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