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Thain  by Lindelea

Chapter 36. Thain: Nasty, Disturbing, Uncomfortable Things

High tea in the Great Room was not Pippin’s favourite meal.  Oh, the food was well enough, he supposed, a bit fancy for his taste, but plentiful at least, and he could take as much as he wanted of the variety of small, cleverly cut sandwiches, the tarts and biscuits and cakes, the fruit and the vegetables carved into elaborate shapes, nothing like what his mum served at home (good plain food, it was) or, for that matter, the old shepherd or Gladdy.

No, the uncomfortable part was that the weekly formal occasion followed dancing instruction, where he and the other tweens were paired off together, a different dancing partner each week, which meant putting on his best manners and putting up with no little foolishness. The lasses whose families lived in the Great Smials, along with those from  the first families of Tuckborough, were quite different from Pippin’s sisters and daughters of the farm families around Whitwell who were, in Pippin’s opinion, at least somewhat sensible. He was a long way from marrying, but it would be difficult to tell, considering the proprietary manner of some of his dance partners, and the flirtatiousness of others. In some ways, the rotation of partners was a relief, for none could seek to claim his affections (Affections! Hah! He was but twenty, and what did they think they were playing at?), but on the other hand, he regretted the occasional (Occasional? Rare might be a more fitting term!) sensible lass who moved on to another partner the following week.

High tea might not have been such a trial, if it had meant release from his enforced etiquette. But no, he had to escort his dance partner to their places at the high table (for of course, his place was beside the Thain), pull out her chair, seat her with appropriate ceremony, and at last take his own place. Then he must preside over the arduous chore of making sure she enjoyed her tea to the best of his ability, serving her from an unending procession of trays held by hovering servants, making sure that her cup was filled when the level dropped below half, and when he did have the chance to sip at his own cup, inevitably it would have cooled from the scalding, fresh-poured temperature he preferred.

It was a sore trial.

This day, however, early in September, was to be different, for when everyone was properly seated (lads and lasses included), Thain Ferumbras entered (as always, on the stroke of four, for his mother had prized punctuality), and an honoured guest walked at his side.

‘Frodo!’ Pippin cried, half starting up from his chair, only to subside at his partner’s wide-eyed stare and the polite snickering of other lasses sitting nearby, who’d hastily covered their merriment with their snowy serviettes.

Pippin fumed. Had he been at the farm, everyone would have stood up from their chairs to swarm around Frodo, to welcome him warmly, instead of staring and whispering and covering improprieties by standing to their feet to bow to the Thain as host of the festive meal.

Of course, Pippin must seat his partner once more, after the bow was over. Frodo had been seated at Ferumbras’ other side, making conversation difficult, for to talk to Frodo he’d have to turn away from his partner (not done) as well as talk over or around the Thain (definitely not done). The best he could do was to drop an occasional inane remark on the food or the weather, while keeping his ear tuned the other way, as best as he could manage, to hear the Thain’s conversation with Frodo.

Pippin’s partner this day was Persimmon, somewhat young and anxious as her mamma had instructed her to be witty as well as sweet, wide-eyed as well as interesting, memorable (in a good way) so that the young heir would be sure to seek her out at the next formal dance and actually ask to put his name on her card for a dance, or even (imagine it!) more than one. Truth be told, she was finding the conversation as difficult as Pippin was, for there was only so much one could say about the weather, and she had much rather eaten the food than conversed about it. Her bright, forced smile belied her dismal thoughts of her mother’s interrogation, certain to take place as soon as high tea was finished and Pippin escorted her to the door of her family’s apartments (unless of course her mother could find some reason to compel the poor lad to enter, sit down in their parlour, and endure still more polite conversation, which she rather doubted).

In the middle of these sad ruminations, she was suddenly heartened. Pippin had been talking, rather disjointedly and in a careless fashion, about the state of the crops in the fields, when suddenly he grinned. She didn’t know it, but he’d just heard Frodo ask Ferumbras if he (Pippin) might have a holiday the next day, and spend some time with Frodo, and the Thain had said yes!

She returned the grin with a hopeful smile of her own, and for some reason he took this as a sign to begin a real discourse, and none of this polite nonsense. ‘Have I told you,’ he said, putting down his teacup to signal to a servant that Persimmon’s cup needed freshening, ‘how I was able to fool my cousins, all of them, the older set as well as the younger, in a rousing game of Fox and Hounds?’

Though Persimmon had heard the story, with many embellishments, while in a gaggle of giggling lasses, she leaned forward with an eager look (after thanking him for his attention to the tea, of course), to say, ‘Why, no! How clever of you! Do tell all about it…!’

(Persimmon’s mother, sitting at one of the middle tables, exchanged a look of satisfaction with her neighbour. Her daughter really was getting on well with the young heir. Things certainly looked promising…)

Teatime over, Ferumbras arrested Pippin as he jumped up to pull out Persimmon’s chair, preparatory to offering his arm for the arduous journey to her family’s apartments. (Arduous, partly, because of all the gossip that would fly on the part of those who saw them, arm in arm, walking on the way. If they were serious, that would put one light on it – they had argued, perhaps – while if they were laughing, any number of things might be said about them, their state of mind, and their relationship, if any, even if there wasn’t one.)

‘Join us in my quarters, dear boy,’ he said, and with a glance to a wondering Persimmon (who did not quite know if the invitation extended to herself, and if it did, what her mother might say) he added, ‘as soon as you’ve discharged your obligations, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Pippin said with a bow, adding a wink and grin for Frodo who was looking amused, and somehow sympathetic at the same time. ‘If you please, Miss Persimmon…’

‘Master Peregrin,’ Persimmon replied, taking the hand he held out to her and rising as gracefully as she was able, though under the eye of the rich (and, if the Talk be believed, quite peculiar) Mr Baggins, she feared she might easily stumble and fall on her face. Her mamma would certainly be impressed at the company she was keeping this day: The Thain, his Heir, and the rich and much-talked-about head of the Baggins family. She only hoped she wouldn’t say or do anything stupid.

The tweens were the last to be dismissed, of course. All the diners in the room were finished eating the moment the Thain stood up from his chair, and put down their utensils if they were still eating, and folded their serviettes, and rose to go out of the room.  Some of the mums, those whose daughters had been paired off to advantage for the afternoon lessons and tea, hurried to their homes, that they might be ready to extend hospitality to a likely lad. Others lingered to talk, or meandered on their way, or (as the day was fine) made their way outside to enjoy the last of the lingering afternoon sunshine.

At last Isum gave the nod that released his students from the polite, forced conversations they must engage in, to pass the time while they waited for the majority of diners to clear the room. Pippin tucked Persimmon’s hand into the crook of his elbow and led her safely out of the room. She must have said something pleasing, though she didn’t know what, for he was animated and laughing as they walked down the corridor.

Of course Persimmon’s mum met them at the door herself, with a gracious invitation that Pippin come in and make himself at home, poor lad, for he must be missing his home, and they’d be so glad…

But Pippin demurred with the excuse that he was expected immediately by the Thain, to entertain his honoured guest, head of the Baggins family. Of course Persimmon’s mum had seen Frodo seated there at Ferumbras’ side, and could not offer more than a token protest.

‘It’s true, Mum,’ Persimmon said quickly, after the door closed behind him. ‘I heard the Thain say so, himself.’ Thus she neatly avoided any reproaches her mum might have, that she’d said or done something to chase the Heir away, that he wasn’t willing to “sit a spell” and enjoy some time with her family.

 Ah, but high tea was a trial and a bother.





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