Chapter 6. Thain: Midnight Whispers

Pippin went to bed without protest that night, though his father sent him off earlier than usual, promising an early arising. An early arising did not worry the tween.

He wondered, as he so often had, why parents put their children to bed early and then stayed up talking themselves. He had suspected for a long time that his parents put the little Tooks to bed when they themselves were weary, for Pippin was never sleepy when bedtime was announced. It was frustrating to lie awake, listening to the rise and fall of talk wafting down the corridor from the kitchen.

In his younger years, he’d have crept down to crouch outside the kitchen door, to listen to the talk, to wait for discovery and the inevitable reward—his mother would give him a biscuit or scone, escort him back to his bed, tuck him in firmly and sing softly until her own head began to nod. She’d jerk awake, pat the coverlet, tell her young son to stay abed, and go back to the kitchen where Paladin would pour her a fresh cup of tea and the conversation would recommence until the next interruption. Some evenings Pippin would manage three or even four biscuits before his parents banked the kitchen fire and sought their beds... and then the smial would be dark and quiet, and he’d lie long awake, recounting to himself one of Bilbo’s tales, or planning his next adventure with Merry.

 Now that he was a tween, of course, or nearly so, there were no rewards for interrupting his parents’ conversations; there were only scoldings, and his father’s muttered, “If you are not weary enough to find sleep, I’ll give you extra tasks on the morrow to tire you enough for sleep to catch up to you!” ...which usually meant, of course, that Pimpernel was falling asleep in her dinner, for Pippin so often was able to cajole his soft-hearted sister into taking on his extra load. No more of that for the nonce, it seemed.

He shifted in his bed, cradling his head in his hands with his elbows splayed out to either side on the pillow. He wondered what sort of unpleasant chore his father had thought up for him. Really, it would be nice to be a hobbit of the Great Smials. His father, being descended from the Old Took himself, was highly placed enough that Pippin would be no common labourer. No, his cousins were more likely to be taking lessons in shooting and riding and dancing and proper conduct. There were undoubtedly lessons in reading, writing and ciphering as well—but Pippin’s mother had taught such to himself and his sisters. Paladin insisted that his children should be able to figure and to write in a fair hand. In any event such lessons would be no hardship for Pip, who could write in a fair hand though he had to grit his teeth to do so. He’d rather dash it off and be done with it.

He gave an impatient kick that unsettled the bedcovers that his mother had neatly tucked around him as she put him to bed, as if he were but half a tween’s age... What was wrong with his parents, anyhow? His father expected him to work like a grown hobbit, and his mother cosseted him like a babe. How did all the stories get started, about tweens wandering about the Shire of their own sweet will, visiting relatives and larking about? None of his sisters had exhibited such behaviour, and things didn’t look promising for Pippin, though once or twice he’d heard cousin Frodo urging his father to loosen his fist... he’d wondered at the time, but now things seemed clearer, here in the dark, alone.

No light came from the kitchen; all was dark and quiet. While he’d been cogitating his parents had finished their talking and gone to bed. Pippin turned over, pounded his pillow into submission, pulled up his coverlet and sighed. Why did folk think they needed so much sleep, anyhow? He thought of visits to Buckland. The Brandybucks were so much more sensible, staying up well past Sun’s set, even to having midnight supper. His belly rumbled at the thought.

As quiet as a shadow he rose from his bed, walking on silent hobbit feet to his door to listen. He ought to be able to find something in the pantry, and then perhaps he’d be able to sleep. Hearing double snores from his parents’ room he grinned. It would be no trouble at all... but grin turned to frown as he turned his head to catch a whisper of noise. There, it came again, sharp intake of breath from his sisters’ room. And again, in ragged pattern that he recognised, finally, as weeping.

He turned his face from the pantry, half-inclined to call out to waken his mother, to let her know that Vinca was suffering a nightmare. Something arrested him, however, and he crept instead to his sisters’ room, pausing in the doorway to peer through the shadowy darkness lit only by the turned-down watchlamp.

Vinca was a lump in the bed, curled tight and turned away, but Nell... Pimpernel was sitting up, hugging her knees, her face buried. As Pippin watched, he saw her shudder, heard the catch of breath that was all to be heard of her silent sobbing.

He slipped into the room, sat gingerly beside Pimpernel, and carefully encircled his sister with his arms. She started, looking up and then burying her face once more, shaking her head to entreat him to go.

 ‘What is it, Nell?’ he whispered.

 ‘Go, before you waken Vinca,’ she said brokenly.

 ‘Not until you tell me,’ he said stubbornly. ‘If Vinca wakens, we’ll all be in trouble together.’

 ‘No,’ she murmured into her knees.

 ‘I’m sorry I got you into trouble,’ Pippin began, driven nearly frantic by Nell’s tears. He was ready to promise anything, if he could just make her stop.

 ‘It’s not that,’ Nell said, and she tried to push him away. ‘Go to bed.’ The silver sheen of tears glistened from her cheeks. Pippin picked up a corner of the bedsheet and wiped gently at his sister’s face.

 ‘What is it, then?’ he asked softly. ‘Come, Nell. We’ve always been able to share our secrets.’

He caught bits and pieces of what she murmured, though she’d buried her face once more, and he stiffened, sitting upright in righteous indignation.

 ‘Aloysius Bracegirdle?’ he hissed. ‘Has he been bothering you? Why, I’ll...’

Nell unburied her face to shush him. ‘No,’ she said at last when she’d calmed her brother. ‘It’s not like that! He came to speak to Father, to ask if he might walk out with me.’

 ‘Walk out with you!’ Pippin said. ‘You’re too young for that! Why, that old...’

 ‘I’m old enough to marry,’ Nell said defiantly, but then her shoulders slumped.

 ‘You want to marry that old windbag?’ Pippin said, incredulous.

 ‘Of course not!’ Nell said. ‘But he’s a prosperous farmer, and Da wants to see me comfortably placed. He’s only thinking of my good... but I told him I didn’t want to walk out with anyone at the moment, and he told me to take all the time I needed.’

 ‘Good for you,’ Pippin said stoutly. ‘You ought to have some choice in the matter, to my way of thinking.’ To his mystification, his sister began to weep again.

 ‘What is it, Nell?’ he said in the most persuasive tone he knew.

He patted and stroked her back gently, consoling and cajoling, until finally she whispered a broken, ‘Ferdi...’

 ‘Is that it?’ he said, sitting back in dismay. Thinking through the conversation at supper, he nodded slowly. ‘Of course,’ he said.

 ‘He’s not a lack-wit!’ Nell said into her knees.

 ‘Of course he’s not,’ Pippin said, ‘nor mute, for that matter. Why, I’ve heard him speak, and he made perfect sense. He just hasn’t got much to say is all.’

 ‘You’ve heard him speak?’ Nell said, raising her head to look searchingly into his face.

 ‘Aye, and on more than one occasion,’ Pippin said, nodding for emphasis, and tightening his hold on his sister. ‘He just doesn’t like to talk in front of other hobbits, you see, because he stammers, and he fears they’d tease him.’

 ‘Which they would, those Smials Tooks,’ Nell said, stiff with resentment.

 ‘Nell!’ Pippin remonstrated. ‘Not you, too! Pearl’s a Smials Took now, remember, as is Isum, and they’re as fair-spoken as the day is long in the summertime!’

Vinca stirred and the two whisperers froze. Then Nell’s arms went around Pippin, and she gave him a hug. ‘You almost give me hope, to hear that Ferdi’s mute by choice and not by nature,’ she said. ‘But you’d better take yourself off to bed before Vinca wakens.’ She blinked hard and wiped at her face. ‘Da’s convinced that Ferdi lost his wits the day of the fire and now is of no more use than a dried-up cow.’

 ‘He’s no more witless than I am,’ Pippin declared.

Nell gave him a push, forcing him off the bed. ‘Somehow I don’t find that reassuring,’ she said, but she gave him a watery smile in the semi-darkness.

He flashed her his best grin and took himself off to his own bed, forgetting the lure of the pantry, and this time he dropped off to sleep with no trouble at all.