scarf. My dress will need to be cream, it’s only proper. You’ll also need to work in some deep violet as well,” Pimpernel said.

“But why cream?” Pervinca pressed. “Can’t his shirt be periwinkle?”

“Because Fendon likes that color,” Pimpernel answered.

“Fendon likes it?” Pervinca repeated. “So everything you do from here on out is going to be because he likes it or he wants it?”

“The wedding corset is also cream, Vinca,” Pimpernel responded as calmly as she could. After thirty-two years, she knew better than to get into an argument with her sister when she was in a combative mood.

“So? Any color you wear will conceal the corset. No one’s going to see that except Fendon, and then he’ll get what he wants anyway,” Pervinca pointed out, somewhat lewd herself.

Pimpernel stifled a sigh before turning to her sister. “If you’ve changed your mind about making the dress, just say so Vinca, and I’ll find another sempstress.”

“I want to make it,” Pervinca insisted.

“Then stop arguing with me. Don’t you know the bride is always right?” Pimpernel said with a teasing smile. “Now help me. I was thinking cotton for the underskirt, and silk for the dress.”

Conversation lulled and for the next ten minutes they sorted through the bolts on the tables and walls and tucked into the cubbyholes of the booths. Most they dismissed on sight or upon testing the texture of the material. Others they put aside to compare later, but none of the fabrics caught Pimpernel’s eye until she made her way to the other side of the table.

“Vinca!” Pimpernel called triumphantly, shocking the nearby customers and making Pervinca jump. Pimpernel held up a bolt of woven plaid of moss green and champagne. “What do you think of this? It’s lovely!”

Pervinca ran her hand lightly along the material and gave it her fair if brutal appraisal. “It’s good material, and the colors blend well, but it’s not meant for a dress. Besides, it’s far too thin. You’ll be blue in the face and shivering by the time you even reach the front of the aisle – not a very appealing sight for your prospective groom.”

Pimpernel raised her eyebrows.

“What? You’re the one concerned about what he wants,” Pervinca pointed out.

“So you think it’s too light?” Pimpernel said, wisely ignoring her sister's more scathing remarks to finger the bold lines with longing. “Perhaps we can use this for my wedding handkerchief?”

“I doubt they’d cut us just a block of this,” Pervinca said. “We can get a couple of yards and I can save the rest for something else, that is, if you don’t fall in love with another fabric first.” She put the bolt back in its cubbyhole and looked around some more.

“I’m not so fickle as all that, sister,” Pimpernel replied lightly.

“We’ll see,” Pervinca said. “Besides, it’s quite busy for a handkerchief. It might distract Fendon from saying his vows.”

Pimpernel sighed. “Vinca,” she started.

“Nell,” Pervinca cut in, softening her tone. “I’m just thinking of what’s best for you, love. Unfortunately, you insist on getting married anyway.”

“You’re too harsh in your opinion of lads,” Pimpernel said, despite her earlier conviction that she would hold her tongue. Now it was Pervinca’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “You are,” Pimpernel continued. “Not all lads are mongrels, and the ones who are eventually grow out of it. They’re really very sweet when it comes right down to it. If you want to know the truth, I think they’re even more vulnerable than we lasses are. You should have seen how nervous Fendon was when he proposed. We’ve been courting for years, and he knew how I love him, but even so he was terrified I’d say no. I think he cried nearly as much as I did when I accepted.”

“He must be the exception then,” Pervinca said, not swayed in the slightest by this heartfelt argument. She turned her attention back to the fabric and selected a silk chiffon the color of fresh buttermilk that made Pimpernel all but swoon. “I was thinking of doing a pimpernel motif, especially since Fendon’s colors are going to be green and purple. Blue pimpernel is close to deep violet. I was going to have the stems of the flowers growing up out of the hem of the dress and climbing into to the blossoms halfway up the skirt.”

“That would be lovely!” Pimpernel exclaimed. “Fancy, but not overly so, which is ideal. I’ll be able to wear it for other occasions.”

“I know,” Pervinca replied with pride. “It would look much better on a periwinkle though.”

“It will look just as lovely on this, I’m sure,” Pimpernel said, taking the bolt from her sister to hug it to herself. She carried it over to the shop owner and plopped it on the counter. “Seven yards please.”

“We still need material for the underskirt, and a sash for your waist would be ideal, I think,” Pervinca said, still standing amongst the tables and booths. “White would be best for the underskirt; the cream is so light that anything else will just bleed through. We should get deep violet for the sash, and perhaps periwinkle for the handkerchief. I saw a linen sprigged with pimpernels the last time I was here. That’s what got me thinking of trying it on the dress.”

“But I do like the champagne-and-green plaid for the handkerchief. Fendon will just love that,” Pimpernel said.

“Who cares what he loves,” Pervinca replied crisply.

Pimpernel eyed her younger sister with exasperation. “I care. I am going to marry him come Yule. And might I add that one of the things he loves is me.”

“Oh good, I do so love it when you two get along so nicely,” Eglantine greeted them as she entered the little shop, making the sisters jump with surprise. Only then did they notice that every other shopper in the store was watching them with much amusement. They had the decency to look abashed as Eglantine examined the silk the shop owner was measuring.

“That’s a lovely selection, Nell. Now, what did you have in mind for the handkerchief again?”

Pimpernel showed Eglantine the plaid while Pervinca quickly hunted down the sprigged periwinkle linen. She considered them both carefully before saying, “It’s up to you, Nell, but traditionally, the handkerchief should be white with lace trim. If you want to embroider your name-flower onto the corners, you can to that.”

“You’re right, of course, Mum,” Pimpernel agreed. “I still want a few yards of the plaid. I can make a scarf for Fendon.” Pervinca had to struggle to not make a face. “White linen and lace for the handkerchief would be quite lovely, I think.”

“I suppose,” Pervinca relented. “But are you sure Fendon wouldn’t rather have cream instead of white? We must do what Fendon wants.” She pivoted on her heel and returned the rejected periwinkle to its table.

“You’re the one who insisted on teaching her to talk,” Pimpernel teased gently when Eglantine rubbed the bridge of her nose, a tell-tale sign she was developing a headache.

“It seemed like the thing to do at the time,” Eglantine replied. She laughed ruefully and took the bolt of plaid from Pimpernel to take to the shop owner for cutting. “Go pick out a fabric for the underskirt and find a handkerchief and whatever trimmings you need, and do try to keep your voices down.”

“Yes, Mum,” Pimpernel said and weaved her way around the booths to join her sister.

To be continued...

GF 9/19/07

Part II

The first stage of Cedric’s plan was carried out by Ferdibrand, who had proved successful many times before at gathering intelligence in an inconspicuous manner. While Aidan went in search of more water, Everard went to change his shirt and Cedric flirted with Ember Took, Mora’s younger sister, Ferdibrand combed the tunnels of the Smials until he had his mark in sight.

He found Pippin emerging from the dining hall, his stomach no doubt full of elevenses, and hurried to catch up. As Pervinca’s brother, Pippin knew nearly as much about waging war with his sister as Everard did, though for very different reasons. The siblings did not get along very well and they were ever at odds, bickering at nearly every turn. While his friendship with Merry might have taught him many things, it was living with Pervinca that had taught Pippin how to survive, and having him on their side would be indispensable. However, Cedric and Everard had decided that attempting to directly enlist Pippin’s help would be fruitless. Pippin would never dare to go up against his sister in open battle, not since that Yule many years before when all his sisters had joined forces with Frodo Baggins to convince him and Merry that a ghost lived inside Bag End. While Pippin wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea of letting other lads have a go at Pervinca, neither would he willingly give them information. That was where Ferdibrand came in.

Ferdibrand followed Pippin until the dining hall was well behind them, to reduce the possibility of someone passing by and overhearing their conversation. When Pippin entered the tunnel that ran through the servants’ quarters on the way to the Thain’s study, Ferdibrand made his move. This tunnel was usually quiet this time of day, and considering what appeared to be Pippin’s destination, it was now or never.

“Pippin!” Ferdibrand called out, stopping the younger lad in his tracks.

“Hallo Ferdi,” Pippin greeted casually and waited for Ferdibrand to catch up. He looked behind the older lad, expecting the rest of his group to show up at any moment. “Where are the others?”

“Getting ready for an afternoon out,” Ferdibrand answered truthfully. “Are you doing anything this afternoon?” He already knew the answer to this question, having overheard the Thain’s plans from his own father at first breakfast that morning, so this line of questioning was a safe approach for getting the information he needed.

“Yes,” Pippin answered and began walking again as though this question had reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing. “I’m going with Da into Tookbank to observe him settle a farming dispute. It should be thrilling.” The dullness of his words, however, proved that Pippin thought this afternoon would be anything but thrilling.

“Sorry to hear it, friend,” Ferdibrand consoled, taking a few steps before stopping again. As Pippin was in no real hurry to get to where he was going, he allowed himself to stop also. “It’s really too bad you can’t send one of your sisters in your place.”

“That’s true for most days, but today I think I’d rather go with Da,” Pippin said, his voice growing even more dull and lifeless than before.

“Why is that?” Ferdibrand asked, glad this conversation was going so well.

“Because Mum and Vinca are in Tuckborough all day with Nell, arranging more wedding stuff. They’re getting the material for the wedding gown and doing a bunch of other things I couldn’t pay attention to long enough to listen,” Pippin informed most helpfully. “At least a farm dispute promises to be somewhat interesting. Someone could always lose their temper and start a brawl.”

“I see your point,” Ferdibrand said then shrugged. “Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come to the river with us, but I suppose you won’t be able to now. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask Da,” Pippin promised. “It will be Highday then, so I should be able to get away.”

“I’ll see you all at supper then?” Ferdibrand queried.

“With all the lovely new details of Nell’s wedding to make you nod off in your soup,” Pippin said, grinning now. He waved farewell to his friend and continued on his way. “Enjoy the river.”

“I hope there’s a brawl,” Ferdibrand called after him. He waited until Pippin was out of sight, then returned to the front of the Smials where he was to meet his friends in a sitting room.    

“Sapphire Banks,” Cedric greeted the young tween with a coy smile and flirtatious swagger. He had just had a very promising conversation with Ember and he had more hope now that his sadly drooping appearance was not such a bad thing after all. Sapphire paused so he could catch up with her and blushed crimson when he looked her over with an appreciative eye. “I must say, Sapphire, you are growing into a very becoming young lass. Tell me, who are you going with to the Harvest Moon Dance?”

“Just my parents,” Sapphire replied. She was after all only twenty-two and so was not yet permitted to court. She hugged herself shyly, never knowing how to act around Cedric. The other lads just teased her like her brothers did, but Cedric's teasing made her feel oddly flushed. She bit the inside of her cheek, aware of the lad's eyes on her as she searched for something clever to say. In the end, she could only think to say, “I’m saving some dances though.”

“Is that so? Well, you’ll want to save an entire set for me,” Cedric informed her.

Sapphire smiled politely before she continued on her way. She was late to meet her mother and sisters for their sewing circle. “I would like to, but Father said I’m not allowed to spend time with you.”

“You’re not?” Cedric said, not at all surprised nor particularly dismayed to hear this. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that then.” He winked mischievously.

Sapphire giggled, blushing deeper. “All right then,” she said uncertainly, then hurried up. “I’m sorry, but I’m late and Mother will be worrying.”

“I’ll see you around, lass,” Cedric called after her. She waved hastily before heading up the ramp to the second level.

Up ahead, Cedric saw Aidan waiting for him outside one of the sitting rooms. Aidan was watching him with narrowed eyes and a deep frown.

“Are they here?” Cedric asked when he reached the room.

Aidan nodded. “What were you talking to Sapphire about? She’s too young for your attentions.”

“We were just talking about the Harvest,” Cedric answered flippantly and went into the room where Everard and Ferdibrand were already waiting, lounging on the settee in front of the cold hearth. Cedric took the water skin from Ferdibrand and chugged half of it, then popped a scone in his mouth; after talking to Pippin, Ferdibrand had returned to the dining hall to get them a plate of much needed food.

When they had finished the food, Cedric looked over at Ferdibrand and said, “Well? What’d you find out?”

“She’ll be in town all day with her mother and sister doing wedding stuff,” Ferdibrand replied. “Pippin and Paladin are off to Tookbank to settle a farming dispute. They’ll all be back by supper.”

“That’s good news. Good work Ferdi,” Cedric praised. “That gives us plenty of time to prepare, if only we can be sure of when exactly they will return. We’ll need to position someone on the road from town to notify us the moment they get back. You or Aidan can take that post.”

“We shouldn’t spread our forces too thin,” Everard advised, “especially on such unnecessary surveillance. Paladin and Pippin should be back in only a few hours. Farming disputes never last that long once the Thain shows up to settle them. The lasses will make the most of their day and won’t be back until a half-hour before supper. They’ll want time for a quick wash and change of clothing before the meal.”

“How can you be so sure?” Cedric asked.

“I have two sisters and an older brother and I had to survive all of their weddings,” Everard answered, then grinned teasingly. “For someone who spends so much time wooing lasses, you might want to actually learn something about them.”

“I know plenty, Everard,” Cedric replied coolly. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

“You’ve never had any compliments either,” Aidan quipped and had to duck quickly to avoid a playful swat to the head.

“Continuing on, half-an-hour doesn’t give us much opportunity,” Cedric pointed out.

“Why don’t we wait until after supper?” Ferdibrand suggested. “Or better yet, why don’t we just go to the river? We could paddle around and cool down. We’ll be able to think much more clearly after some refreshment.” By this, he hoped his friend would abandon this reckless endeavor and allow them all to live one more day.

“We can go to the river after we figure out a way to get Pervinca where we want her,” Cedric replied, “and that’s behind the stables.”

“Why don’t we just ask her to meet us there?” Ferdibrand asked.

“Yes, because that will work,” Aidan said sardonically.

“We can have Pippin bring her,” Ferdibrand tried next.

“He’ll want to know why, and more importantly, she’ll want to know why,” Everard said. “Once she hears it’s us who want to talk to her, she’ll just think it’s me up to some trick and she won’t come.”

“We can send her an anonymous request,” Aidan suggested. “Or sign it by one of the lasses.”

“How do we get it to her without her knowing it was us?”

“We can’t,” Everard said. “The lasses wouldn’t send her a note out of nowhere, it would have to be something they had already discussed and they wouldn't give her such short notice. Besides, if they really needed to see her, they would simply wait until supper since it would be so close to mealtime anyway. Also, lasses stick together, so forget that option. If we send an anonymous note, she’s only going to get suspicious. Her first point of contact when trying to figure out who’s scheming against her is always Pippin, because he usually hears about such things before she does. She’ll figure out it was us and she won’t come.”

“How will she know it was us?” Aidan asked. “We haven’t told Pippin anything.”

“No, but when he tells her that Ferdi was asking questions about what everyone’s plans for the day were, she’ll know it was us,” Everard explained.

“So really, she’ll just think it was you,” Aidan amended. After all, none of the others had ever attempted to confront Pervinca before. There would be no reason for her to suspect them of having a hand in this nonsense scheme.

“Exactly,” Cedric said. “If she thinks it’s just Everard, then nothing will change. She needs to know that there are other chaps in the Smials who are willing to stand up to her also.”

“Why can’t we just talk to her outside her apartment?” Aidan asked next. “She is going to have to leave it to go to the dining hall.”

“There’s not enough room there and the Thain and Lady will more than likely interrupt us and want to know what is going on. We need to do this someplace we won’t be seen but that’s still relatively open so enough lads can come. Being forced to admit her misdeeds in front of so many people is the only thing that will humble her.”

Everard narrowed his eyes slightly at this. “I suppose,” he agreed, a somewhat restrained tone to his voice. Only Ferdibrand noticed this and he studied his best friend for a moment before addressing their leader again.

“I still think it would be best to let it go,” he argued. “She hasn’t done anything to any of us, after all. She told a tall-tale; she wouldn’t be the first to do that.”

“Is that what you think this is about?” Cedric said. “This has nothing to do with some tall-tale or even any of her pranks she used to pull all the time. This is about her attitude towards lads. She’s a fiend, a villain, and we cannot allow her to continue to intimidate us any longer. We are doing this; we just need to figure out how. I say we sneak into her room while no one’s there and take something of hers, something she’ll miss. Something she’ll do anything to get back.”

Aidan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at this suggestion. “You want us to steal from the Thain’s daughter? Are you mad?”

“We’re not stealing anything,” Cedric replied. “We’ll give it right back, just as soon as she learns her lesson.”

“All right, so let’s say we take something,” Ferdibrand said. “How is that going to get her to the back of the stables?”

“How will she know we even have it, whatever ‘it’ is?” Aidan asked.

“We can send her a note telling her to meet us behind the stables,” Cedric said.

“We already agreed that wouldn’t work,” Everard reminded him.

“By itself, it wouldn’t, but if we tell her in the note that she has to meet us in order to get back what we took, that would work,” Cedric argued.

“No, it wouldn’t,” Everard retorted. “She’ll wait outside the dining hall until we get tired of waiting for her and come in to eat. As soon as she sees us, she’ll demand we give back whatever we took in exchange for her mercy for not telling the Thain that we broke into her room, and subsequently his apartment, and stole something.”

“What if we have someone else deliver the note for us. We can send one of the children,” Cedric suggested.

“You want to send children?” Ferdibrand asked, appalled.

“She won’t do anything to them, but they’ll just tell her it was us who sent them,” Everard pointed out.

“All right, then we’ll have the child give it to a post messenger to deliver as soon as she gets back,” Cedric amended.

“You’re getting rather complicated, don’t you think?” Ferdibrand asked.

“Why don’t we just leave the note on her bed when we take whatever it is we’re going to take,” Aidan suggested.

“That’s a good idea. Good thinking, Aidan,” Cedric agreed.

“It won’t work though,” Everard returned calmly.

“Why not?” Cedric asked, getting annoyed now.

“It’s too suspicious, she won’t come,” Everard said.

“Then what will she do?” Cedric asked hotly. “You know, Everard, you can help us actually plan this meeting instead of knocking down all of our suggestions.”

“Meeting? Is that what we’re planning?” Everard shot back. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks more like public humiliation. Remember what happened to the last lad who humiliated Pervinca in public? He ended up flat on his back with a broken nose. It’s still crooked to this day.”

“Which is precisely why we need to do this,” Cedric insisted. “She’ll continue to prowl the tunnels and hills of Great Smials, picking apart lads one by one, until someone puts her in her place. I, for one, thought you would embrace the opportunity for final victory.”

“Fine,” Everard relented. “This is how it will work then. We go into her room and take her sketchbook. We leave a note on her bed, telling her it was us who took it as payback for all our years of suffering. We don’t mention anything about a meeting or offer her the opportunity to get it back. That will dispel any notion that we’re trying to trap her, and she will come to us.”

Cedric laughed and leaned over to clap Everard on the shoulder. “That’s more like it!” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now it will just be a matter of ensuring that she finds us before supper. We’ll need accomplices.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Everard said. “You and Aidan can gather together whatever brave souls you can find and brief them on the meeting. Ferdi and I will retrieve the sketchbook and leave the note.”

The friends shook hands and separated in the tunnel to put their plan into motion.    

The novelty shop was empty of customers but for Eglantine, Pimpernel and Pervinca, a fact for which Eglantine was most grateful. After the stuffy, overcrowded fabric shop, it was a relief to be able to move freely. The stationer stood patiently behind his counter and let Eglantine and Pimpernel take their time looking over the many selections of stationery and invitation cards he had to offer. He assured them that any of the stationery designs could be made into cards if they wished it. Anything for the Tooks, he promised.

Pervinca had claimed sole possession of the basket containing the fabric for the dress upon entering the novelty shop, and she now sat with it at her feet as she doodled dress designs on the stationer’s sketching pad. Now that her part in the day’s activities was over, she was eager to return home and begin work on the dress, and didn’t care overly much about any of the arrangements that still needed to be made.

“Since your nuptials will be at Yule, most of the family will already be here,” Eglantine said, “but we’ll have to send out proper invitations all the same. Do you have your guest lists?”

Pimpernel nodded. “I have mine,” she said, producing a small scroll from her dress pocket. “Fendon should be bringing his later today. He wanted to look it over one more time. He keeps thinking he’s forgetting someone.”

“Do you have a rough count, Miss Pimpernel?” the stationer asked, coming out from behind his counter to take the scroll she held out for him. “And perhaps a draft of the invitation message?”

“Three hundred guests so far, but that should only come to about a hundred-and-forty invitations,” Pimpernel answered.

“Only?” the stationer repeated with a kind chuckle, his mind racing to calculate the amount of time it would take him to make and write that many invitation and reservation cards, and he still had all his other orders besides. “It is a good thing you have come so early then. You will be wanting them sent out a month in advance, as per usual?”

“Yes, of course,” Eglantine responded.

The stationer nodded his understanding and returned to his counter to look over the list. All the usual Tooks, Boffins, Bolgers, Chubbs, Bagginses, Bankses, and Brandybucks were on it. He imagined that Fendon’s list would cover all the rest and a few extra besides. On the back of the list was a draft of the invitation message, the standard form that nearly all the Tooks favored.

Eglantine and Pimpernel reached the end of one row and started up another. There were many lovely designs that they adored, and it was difficult for them to choose just one. “The simpler, the better,” Eglantine said and pointed to a plain parchment imprinted with an ivy border. “What do you think of this, dear? We can have the invitation on white parchment with gold lettering, and the reservation card in plain parchment with silver lettering.”

“That will work,” Pimpernel agreed, “but I like the holly border better. It will be Yule after all.”

“But is that what Fendon would want?” Pervinca asked, dispelling any illusion that she wasn’t paying attention. She looked up from her sketch and said smartly, “I think the invitation card should be on cream parchment, with cream envelopes and cream lettering. Fendon just loves cream.”

“I’m going to cream you!” Pimpernel threatened, shocking the poor little stationer with her outburst.

“Pimpernel! Pervinca! Behave like proper lasses!” Eglantine admonished, crimson rising in her face as she forced a smile for the stationer. “It’s been a long day,” she excused as she and Pimpernel approached the counter, her daughters now smiling too-prettily at each other.

The stationer chuckled again then winked, relaxing noticeably now that the shock of hearing such proper lasses speak so bluntly had worn off. “I’ve two lasses at home myself, Lady Eglantine,” he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. He took the parchment Pimpernel had picked out and nodded approvingly. “I’ll get started on a mock-up for you right away. Will you be able to come back on Mersday to look it over?”

“We’ll come after luncheon,” Eglantine said and they shook hands on it. “Come lasses, I think it is past time for some food.”

“But it’s not quite luncheon yet,” Pervinca said, scooping up her doodles and the basket to follow her mother and sister outside into the heat.

“I don’t care,” Eglantine said under her breath and waved good-bye over her shoulder as the door swung closed behind them. “Now I don’t know what has got into the two of you, but work it out later. For now, stop acting like a couple of tweens and stop embarrassing me.”

“Yes Mum,” Pimpernel and Pervinca promised and followed their mother through the market to The Wooly Ram Inn.    

The inn was full of afternoon shoppers wishing for a respite from the heat. Even with all the curtains and shutters closed, the inn was only slightly cooler than outside. This unfortunate fact was remedied by pitchers of the Shire’s finest ale and plates piled high with fruit and bread. Eglantine led her daughters inside. Despite Pervinca’s protests, they were not too early for luncheon and they could save a table and relax while they waited for Fendon and his mother to join them after finishing at the tailor’s.

They chose a booth near the back of the inn, in the coolest corner they could find. The bar matron found them a few short moments later, pouring them ale before taking their orders. They ordered cold meat sandwiches and cold tea with a bowl of cut fruit, and planned out the rest of their day as they waited for their food to arrive.

“So what’s next?” Pervinca asked, wishing she had some more ink to continue working on her latest sketch.

“We need to go to Florist Largo’s in Tookbank to see what he can have grown for us by Yule,” Eglantine announced.

“Tookbank?” Pervinca repeated. “Why couldn’t Da do that then?”

“Because while we’re there, we need to stop at Azalea’s so you can pick up her Best Maid’s dress and begin the alterations on it,” Pimpernel reminded her sister. “She’s using a dress that once belonged to her grandmother and it will need to be taken in some.”

“If all it needs is taking in, I have plenty of time to do that later,” Pervinca said.

“You only say that because you’ve never seen her grandmother. Remember Lalia?” Pimpernel hinted.

“Pimpernel,” Eglantine said in a warning tone as the bar matron brought them their tea.

“Lalia?” Pervinca said with indignation. They tried not to mention the former matriarch of the Tooks if it could be helped, but it did give her some idea of what she would be dealing with. “It’d be easier just to make a new dress then!”

“Pervinca,” Eglantine warned.

“Well it’s true,” Pervinca went on. “Why, if the doors of the Smials weren’t round, Lalia wouldn’t have even been able to fit through them! Which, looking back, probably would have been better for her.”

“Pervinca Took!” Eglantine chided as the bar matron curtsied, her face bowed to hide her laughter. When the bar matron was gone, Eglantine leaned across the table. “Watch your tongue, young miss.”

“My tongue’s in my head where it’s always been,” Pervinca replied, somewhat sourly. “Did I say anything that wasn’t true?”

“You are old enough to know better than to express every thought that pops into your head,” Eglantine said in a hushed whisper. “If you must speak the truth, then at least be tactful about it.”

“Being tactful is just a nice way of lying,” Pervinca said. “You taught me to always be honest.”

“I also taught you to be polite,” Eglantine said. “I cannot fathom how you learned the one lesson and completely forgot the other.”

“I’m polite to those who deserve it, Mother, and Lalia doesn’t count among those,” Pervinca replied stubbornly.

“Everyone deserves politeness, Pervinca,” Eglantine said.

“Everyone? Even the lads who make living in the Smials a waking nightmare?” Pervinca said.

“Yes, even them,” Eglantine said. “You value honesty so much, then you listen to this. If anyone is impolite to you, it is only because you are so combative. Lads play at pranks, it’s what they do, and most lasses know to ignore them. You’re the one who has created this waking nightmare, if anyone has. The lads do something and you have to push back, and push them you do. If you aren’t careful, you’re going to end up old and alone, without ever knowing love. Is that what you want?”

The responding silence was louder than any words spoken thus far. Pervinca looked at her mother with a mixture of resentment, defiance and pain. She swallowed hard and clenched her jaw, willing the tears not to form. “Yes,” she replied at last, her voice small but scathing. “Why is it up to me to be polite and nice even when they’re not? Why does no one expect them to behave themselves? They can put snakes in my bed and glue in my shampoo, but I can’t do anything to get back at them because I’m a lass?”

“Everard would never have done such things to you if you had only let it go after the first time,” Eglantine persisted, more gently. “Your father dealt him a rather fitting punishment for putting that compost in your flower bowl. You should have been satisfied with that, and it would have ended there. But no. You just had to get back at him, and now look at where you are.”

“You don’t understand the lads these days. All they care about is winning, being the best, and the lass on their arm is the prize. Look at Cedric, that dreadful lad! He wanted to flaunt me about the Spring Fest, make a spectacle of me just to add another notch to his belt, and they were encouraging him. They don’t care what anyone else thinks or feels, so why should I?” Pervinca shot back.

“Lads can be obnoxious,” Pimpernel admitted, “especially when they’re younger, but they grow out of it. Is Da like that? Uncle Saradoc? Fendon?”

“Fendon fell face first into Aunt Heather’s bodice, in case you forgot,” Pervinca said.

“That wasn’t his fault,” Pimpernel defended. “If Pippin hadn’t shot that marble at the back of his head, he wouldn’t have lost his footing. He’s lucky he didn’t suffer a concussion! It’s bad enough he nearly suffocated in Aunt Heather’s bosom.”

Eglantine hid her face in her hands. She was either crying or laughing, or possibly doing both.

“And look at Pippin for that matter,” Pimpernel continued. “He’s not nearly as bad now as he used to be. Even Pearl’s husband, who used to be even more of a rascal than Pippin ever was, has tamed down greatly over the years. He’s a perfectly respectable fellow now. You can trust them, Vinca. Just try to be more accommodating and they’ll come around.”

“Trust them? Be accommodating?” Pervinca said dubiously. “I tried that once, and all it got me was-” She broke off, unable to continue.

“All it got you was what?” Eglantine asked, recovering from her embarrassment and indignation instantly. She heard a tone in her daughter’s voice that she had never heard before and she sensed there was some secret here that Pervinca had never told her. “What is it, dear?”

Pervinca stirred sugar into her tea, seeing again Odo Hornblower’s pompous, sneering face. She had been sweet to him all day and that had been her reward for her efforts, his mean, careless words of rejection spoken in front of nearly all the lads of Tookland, who then pointed and laughed at her for acting so silly, for acting so much like a lass.

She tapped her spoon on her teacup and shrugged. “Glue in my shampoo, remember?” she said stiffly. She sipped her tea resolutely and made a point of not looking them in the eyes. “Lads can’t be trusted, at least not any of the ones I know. This new crop of lads look unlikely to ever mature into harvest.”

“They’ll make it there, Vinca, you just need to be patient,” Pimpernel said gently. “One thing I know for certain: they’ll mature faster with kindness than they will with negligence. Then who knows? One of them might just surprise you.”

“Not all surprises are nice,” Pervinca said, silently cursing herself as she heard the strain in her voice. The tears were threatening to form again. She took another gulp of her tea, forcing it past the lump in her throat and hoping to give herself time to compose herself.

Eglantine and Pimpernel shared a perplexed glance. Neither of them knew where this sudden turn of mood was coming from, but before they could wheedle further for details, relief appeared in the form of Fendon Burrows and his mother. He respectfully pecked Pimpernel on her check and handed her a scroll containing his list of guests for her inspection, then pulled a chair out for his mother to sit.

Pervinca, for once in her life, was glad for a lad’s interruption since his presence meant that her mother and sister would not be able to keep prodding her, and she was allowed to collect herself without them scrutinizing her so closely. By the time Fendon greeted her, she was able to put on a convincing smile and happily poured him and Mistress Burrows some tea.  

Aidan was not having much luck convincing lads to voluntarily come to their deaths, but Cedric was doing much better. Every lad he talked to ended up agreeing whole-heartedly that something had to be done about Pervinca and promising to come to the stables at half-past five. Cedric only gathered more momentum with each new recruit he signed up, so he didn’t understand Aidan’s complete lack of enthusiasm when they met in the sitting room an hour later.

“Everyone thinks this is a joke,” Aidan told him.

“Really?” Cedric said, frowning. “Then you must not have explained it very well. Every lad I talked to couldn’t wait to show up.”

“Really?” Aidan replied, more than a little surprised. “Then you must not have explained it very well. What did you tell them?”

“That anyone who was tired of being bossed around by Pervinca should come to the stables a half-hour before supper,” Cedric replied, flopping down onto a settee, stretching his legs and crossing his arms behind his head.

“I take it you forgot to mention that Pervinca would be there also?” Aidan guessed.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Cedric said, unconcerned.

“They’re going to find out, Ced,” Aidan argued. “I’ve been telling the lads the truth, and it’s only a matter of time before your lads hear the whole story.”

Cedric shrugged. “They gave me their word. They have to come now. Shouldn’t Everard and Ferdi be back already?”

“Maybe they stopped on the way to do some recruiting of their own,” Aidan suggested and sat in a stuffed chair to fret about the fiasco they were so recklessly heading towards.

“The more, the merrier,” Cedric said and ran his fingers through his curls yet again. He really couldn’t wait for this heat wave to be over and for the lasses to feel more adventurous again. The continual heat has made everyone lazy and the most any of the lasses wanted to do during such grueling days was talk, a shame when he thought of how close he had been to talking Garnet Banks into a special picnic tea in the secluded Woody End. That had been a week ago and he feared he would have to begin his wooing all over again.

Outside in the tunnels, Aidan’s worries were coming true. The lads he had spoken to were beginning to mingle with Cedric’s recruits. When the full story came to light, the recruits were much less eager. They had thought they were just going to talk strategy, but they never expected for anything to actually happen, especially not so soon. True, they all disliked Pervinca, but to do something like this was as near to a death wish as any of them wanted to come.

“Don’t you all remember what happened to Odo Hornblower?” one lad said, his eyes wide with fear. Several of the lads surrounding him reflexively covered their noses.

Another lad merely laughed. “You know, I think Cedric would look good with a broken nose,” he said. “He’s the one more likely to be put in his place if you ask me, and I for one will applaud Pervinca if she can manage it. Maybe then he’ll stop plowing through all the lasses in Tookland and leave a few for the rest of us.”

Everyone paused to consider this for a moment, then more of them broke into grins and laughter. “Let’s go over there after tea!” said another lad. “I want a good seat for this show!”

They all agreed wholeheartedly, now looking forward to the meeting. Cedric Briarmoore was about to meet his match!

To be continued...

GF 9/23/07

Part III

The Wooly Ram Inn provided the most delicious cold meat sandwiches of any inn in Tookland. Their food finally arrived, along with Fendon’s and Mistress Burrows’s, but the only one who seemed to notice the wait was Pervinca. She sat between her mother and sister, caught between two conversations. Eglantine and Mistress Burrows were talking about the suit that Fendon was being fitted for, while Fendon and Pimpernel simply enjoyed an opportunity to be silly and lovingly and overbearingly mushy.

Pervinca did her best not to notice as Pimpernel and Fendon made calf eyes at each other, looking for all the world as though nothing else existed but for the two of them. She was doing a good job of it until Fendon broke out of his trance long enough to offer to cut Pimpernel’s sandwich into smaller pieces, and Pimpernel actually let him.

Fendon made of show of cutting up the sandwich and when he was finished with Pimpernel’s, he did the same to his own. Once he was finished, his right hand disappeared under the table along with Pimpernel’s left hand, and they spent the rest of the meal eating one-handedly. Pervinca understood then. They were holding hands under the table to be discreet, and the way they would catch each other’s eyes and smile so sweetly was enough to twist at Pervinca’s gut. She wasn’t jealous, but she wasn’t happy either and she didn’t wish to linger as to why.

She averted her eyes and swallowed hard on her own sandwich, which now tasted oddly dry and bland, whereas a moment ago it had been a most delectable meal. Even the tea had lost some of its flavor. The love-struck couple wasn’t helping her appetite. Pervinca might be able to avert her eyes, but she couldn’t cover her ears.

“You look lovely today, Nelly,” Fendon said.

“I look awful. This heat,” Pimpernel protested.

“You’re glistening, like a dew-covered rose at daybreak,” Fendon said. Pimpernel giggled.

“You make a handsome portrait yourself, Fenny,” Pimpernel said. “You’re quite dapper.”

“If I look handsome it’s only because I’m with you,” Fendon replied.

“I love this shirt,” Pimpernel said, daring to run a finger along the collar, sending an involuntary shudder down Fendon’s spine. Pimpernel quickly pulled her hand away when Eglantine and Mistress Burrows pointedly cleared their throats.

“I know you do,” Fendon said. “That’s why I wore it, just for you.”

They smiled goofily at each other for several moments, their food forgotten. Eglantine cleared her throat again and turned to Mistress Burrows. “So you are satisfied with our tailor’s services?”

“Yes, quite pleased indeed,” Mistress Burrows replied. “The colors your daughter picked out for Fendon’s suit are most fetching on him. It’s not a combination I would have thought of, but then I’m not very imaginative when it comes to such things. I see you have the dress material.” She pointed at the basket that sat between Pervinca and Pimpernel.

“Yes we do,” Pimpernel said, coming out of her swoon to reach into the basket and pull out the length of plaid she had selected. She extended it to Fendon for him to feel. “I’m going to make you a scarf with this.”

Fendon’s eyes filled with appreciation for the plaid and he ran his free hand over it. “It’s so soft,” he said.

“I was going to make it into your wedding handkerchief, but we decided that white would be more traditional. Pervinca had this silly notion that the plaid would distract you from saying your vows,” Pimpernel finished with a laugh, but Fendon was too busy admiring the blend of moss green and champagne to listen. “Fendon?”

“Hm?” Fendon said and looked up. He smiled brightly. “I think this would look smart as a scarf, and maybe even a pair of gloves. Do you think you’ll have enough material?”

“I’m sure I can manage it,” Pimpernel promised as the matrons smiled knowingly. Pimpernel tucked the cloth back into the basket and whispered to her sister, “Do you always have to be right?”

“You should know the answer to that by now,” Pervinca replied, though without her usual crisp tones.

Pervinca had to sit next to the lovebirds for another half-hour. By the time they finished their meal and said their farewells to Fendon and his mother, she was a mixture of confused emotions she couldn’t begin to identify. She knew only that she wanted to go home and the thought of having to spend the afternoon in Tookbank made her nearly want to scream and cry both. It was with much effort that she pasted on a cordial smile to say farewell to Fendon and Mistress Burrows.

Eglantine waited until their carriage was out of town on the road to Tookbank before attempting to make amends with her daughter. “Vinca dear,” she said gently, stroking her daughter’s hair as Pervinca resolutely stared out the carriage window. “I lost my temper earlier, and I shouldn’t have said those things. They weren’t true. There’s a lad out there for you somewhere, one who will appreciate you just as you are.”

“I don’t want a lad,” Pervinca spat back, with more force than she had intended. She blinked and dipped her head away from her mother’s hand. “They’re just trouble and I’m done with it.”

Eglantine let her hand drop onto her knee and she beseeched Pimpernel silently. Pimpernel just shook her head and mouthed ‘later’. The sisters would talk when the time was right, but any attempt to speak with Pervinca now would only rile her up more. Eglantine accepted this grudgingly and they sat in strained silence until they reached Tookbank.  

“Can we think about this Everard?” Ferdibrand asked as they entered Pervinca’s bedchamber. “We’re not just stealing from the Thain’s daughter, we’re stealing from Pervinca.”

“I know,” Everard said casually. He fumbled his way to the windows and opened the curtains to let in some light.

He and Ferdibrand took in the room with curious wonder. They weren’t exactly sure what they had been expecting to find when they came here, but lacy pillows and flowery bedclothes weren’t it. They would have been less surprised if they’d found an arsenal of crossbows and quivers of arrows she had made herself. A couple of old swords mounted on a plaque on the wall wouldn’t have been beyond consideration either, but the only things displayed on the walls were dried wreaths, a few of her choice landscapes, and sconces on either side of her bed. The linen chest at the foot of her bed was covered with a lace shawl and sitting on the center of the chest, leaning against the bed, was her old stuffed cow that she used to carry with her everywhere in Whitwell. The furniture itself was the usual fare: the bed, an end table, a desk, a wardrobe, the linen chest. In the corner were also a small drawing table and a dressmaker’s dummy, bare and ready for Pimpernel’s wedding dress.

Ferdibrand, who had no sisters and had never been in a lass’s room before, continued to look around with interest, but Everard might as well have been standing in one of his sisters’ bedchambers. He was somewhat disappointed. He had been in Pervinca’s bedchamber many times while the family still lived at Whitwell and he had always assumed at the time that the feminine decorations were the result of her sisters’ influences. He had never guessed, whilst pushing aside the bedclothes to hide a garden snake in the bed or sprinkling manure in the bowl of potpourri under her window, that Pervinca might actually have liked the things in her room. Now he picked up the stuffed cow and wondered if it had a name; he had never bothered to ask before.

“Why did you agree to this, Everard?” Ferdibrand said, breaking into his friend’s thoughts. “This plan to put Vinca into her place… I agree that she’s a pain, but what Ced has in mind is just cruel. Even you wouldn’t stoop that low.”

“Apparently I would. Just look for the sketchbook,” Everard said. He put the cow back on the linen chest and scanned the desk, drawing table, end table and wardrobe. He went to the drawing table and lifted the top to search the contents within.

“Why the sketchbook?” Ferdibrand asked. He opened a drawer in the desk and dug inside.

“She’ll want to draw a few designs, or look over the ones she’s already drawn, before supper,” Everard answered. He closed the drawing table and went to the end table. Inside, he found the sketchbook lying atop a book on quilt-making and a diary. “She has one of those too?” he said without thinking, staring at the diary with interest.

“One of what?” Ferdibrand asked, looking up from his search of the desk drawer.

Everard shook his head and held up the sketchbook. “Found it,” he said and closed the drawer. A lass’s diary was strictly off-limits, no matter how curious he might be.

He sat on the bed out of habit, then thought better of it and moved to the drawing table, sitting on the little stool there with his back resting against the table. Ferdibrand abandoned the desk to stand behind Everard as he flipped through the sketchbook. Many of the sheets were filled from corner to corner with variations of a single design, notes scribbled in Pervinca’s light hand next to each one: types of fabrics, colors, stitch counts, measurements, and so on.

The rest of the sheets were drawings of flowers and trees in bloom, children playing, mothers feeding bairns, fathers and sons fishing, birds in flight, deer or rabbits rummaging in the woods, gaffers playing draughts and gammers sitting around a quilting circle. Most of the drawings were in black ink or coal, but a few had been touched with a painter’s brush, a hint of watercolor here and there to add emphasis and draw the eye to a particular detail: a mother’s admiring eyes for her child, the flowers clutched behind a little lad’s back as he stood shyly in front of a little lass, the smoke swirling from a gaffer’s pipe, the squirrels rooted in a bole. Only the sketches of the dresses were fully colored, and then only those that Everard figured she must have decided were worthy of making.

He flipped to a drawing that was fully colored and studied it more closely. The Whitwell house sat in the distance, at the end of its long dirt lane next to fields of corn. The sky was stormy and the dirt lane was muddied with puddles, but warm firelight spilled out of the windows. Everard imagined he could see the stalks of wheat swaying from a brutal wind. It was, in a word, exquisite. Pervinca must have worked long on this drawing and he saw in it a longing for a childhood home she would never know again. He studied it longer and eventually noticed a child’s face peering out from one of the darkened windows near the back of the smial. He looked at it closer, trying to determine who the child might be.

“Do you think that’s Pippin?” he asked Ferdibrand at long last.

When his question was answered by only silence, he looked up to find his friend deftly fingering the bust of the dressmaker’s dummy. The laugh escaped him before he could even attempt to stop it and Ferdibrand yanked his hand away as though he had been burned on a fire, his cheeks flushing crimson.

“What are you doing?” Everard managed to get out.

“Be quiet,” Ferdibrand replied meekly, the blush in his cheeks spreading to the rest of his face and down his neck. He hugged himself tightly, making sure that his hands were tucked away safely where they couldn’t embarrass him further. “Like you never did that,” he muttered.

Everard could only continue to laugh as tears of mirth streamed down his cheeks. He wanted to stop and reassure his friend, but it was five minutes before his laughter subsided enough to let him. He wiped at his eyes with his shirtsleeves and said through staggering chuckles, “I have, but never while anyone was in the room with me. Besides, that was years ago. Let me assure you, the real thing is much more agreeable to the touch.”

Ferdibrand stoutly ignored his embarrassment to study his friend with astonishment. “You never told me you’ve felt the real thing before.”

“I have courted my share of lasses over the years,” Everard reminded, then shrugged. “Believe it or not, lasses are just as eager to explore as lads are. They’re just much better about putting a stop to things before they go too far. They like to tease really.”

“So, how far have you gone?” Ferdibrand asked, forgetting his embarrassment entirely now in light of this new revelation. He had courted a couple of lasses himself, but he had never managed anything more than a few shy kisses at the end of the day.

“That would be telling,” Everard said. “Do I look like Cedric to you?”

“You’re a much more reliable source of information than Ced is,” Ferdibrand pointed out.

Everard had to admit that was true. “It was all very respectable,” he said at last. “Hands never strayed under clothing if that’s what you want to know, and no, I’m not giving any names.”

Ferdibrand nodded, knowing he wasn’t going to get anything else from his friend. He watched, his hands still clasped safely at his sides, as Everard flipped to the last used page in the sketchbook. Next to various sketches of what would eventually become Pimpernel’s wedding dress was a drawing of Pimpernel and Fendon sitting under a fir, enjoying a picnic. The only color was the red in the checkered picnic blanket and in the touches of blush on the couple’s cheeks as they stared across the picnic basket into each other’s eyes. More interesting than that, for Ferdibrand at least, was Everard’s mesmerized gaze as he studied the drawing and lightly fingered the line of the bole.

“See how she only uses red,” Everard said. “She does this often, using only a single color. It’s almost as if she’s setting the tone for the drawing. Red is for love. She could have used yellow, and then they would just be good friends, or grey in the sky and they might be disagreeing about something. And look here-” he flipped back to the lad with the flowers hidden behind his back “-yellow for the flowers and his breeches and the flowers on her dress, for innocence. She’s a rather exceptional artist, don’t you think?”

This time when he was answered by only silence, Everard looked up to find Ferdibrand smiling down at him with a goofy grin as he chuckled quietly under his breath.

“What?” Everard asked, completely perplexed by this odd behavior.

“Nothing,” Ferdibrand said, wiping the grin away with great effort. He only managed to succeed when he looked away from his friend entirely. “Are we almost done here?” he asked the flowery curtains. “Pippin and Paladin won't be back for a while yet, but I'd still like to leave as soon as possible.”

“Right,” Everard said, putting aside the mystery of what had come over his friend until business was taken care of. He tore a blank sheet from the back of the sketchbook and handed it to Ferdibrand. “Write the note.”

Ferdibrand risked a glance at his friend. “You still want to go through with this?” he asked.

“That’s why we’re here,” Everard said and shook the sheet at Ferdibrand. “What would be the point in taking her sketchbook if we don’t leave the note?”

“You know, we could leave the sketchbook and not write the note,” Ferdibrand pointed out, giving protest one last attempt. “Pervinca didn’t do anything this time. If she had provoked Cedric in some way, that would be more understandable, but she’ll be walking into a trap and you know it.”

“She can take of herself,” Everard replied. “Besides, Cedric is right. The empty vessels have been rattling louder than ever around here, and one less to deal with will be refreshing.”

“Why do I have to write the note?” Ferdibrand asked.

“Because she recognizes my handwriting,” Everard said.

“I thought she was supposed to know who left it though,” Ferdibrand reminded him.

“Just write it,” Everard demanded and Ferdibrand finally took the sheet.

Ferdibrand sat at the desk and wrote the note as Everard dictated it to him. When he finished, he poured sand from a little pouch over the note to soak up the wet ink, then shook the sand into the wastebasket next to the desk. He folded the note and handed it to Everard, who placed it in the end table where the sketchbook had previously been.

Outside in the tunnels, Ferdibrand began to head for the sitting room where they were to meet with Cedric and Aidan, but Everard stayed him with a hand to his shoulder. “Why don’t you go down to the river and wait for us there,” Everard said. “Your suggestion of a paddle is sounding most agreeable now. I’ll take the sketchbook to Cedric and bring them along.”

“That’s not what we planned,” Ferdibrand said.

“I’m altering the plan,” Everard said.

“Are you sure?” Ferdibrand asked. He was certain his friend was having a change of heart, and he was just as certain as to why, even if Everard remained clueless. The same silly smile from before crept over his face again.

“I’m sure. What are you smiling about?” Everard asked.

“Nothing,” Ferdibrand said.

“Then stop grinning,” Everard said, growing irritable. “What has come over you? Why don’t you stop by the healer’s on your way to the river? I think this heat has gone to your head.”

“All right,” Ferdibrand agreed with a chuckle and changed direction for one of the side doors that would take him outside into the stifling heat.

Everard waited until his friend was out of sight then turned up an adjoining tunnel that led to the middle of the Smials. He veered to the right when he came to a cross-section and headed up a ramp to the second level. He reached the quilting room after a couple of left turns and peered inside until he spotted the lass he wanted to talk to.

“Excuse me, lasses,” he said, making all the lasses and matrons look up. “Mora, can I talk to you for a moment? Garnet, Ember, Sapphire, you too.”

The lasses exchanged quizzical looks but stood up and joined Everard in the tunnel. “What’s the scheme, Everard?” Mora asked. She had spent enough time around her lad cousins to know what that gleam in their eyes meant.

“Can you spare me a half-hour?” Everard asked.

“That depends what else you’re wanting us to spare,” Mora replied with a teasing grin. She was older than the other lasses, just two years from her majority, and she wasn’t shy around the older lads as they were.

“I just need your time,” Everard assured.

A half-hour later, Everard made his way back to the sitting room. He found Cedric and Aidan inside, lounging on the furniture, their heads dropping as they dozed lightly. “Wake up, lads,” he said and closed the door loudly, making them jump out of their sleep. He threw the sketchbook on Cedric’s lap and Cedric forgot his crossness at his friend’s tardiness as he skimmed through the sketchbook.

“Good work, Everard,” Cedric praised through a yawn. “What took so long though? Where’s Ferdi?”

“We did have to look for the thing,” Everard said. “And Ferdi’s waiting for us at the river. Let’s go join him, shall we?”

Cedric tucked the sketchbook under his left arm and stood up. Aidan stood also, stretching out cramped limbs, and soon the friends were outside making their way over the hills to the river.  

The journey to Tookbank and back was dreadfully long. At Master Largo’s, the florist showed Eglantine and Pimpernel around his glasshouse to discuss what flowers would be available by Yule. Pervinca stayed near the door, sitting on a stool and staring out over the hills, fanning herself with the folded parchment of her newest sketch. Other than approving the floral arrangement her mother and sister finally selected, she said nothing the entire time they were there.

The day was approaching its close by the time they reached Azalea’s house. As such, they had no the time to sit and chat as they normally would have. Instead Eglantine and Pimpernel talked with Azalea of their busy day while Pervinca pinned Azalea’s dress where the alterations would need to be made. Pervinca made a point of being her usual terse and saucy self when she spoke, but everyone noticed that she was mostly quiet, concentrating on the dress as though it were the only thing in the room. She was the first one in the carriage when it was time to leave, and she maintained her silence all the way back to Great Smials.

They arrived home with just enough time for a quick wash and change of clothes before supper. Paladin and Pippin were home already, Paladin relaxing on the settee in the parlor as Pippin worked in his room on his notes of farming negotiations. Pervinca paused just long enough to peck her father on the cheek, then continued to the sanctity of her long-awaited room. She leaned against the door for a moment, sighing gratefully now that the day was done.

She pushed herself off the door and hung the Best Maid’s dress from the hook on the side of her wardrobe and sat the basket next to her drawing table. From her dress pocket she pulled out her half-finished sketch and spread it out on the table to study it. Other than the low neckline, there was nothing worth saving from this design.

She wanted to begin drawing a few final sketches before supper, but first she needed to wash. She joined her sister in the bathing room, and they shared the washbasin and mirror to clean the sweat from their skin and fix their hair.

Pimpernel looked at her sister in the mirror. “Are you all right, Vinca? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I thought you and Mum would enjoy a little peace,” Pervinca replied, with only half her usual sauce.

Now that she was home, she was no longer in the mood to pretend that everything was fine, but neither did she wish to speak about what had upset her: that her mother was right. She was doomed to end up old and alone. The lads of Tookland already knew her to be a spitfire and they wouldn’t allow her to change, wouldn’t accept her if she did. She knew it to be true, she had tried it once and it had failed miserably. She had convinced herself that she preferred things that way, that she didn’t want to marry and have children, that she didn’t need to understand why her sisters seemed to lose their heads as soon as they fell in love. That wasn’t her fate, and so long as no one pointed it out, she was glad to accept it.

“Peace is always nice, but I prefer to know what’s bothering you,” Pimpernel pressed gently.

“I’m just tired,” Pervinca said and managed a small smile. “Come to my room after supper and we can start putting together a final dress design.”

“All right, though if you are that tired, it can wait until morning,” Pimpernel said, hoping that maybe by that time, her sister would be more willing to talk.

“After supper will be fine. I don’t want to lose any time,” Pervinca said.

When Pervinca returned to her chamber, she went directly to her end table to retrieve her sketchbook. She wanted to look over the other designs she had made and go over her notes so she would be better prepared to accommodate her sister’s suggestions and wishes. She opened the drawer and blinked. She didn’t remember leaving any loose sheets lying in the drawer. She picked it up and her frowned deepened: her sketchbook was missing. Her mood did not improve as she read the note.

As compensation for our years of grief, your sketchbook now belongs to us. With regards, the Lads of Great Smials.

A white fury erupted from her very core and she tore out of her chamber and into her brother’s. Pippin looked up from his work just as Pervinca slapped the note on his desk. She pointed at it, seething with barely contained anger, her hand shaking.

Pippin read the letter then looked back at his sister. “What’s this?” he asked, nonplussed. He had seen his sister in a temper too many times to be alarmed by such behavior any longer.

“You tell me. Did you know about this?” Pervinca demanded.

“Of course I didn’t,” Pippin answered, somewhat offended that she would think he had anything to do with this.

“You must have talked to someone then,” she accused. “Someone knew I wouldn’t be here today.”

“I talked to lots of people,” Pippin replied, “and your plans weren’t exactly a secret.”

“Who did you talk to?” Pervinca asked.

“Sapphire, Garnet, The Aunts, a few servants, Reginard, Ferdi-”

“You talked to Ferdi?” Pervinca interrupted. “What did he want?”

“Nothing, just…” Pippin trailed off as he realized what had happened. He cringed apologetically and continued. “Er, he, um, wanted to know what everyone’s plans were and when we’d all be back.”

Pervinca grabbed the note and crumpled it into a ball, her face flushed red with wrath. “And where there’s Ferdi, there’s Everard,” she said. She threw the note in Pippin’s wastebasket with such force that it jumped back out. “This is why lads can’t be trusted.”

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Paladin attempted to stop her as she stomped through the parlor but she waved him off and was out the door before he could even ask what was wrong.

Pervinca went to the dining hall first, knowing that Everard and his friends often liked to arrive early for supper, especially on days when they’ve been up to no good. She entered the hall and scanned it a few times before accepting that her prey was nowhere to be seen. She did notice a few other young lads looking in her direction and whispering to each other behind their hands though. Her mind racing, she left the dining hall and waited just down the tunnel until she saw a pair of young tween lads by themselves making their way to the hall. She stepped in front of them, making them jump with surprise, and used all her height and fury to bear down on them until they were flattened into the curve of the wall.

“Where is Everard?” she demanded, all but snarling at them.

“We haven’t seen him,” the first lad replied meekly.

“I didn’t ask if you’ve seen him, I asked where he was,” she replied. “All you lads are whispering about something, so either you two start talking or I’m going to strip you of your breeches and toss you into the dining hall bare-arsed.”

The lads glanced at each other, weighing their odds of both of them overpowering her and getting away, and whether freedom now was worth hiding for the rest of their lives. Finally, the second lad gulped and pointed in the direction the main door. “They’re all waiting for you behind the stables. It was Cedric’s idea. They’re going to make you apologize for being so… so… um…”

“For being what?” Pervinca asked, narrowing her eyes menacingly.

“Well, this is what he said, not me, mind you. He said you were a shrew and that you needed to be humbled,” the second lad continued, his voice shaking now, along with the rest of him. Next to him, his friend looked back and forth between them, his eyes wide with fright. “When you promise to be nice to them, they’ll let you go.”

“Cedric?” Pervinca repeated, stunned. She cared about as much for him as he did for her, but she always gave him a wide berth. She couldn’t recall speaking to him at all, much less doing anything that would provoke such an action out of him. Well, she had refused to go to the Spring Fest with him, but that had been a joke anyway. “And Everard’s with them?”

“He’s supposed to be, but we just passed by there and we didn’t see him,” the first lad replied. “They said he came back here to see if you were back from town yet.”

“So he’s inside somewhere?” Pervinca said and stood back, much to the lads’ relief. “Who else was there?”

“Lots of chaps,” the second lad said. “They went to see you put Cedric in his place. They don’t like how he’s claiming all the lasses for himself.”

Now Pervinca was even more stunned, and she didn’t know quite what to make of this information. Cedric, for whatever reason, had set a trap for her, but the lads had gone not to help him but in the hopes that the trap would backfire. They had gone to root on Pervinca. Was she to be a heroine, or one of those trained ponies who performed tricks at the Free Fair for the crowd’s amusement? Were these lads just telling her this to throw her off-guard? Whatever the case, she knew she could not go outside to the stables, but how to get her sketchbook back?

She peered at the lads and leaned down again, putting her face mere inches away from theirs. “You go back there and tell Cedric that I better have my sketchbook back unharmed before the end of the night, or he won’t want to imagine what I might do to him.” It was the best threat she could make at the moment. She would have to think later of what she could do to get him back that will allow her to come away from it unscathed. She straightened and shooed the lads back towards the main door. “Go!” she commanded. “And if you see Everard, tell him I’m coming for him too.”

They ran off as swiftly as they could, grateful for escape. Pervinca watched them go, then followed after them more slowly. After looking out the main door to ensure they were heading for the stables, she continued up the front tunnel that led past the sitting rooms. She had no clear notion of where she was going, just that she wanted to hide somewhere and not come out until everyone had gone to bed. Could this day get any worse? She didn’t want to find out.

Knowing the sitting rooms would most likely be empty this time of day, she continued to the last room and entered it, closing the door behind her. She tucked herself into a chair in the darkest corner, curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes. A few blissful minutes of silence passed, then someone opened the door and leaned inside. She could only make out the intruder's outline.

“Per? Are you in here?” a soft whisper called to her and she didn’t have to look any closer to know who it was. Only one hobbit ever called her that.

“Ev,” she said and stood up, her hands clasped into fists at her sides. Her heart pounded in her throat and her whole body shook with rage. She crossed the gap between them in an instant, causing Everard to back quickly into the sitting room and behind the settee to keep a relatively safe distance between them. “What sort of game are you playing at?”

“I’m not,” he said and held up her sketchbook like a white flag. “I had Mora and the lasses make a fake and gave that one to Cedric after hiding yours in my room. I’m sorry, but I had to make him think I was going along with his plan.”

He held out the sketchbook to her and after many moments’ hesitation, she reached out and took it. She flipped through the pages and was relieved to find everything as it should be, no tears, creases or missing sheets. Grateful though she was to have it back, she was still angry that it had been taken in the first place, that Everard had gone into her room without permission, that Cedric had planned to trap her and humiliate her. She saw again the laughing faces and heard Odo’s spiteful teasing, then heard her mother deliver that dire warning, and to her horror tears threatened to spill over.

She hugged the sketchbook to herself and turned away so that Everard wouldn’t see her in her moment of weakness, but it was no good. Everard was well-versed in the behavior of lasses and had seen similar outbursts from his sisters more times than he could count. He took a step closer but knew better than to offer a pat on the shoulder or anything else that would involve contact, not just yet anyway.

“Are you all right, Per?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice hushed and harsh as she forced it from wavering. “You are a swine, you know that, Everard Took?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of sincerity. “But Cedric was determined.”

“Why?” Pervinca asked. “What did I do to him?”

“Nothing. He’s just being Cedric,” Everard said, keeping his voice calm and soothing as he had learned to do.

“He’s never done this to any other lass,” Pervinca said.

“Ferdi told us about that tall-tale you told to Pippin,” Everard elaborated. “About the exploding egg burning itself into some poor lad’s eye. He waged his campaign on that, weak as it was.”

“The egg story? That’s what this is about? Mum made that story up when Pippin was five so he wouldn’t waste all the eggs trying to fry them on rocks after one of the farmhands told him about it,” Pervinca explained. “She made up all sorts of stories like that to keep him out of trouble. Does he still believe them?”

“It was your mother?” Everard asked, perplexed by this revelation. “Apparently he does. But I don’t think that’s the real reason Cedric’s being a pest. I think he’s still upset that you didn’t go to the Spring Feast with him. He thinks that any proper lass should feel blessed to court him.”

Pervinca laughed at the absurdity of it all. This was too unbelievable to be real. One lad had punished her for acting like a lass, and another wanted to punish her for not acting like one. She simply couldn't win. She laughed until she couldn’t stop, and she didn't even notice when the laughter caused the tears to shake loose. Soon she was crying into Everard’s shoulder without even knowing how she came to be there.

“Look, it’s all taken care of,” Everard assured. “I told Mora what was going on and she’s going to gather up some of the lasses and confront Cedric. He’s under the notion that the lasses are here just to swoon over him. It’s far past time someone set him straight. I wouldn’t have involved you, but this was the perfect opportunity to turn the tables on him.”

“He’ll want payback,” Pervinca said.

“He’ll be angry with me, if he’s angry with anyone,” Everard assured. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at her tears. “Are you all right now?”

“Of course I’m not!” Pervinca said, anger taking over again. She pushed Everard away and glared up at him. “What are you getting from this? Who do you think you’re fooling? If you were going to con him, why you did need my sketchbook? Why did you need to go into my room. Why did you have to leave me that note?”

“I had to set the stage, you know how it is,” Everard explained. “I needed someone to see me take it, which Ferdi did. I needed for you to tear apart the Smials looking for us. I’m sure you found a few unsuspecting lads to send back to the stables with a message for Cedric, so he’ll know that everything was done as it was supposed to have been and that his brilliant plan still failed. I needed him to be somewhere where all the lads could hear the truth from the lasses, and the others lads will think that it was you who sent them. They'll leave you alone from here on out is my wager, and only Ced, Ferdi and Aidan will ever know the truth. I’m sorry I upset you, but I honestly didn’t think you’d be this upset. Did something happen today?”

“Why do you care?” Pervinca asked.

“I care. Just because we’re mortal enemies doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” Everard said and cautioned a lopsided grin.

Despite herself, Pervinca laughed. “It does mean that actually,” she said.

“Maybe so, but I’ve been through three weddings and I know what it’s like to watch your siblings moving on with their lives while you’re stuck at home with no prospects for your own future,” Everard said. “It can be a grueling time, so if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here.”

She laughed again and shook her head. “You are a surprise, Everard Took,” she said and held up the sketchbook. “Thank you for this. I appreciate it, I do. I’d appreciate it more if you leave me out of your pranks from here on out, and if you could find some way to avoid running into me anywhere ever again, that would be wonderful also.”

“Of course,” Everard promised, bowing gallantly. “And I liked your sketches, by the way. They’re really good.”

A small smile graced Pervinca’s face and she made as though to clasp his hand before she thought better of it. “Good night, Ev,” she said and left him standing alone in the middle of the sitting room, staring bewildered at the empty doorway. What had just happened?  

Cedric stood behind the stables, with a group of over thirty lads surrounding the pony paddock. Aidan was serving as lookout, peering around the side of the stables so he could alert them when Pervinca approached, but he was soon distracted by the appearance of two lads tearing up the hillside towards them, their faces white with fear. He followed them back to the paddock, abandoning his post so he could hear what could only be news for his leader. Sure enough, the lads ran right up to Cedric and stood there, panting and catching their breaths.

“She’s not coming,” the first lad managed after a few minutes. “Pervinca. She found out somehow.”

His friend nodded. “She cornered us, sent us back here,” he continued between pants. “She said, if she doesn’t get her sketchbook back, she’ll do something so horrible you’ll never see it coming.”

“I think you better give the sketchbook back,” the first lad finished sagely.

“Do you?” Cedric asked, tightening his first around the sketchbook in his hand. “And how did she find out?”

“Because she’s a lass, Ced, and we lasses stick together.” The feminine voice came from the direction of the abandoned post and Aidan knew he was going to hear words later for leaving it unguarded. All the lads looked up as Mora Took led a group of eleven lasses into the paddock. They lined up in front of Cedric and Mora handed him a vase. A single marble inside rattled noisily along the bottom as it exchanged hands.

“What’s this for?” Cedric asked her. “And what are you doing here?”

“You wanted peace and quiet, Cedric,” Mora replied, “but you failed to realize that you’re the one making all the noise. We’re here to set the record straight. You’ve courted every lass here, including myself. You’ve led the lads to believe that you managed to get under our skirts somehow. For some reason, you seem to think this would impress them, but it doesn’t. It just means one less lass available for them to court, and it means that us lasses have trouble finding a more worthy lad for our affections. Let it be known, Lads of Great Smials, that the farthest Cedric Briarmoore ever got with me was to braid my hair, and he fared even worse with the others.”

She waited for the lads to stop snickering at this revelation. “But, he told us you can do things with your tongue none of us could imagine,” a lad at the back said.

“True, I can tie cherry stems with my tongue. It’s a trick I learned from my brother,” she responded.

“Really?” the lad asked and was quickly stifled by his friends. Mora graciously ignored him.

“You have a gross disrespect for the lasses of Tookland, Cedric,” she said, “and we’re here to tell you that until you’ve learned to show us respect, we’ll have nothing more to do with you. For every considerate and selfless act you perform for a lass – and only the lasses will be able to report such acts to me – I will put one marble in this vase. When it’s full, the courtship ban will end.” She patted Cedric on his astonished face and took the vase back along with the sketchbook. “I’ll make sure this is returned to its rightful owner. Good night, lads.”

Mora and the lasses turned as one and exited the paddock to whoops of appreciation and gales of laughter directed at a horrified Cedric. The lads soon followed, their empty stomachs reminding them that it was suppertime. Ferdibrand and Aidan favored Cedric with sympathetic shrugs.

“Did you two know about this? Ferdi?” Cedric demanded.

They held their hands up. “No, we didn’t, we swear,” they insisted before leaving themselves.

Cedric watched them go and for a long time he stood alone in the empty paddock with not even his pride to keep him company. He would pay Everard for this treachery but that would have to wait. For now, he had more important things to worry about. A courtship ban. No lasses, no kisses or groping, no delighted giggles and shy, batting eyes, nothing until he could prove that he respected the lasses of Tookland. How long would that take, and more importantly, how would he ever survive?

The end

GF 9/27/07