Chapter 1. So it begins

The younger children were playing happily on the hearthrug while their mother bustled from cooking fire to table and back again. Estella sat upon the floor with them, glorying in the freedom conferred by boyish attire. No need to worry about getting her skirts dusty, or even tearing the delicate fabric her mother and grandmother preferred.

She pushed her small carven rabbit across the floor, squeaking mischief, to the little ones' delight. The naughty rabbit ate himself full from the farmer's garden, and had to go to bed with an aching tummy, a dose of camomile tea, and could only listen to his well-behaved sisters feasting on currant buns.

Freddy sat at table nursing a mug of tea, a thoughtful look on his face as he watched his nearly grown-up sister play the part of a much younger lad. She certainly seemed at ease. Memory stirred, then, of Frodo's visits to Budge Hall, sometimes with Merry at his side, and Estella dogging their footsteps... at least, until her grandmother decreed that she'd grown too old for such pursuits, and convinced their mother that Estella must exchange her shorter skirts for long, lace-trimmed dresses, and learn to sit and move gracefully, to converse with reserved elegance, to hold her hands just so and any number of other little constraints. He'd pitied her at first, her bright, blithe spirit confined like a pony chafing under a bearing rein, but he'd grown used to it, as she had. Or so he'd thought.

The older children spilled into the little smial, full of laughter and news. '...and then Scar said...'

Freddy shivered as he realized their casual references involved a pair of lurking ruffians, set to watch and worry at the hobbits living in the area. '...and we told them...'

'And they'll stay away, you think?' Rosemary said, her spoon arrested mid-stir, though she kept a light and playful tone as if she and the children were playing at a game.

A dangerous game, Freddy thought to himself.

'Oh yes!' the little lass laughed. 'They won't come near so long as they think Buckthorn is fevered!'

'We must be sure he plays his part,' Rosemary said, half to herself, but then she smiled and laid down her spoon. She crossed to the rocking chair and took up the shawl draped there, and then to the hearth to wrap a squirming little Buckthorn well. 'Now, now,' she said, 'should a ruffian look in the window, you'll be warmly covered. And...' she added, holding the little lad by the shoulders and stilling him with a serious look. 'Should Scar or Three-Fingers knock upon the door, what will you do?'

Buckthorn broke into a paroxysm of coughs, very convincing, and Rosemary nodded satisfaction. 'That'll drive them away quicker than midges in the Marish,' she said, and rose with a pat for the little lad's shoulder. 'Fine work, my lad. You'll find a little something extra in your pay packet, I'm sure...'

Freddy looked up at this, surprised, but Rosemary was smiling. In truth, it was something one of the gentry might say to a working hobbit, something that Hally had recounted at table more than once, imitating a pompous tone and shaking his head at the airs some of the gentry assumed, when a simple “thanks” would be enough. Freddy, being of the gentry, would likely miss the jest.

'Now you lads go out and fetch more wood for the fire!' Rosemary said. 'You too, Twig!'

Estella rose from the hearth, brushing at her clothes, only to be corrected. 'A boy wouldn't brush off the dust,' Rosemary said, staying Estella's hand. Pretending insult, she added, 'As if there's any dust on that hearth...!'

'I beg your pardon...' Estella began in her usual well-bred tones, but at Rosemary's stern look she blushed, and stammering a little, began again in lower tones. 'B-beg pardon, Mistress.'

'Better,' Rosemary said with a nod, then raised her voice. 'Now, Robin, the wood...!'

'Come along, Twig,' the oldest lad said, moving to the door. His mother had corrected him earlier, when he'd bowed to Estella out of habit as he took his leave. Hally had sent older son and daughter out, ostensibly to hunt for tender greens near the smial. Their real mission had been to run into some of the ruffians who infested the neighbourhood and drop the hint that their cousin Twig had come to visit, and seemed to have brought fever with him. Estella's not here, Rosemary had said as she stopped her eldest son mid-bow, laughing though her eyes were deadly serious. Remember? She was never here—she was but a dream in the night. Twig is here, come just as darkness was falling, and wouldn't he laugh to be thought a girl!

And so Freddy sat at table, nursing his tea, and said not a word as his sister went out with Robin to do boys' work. Poor boys' labour at that; Freddy hadn't lifted a hand in “honest labour” that he could remember, at least not while visiting his Bolger relatives, and certainly not at home where there were servants to do the work. He'd found visits to Bilbo in his earlier years, and to Frodo later, curiously refreshing. He'd felt a different hobbit altogether, having to turn his hand at carrying wood and water, laying the table, cooking a meal—and strangely restless, upon returning home and having to be idle whilst others worked.

But after Robin and Twig were well gone and the door closed after them, Freddy cleared his throat.

'Yes, cousin?' Rosemary said brightly.

'Why the play?' Freddy said. 'Ferdi's not even here yet, and Estella's only a “boy” while they travel through the occupied country. Once they reach the Tooks, she'll be herself again.' He shook his head, adding under his breath, 'I cannot believe you cut off all her hair for the journey... how she'll look, in a gown again, with her head shorn!'

'Too easy for hair tucked up under a cap to come tumbling down,' Rosemary said. 'And they'll be travelling near a week as it is.'

'A week!' Freddy said, startled.

Rosemary fixed him with a stern look. 'How long did it take you to make your way here from Bridgefields?' she said.

'I... well...' Freddy stammered, and then said, '...but there were ruffians about, and we must travel by dark!' He took a sip of his tea and added, 'It is but two days' walk to Tuckborough from here!' It had taken Frodo, Pippin and Sam two days to walk from Bag End to the Woody End, at the start of their journey. He wondered where they might be now, and Merry with them.

'Two days' walk, in good weather, with no ruffians about,' Rosemary said. 'And walking a straight line, not a round about way.'

'I...' Freddy said, but Rosemary wasn't done.

'Estella must be Twig, not merely play the part,' she said intently, sinking down on the opposite bench to stare into Freddy's eyes. 'Do you understand? They will likely encounter ruffians on their way, and the closer to the Tookland the thicker the rotters swarm.'

'I thought the Fox was adept at avoiding ruffians,' Freddy said, challenge in his tone.

Rosemary shook her head, but her gaze never left Freddy's. 'A hobbit travelling alone,' she said. 'A hobbit who knows the country as well as the fur on the back of his foot. Aye,' she said, a little of the Tookish lilt that she'd learnt to suppress showing through for a moment in her irritation. 'A hobbit who can scurry up a tree fast as a squirrel when he hears ruffians blundering towards him, or into a hollow log without so much as a rustle of leaves.' She shook her head again, and now she looked away, as if avoiding Freddy's gaze as much as she had commanded it a moment ago. 'Not encumbered by a lass unused to walking on anything but smooth floors, or anywhere wilder than a garden path.'

Freddy found himself holding his breath. He wondered if he could ever do the same as Ferdi was said to be doing, and on a regular basis. Playing “I hide and you seek me” with ruffians!

He let his breath out in a sigh. 'Of course,' he said. 'And it's for Estella's own good. For her protection...'

'Oh no,' Rosemary corrected him as she rose from her seat to tend to the bubbling stew. 'True, it will protect her, to be Twig so convincingly that no ruffian will suspect otherwise. But it's my own brother's safety I'm thinking of...'