Chapter 4. Thain: Day of Reckoning

 ‘So Peregrin finished all his chores, did he?’

At her father’s quiet words behind her, Pimpernel gasped and dropped the basketful of eggs she’d gathered thus far, which only compounded the trouble she was in.

 ‘Da, I...’ she began, and stopped.

Paladin’s face was more sorrowful than angry. ‘How many days is it now, you’ve finished his work for him?’ he said. She opened her mouth to answer, but he forestalled her. ‘How many weeks, lass?’ he said. ‘Months?’

 ‘It’s just...’ she said, and he shook his head.

 ‘I don’t want any more of your tales, lass,’ he said. ‘You’ve told your mum every day this week that Pip finished his work, and I had one of the hired hobbits watching out to see... you’ve been the one, curried the ponies, gathered the eggs, slopped the pigs and...’

 ‘I was just...’ Pimpernel said, and stopped.

 ‘You were just trying to spare me the grief of having a layabout for a son?’ Paladin said. ‘You were trying to spare your brother the consequences of my being grieved?’ His voice grew sharper as his indignation grew. ‘He’s not a little lad anymore, that you should listen to his wheedling ways, Nell. He’ll be a tween soon enough. He eats as if he were a tween already, but he’s hardly earning his keep, o no!’

Pimpernel hung her head as her eyes spilled over with tears. ‘I’m sorry, Da,’ she whispered. ‘I thought...’

 ‘The trouble is you didn’t think, lass,’ Paladin said, his tone softening involuntarily at the sight of his middle daughter’s tears. He shook his head. ‘We’ll talk more of this later,’ he said, and sighed. ‘Now, clean up the mess, and gather the rest of the eggs. I’ll see to the ponies and the pigs.’

Pimpernel nodded silently and turned away. She wished her da had taken her over his knee, or shouted, or stomped away—anger would be easier to face than sorrow. 

She could stand better before her father’s anger, meet it with determination on her own part, though either, the grief or the anger, seared her tender heart... She slowly cleaned up the mess of broken eggs, depositing the lot in the pigs’ trough, for they’d enjoy the treat, shells and all. She rinsed the basket clean and went on to gather the rest of the laying, returning to the house to meet her mother’s reproachful look. Eglantine and Pimpernel were rather more silent about their tasks that day than usual.

Paladin did not come on time to tea. His family sat at the tea table, waiting while the tea grew cool in its cosied pot and the piping hot scones lost some of their tender flakiness.

 ‘I don’t know what’s keeping your da,’ Eglantine said at last, twisting her serviette between her fingers. ‘Perhaps there’s been a mishap... Pip, would you...?’

At that moment they heard Paladin’s heavy tread in the hall, and he entered the sitting room. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘The work took longer today.’

Pimpernel looked up sharply and then fixed her eyes on her plate.

 ‘I’ll make a fresh pot,’ Eglantine said, jumping up, but Paladin waved her to her chair.

 ‘We’ll drink the tea as is,’ he said. ‘No need to waste it.’

 ‘Cold tea!’ Pippin exclaimed in disgust.

 ‘Might not be cold, had I not had to do your work as well as my own,’ his father said meaningfully.

 ‘My work?’ Pippin said, all innocence.

 ‘We might have called that look of yours “precious” at four, “sweet” at eight and “charming” at fifteen, but at nearly twenty it doesn’t suit you,’ Paladin said. ‘Your work,’ he added. ‘Currying the ponies, and slopping the pigs, aye, lad, the work you were assigned to do.’ He paused and swept the table with a glance. ‘Not Nell.’

 ‘You told?’ Pippin said to Nell, his tone infused with quantities of hurt and outrage calculated to make his sister wince, which she did.

 ‘She didn’t,’ Paladin said. ‘She’s been telling falsehoods to your mother and to me for I don’t know how long... what sort of crop are we raising here? A dreamer?’ He glared at Pervinca, who hurried through the necessary tasks of the day in order to steal away and bury her nose in a book. ‘A layabout?’ He glared at Pippin. ‘And what of your sister—telling falsehoods on your behalf?’ His voice was sharp at the last, and Nell pressed her serviette against her face with a sob and rose to leave the table. ‘Sit down!’ His voice cracked like a whip, and she sat.

 ‘It’s not her fault,’ Pippin said, abruptly reversing course to defend his sister.

 ‘I suppose it’s not her fault, completely, that we’re raising a litter as useless as any of those who proudly call themselves “Smials Tooks”,’ Paladin said.

 ‘Useless!’ Nell protested, emerging from her serviette. ‘But Pearl...’

 ‘Hobbits who sit about, eating and gossiping, looking down upon those whose honest work...’

 ‘And Isum!’ Pippin put in, naming Pearl’s husband. Isum did sit about, ‘twas true, but that was because of the injuries he’d sustained, coming between Thain Ferumbras and the charge of a wild boar. He still made himself useful, tutoring young Tooks.

 ‘...feeds and clothes them,’ Paladin continued, as if there had been no interruption.

 ‘And Ferdi!’ Nell said defiantly, naming the son of Paladin’s oldest friend Ferdinand Took who’d been more of a brother than a cousin to her father. As close as Pippin was with his Merry, and more, for they’d grown up together and remained close after marriage and children and adult responsibilities separated them save a few months of the year when they had visited back and forth, for the rest of the year separated in distance but never in spirit. Ferdinand’s son Ferdibrand had always been close to Nell’s heart, even after the devastating fire had robbed him of family, fortune, and free expression.

Paladin looked at his middle daughter with more pity than anger. ‘Thain Ferumbras is kind to those unfortunates unable to care for themselves,’ he said. ‘Cripples and half-wits, he takes them in, gives them what work to do that they’re capable of doing, and if not capable he extends his charity to them, food and shelter.’

 ‘As is only right,’ Eglantine said softly, seeing the pain in her daughter’s face. For years they’d spoken in jest of joining the two families, well, only half in jest. Now, of course, it was out of the question. The fire had left Ferdinand bitter and bedridden, turning his face away from his oldest friend when Paladin visited. Ferdinand’s sweet, delicate wife had died the day of the fire, his son had been reduced to a lack-wit and his daughter had run away some months after and been disowned. It was all very unhobbity, and so spoken of only in whispers, accompanied by shaking of heads, in the same manner as the deaths of Frodo Baggins’ parents.

 ‘In any event, it’s going to stop, and stop now,’ Paladin said.

 ‘Yes, Da,’ Nell and Pippin said together. Paladin smiled thinly. He’d received such assurances from his son on many occasions. This time, however...