51. A Strange Summons

The middle of September came and went, and Frodo’s friends began to ask if he would celebrate the birthdays as usual.

“I’ll wait for Bilbo’s return,” Frodo explained patiently. “We always celebrate together.”

And so September twenty-second passed with nothing more to mark it than a picnic supper shared with young Samwise, who couldn’t bear the thought of Frodo hiding away in Bag End on his birthday.

By October, speculation about Bilbo was running rampant in Hobbiton. There were those who began to believe Bilbo was not coming back; that his adventurous side had caught up with him and gotten him killed at last; or, even less kindly, that Mad Baggins was so mad he’d simply decided not to return.

Frodo ignored all such talk, although some things were harder to ignore than others. Bilbo had always been the subject of gossip, after all. And Frodo understood, as few hobbits could, that adventures were unpredictable. Bilbo might well be delayed weeks or even months longer than anticipated, unable to send word but perfectly alive and well. One just never knew with these things.

So Frodo wasn’t really worried about Bilbo’s well-being any more than he had been the first day of his uncle’s absence. He fully expected Bilbo to show up any time, exhausted but full of tales to tell, and ready to reproach Frodo for remaining at Bag End alone all this time.

As for the more farfetched type of gossip, Frodo knew perfectly well that Bilbo was not a madman. In his darker moments, though, he sometimes thought Bilbo might have other reasons not to return to the Shire. He knew his adoption had changed Bilbo’s way of life; Frodo suspected that had it not been for him, Bilbo would have left the Shire for good a long time ago. It didn’t take a wizard to see how Bilbo’s eyes shone with longing when he spoke of things he had seen in the outside world.

But Bilbo wouldn’t leave without telling Frodo, surely. Bilbo had been the only stable force in Frodo’s life for almost twenty years; being abandoned by him now was unthinkable.

So Frodo didn’t allow himself to think it. He went about his business, kept Bag End in good shape, and ignored the wagging tongues.

It was a cool, crisp morning in late October when Frodo was awakened by the door bell.

He threw back the covers with a groan and blearily pulled on his clothes. He was tempted to wonder why someone would disturb him so early, but as he’d been sleeping till elevenses lately, he suspected it really wasn’t as early as it felt.

The round front door opened to reveal a stout young hobbit Frodo did not know.

“Mr. Frodo Baggins?”

Frodo nodded, and the visitor drew an official-looking envelope from his satchel.

“I have a summons for you, from Filibert Bolger.”

Frodo accepted the envelope and went back inside. He opened it in Bilbo’s study and read the contents, frowning. Filibert Bolger was the mayor’s local representative; he attended to matters of government in Hobbiton. But what could he want with Frodo?

The following morning, when Frodo walked into town and presented himself at Filibert’s office as requested, he received his first hint that something wasn’t right: Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins were there, too.

“Frodo, darling!” Lobelia exclaimed, rising from a long wooden bench where she had been waiting with her husband. To Frodo’s horror, she reached out for him and planted a resounding kiss on his cheek.

Otho did not rise, and his disinterested gaze swept over Frodo only briefly before returning to the window.

“Otho,” Lobelia prompted, an edge to her voice.

Otho rolled his eyes skyward, but plastered a pained smile on his bony face and said, “Good to see you, lad.” It almost sounded natural, too.

Neither of them seemed to care that Frodo didn’t respond.

“Ah, excellent, you’re all here,” said a nervous-looking hobbit Frodo hadn’t noticed in the doorway. “Mr. Baggins, I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Filibert Bolger. I imagine you must be wondering what this is about.”

Frodo nodded in agreement, although he did know what this was about, at least to some degree. Since Lobelia was involved, he knew it was about something he would not like at all.

The three of them followed the official into his cramped little office. The nervous way Filibert kept clasping his hands gave Frodo a feeling of great unease.

“It has been brought to my attention,” Filibert began without preamble, “that you, Mr. Baggins, despite being only twenty-nine, have been living alone for nearly two months, with no guardian responsible for you.”

Frodo stared. The feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong intensified.  “I’ve just turned thirty,” he said shortly.

“Yes, of course, I apologize.  Be that as it may, you are still several years underage,” Filibert cleared his throat nervously and went on. “Naturally, it is of some concern to hear of a tween without a guardian to look after him. I’ve no doubt you are a very responsible young fellow,” the jumpy official hastened to add, “but really, this can’t be allowed to go on indefinitely.”

Frodo drew himself up and said very carefully, “I thank you for your concern, Mr. Bolger, but it is not necessary. My guardian will be back at any time.”

“Yes, that may be, yes,” Filibert said, not meeting Frodo’s gaze. “But the question remains, what of the interim? Now your cousins here,” Filibert motioned to Otho and Lobelia, both of whom were watching Frodo very intently, “have been deeply concerned about your situation, and have filed a petition, which I have, ah, granted.”

A weight settled in Frodo’s stomach. “What petition?” he made himself ask calmly.

Filibert coughed. “For me to, ah, examine the will of Mr. Bilbo Baggins, and make suitable arrangements for your guardianship and for, ah, Bilbo’s possessions.”

Frodo jumped to his feet. “You can’t do that,” he said indignantly. “Bilbo is coming back!”

“Of course, of course,” Filibert said soothingly. He seemed a little less jumpy now that he had delivered his news. “And when he returns, you can be sure he’ll arrange things the way he wants them. But in the meantime, I have to look out for your welfare, don’t you see?”

“And the welfare of Bag End?” Frodo asked shrewdly, his brows drawing together.

Lobelia scowled. “You see? No manners at all. Total lack of upbringing—”

Otho elbowed his wife in the ribs and shook his head very slightly, and Lobelia subsided.

Frodo looked at them, puzzled. He hardly knew Otho, but this behaviour seemed quite uncharacteristic. “I don’t see why you want my uncle’s will read anyway, Lobelia,” the tween said at last. “I know it says Bag End is to go to me; Bilbo said so.”

Lobelia’s expression turned suddenly triumphant, and Filibert cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well... about that. I’m afraid the only will I’ve been able to find, ah, pre-dates your adoption. It clearly states that Bag End is to be inherited by Otho Sackville-Baggins, or if he has already... passed, by his son Lotho.”

“I beg your pardon.” Frodo didn’t know what to say, but he was beginning to get the horrible feeling that he had been outmanoeuvred before he’d even received the summons. “There must be some mistake. I know Bilbo made another will.”

“Well, yes, it seems likely he did,” Filibert said mildly. “But until a copy comes to light, or you can find four of the original seven witnesses to attest to its contents, I have no choice but to regard the earlier will as Bilbo’s last wishes.”

“Bilbo isn’t dead!” Frodo could feel the last vestiges of his control slipping away. “You can’t give them Bag End; he wouldn’t want that!” Frodo made himself take a deep breath and swallow the threatening tears. How could they do this to him, and to Bilbo? “What happened to Bilbo’s later will?” the tween said more calmly. “It should be filed at the mayor’s office at the very least, and surely Bilbo’s attorney has a copy, or at least recorded who the seven witnesses were.”

Filibert shifted in his seat. “Of course, these are reasonable questions, and I am happy to answer them. Unfortunately, a recent fire at the mayor’s office destroyed a good number of the documents. If Bilbo had a will there, it isn’t there now.”

“And the attorney?” Frodo asked sharply.

“Ah, yes. Old Granto Cooper, I believe?”

Frodo nodded.

“I’m afraid he passed on over a year ago. I spoke to Granto’s assistant, but the lad couldn’t find any record of a will more recent than the one I’ve got. And no one knows who the witnesses to a later will might have been.” Filibert cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to try tracking them down yourself, of course. Just remember, you must find at least four whose memories agree on this point.”

“I will find them, then,” Frodo said firmly. He noticed uneasily that Lobelia’s smile had not gone away. If anything, it widened, as if in anticipation. How could he and Bilbo have so underestimated her cunning? She had seemingly anticipated every way he might get out of this, and she had seen to it that he had no shred of official documentation with which to refute her. She, or... Otho.

Frodo glanced at the white-haired hobbit regarding him calmly. He knew Lobelia was a little dim, but Otho was an unknown. If he possessed the same streak of shrewd callousness that Lotho did, he might have helped Lobelia arrange to have a fire set at the mayor’s office, and taken advantage of the attorney’s death to throw his records into confusion. Frodo swallowed nervously and looked away. He needed to think, and he didn’t like the way Otho was looking at him.

“That’s fine,” Filibert said dismissively. “Now, the will makes no provision for any dependents, which is to be expected, I suppose. As the main beneficiary of the will, I have decided to award guardianship of you to Otho.”

Frodo’s head snapped up. “You cannot be serious!” he exclaimed.

“Of course I can,” Filibert said. “Actually, it’s fairly standard; if no other arrangements are specified, the recipient of the deceased’s smial also assumes responsibility for any dependents, assuming the recipient is a respectable hobbit of good character, of course. Otho and Lobelia will take good care of you, I’m sure.”

Naturally, Bilbo had not specified any such thing in his earlier will, because he had not planned to have or adopt children.

“They despise me,” Frodo protested angrily. This surely had to be some sort of nightmare...

“Nonsense,” said Filibert. “I’ve spoken to plenty of folks who claim to have observed Lobelia here treating you with kindness and parental concern.”

“Outside the Green Dragon that day,” Frodo said as realization dawned.

Lobelia didn’t reply, but the self-satisfied smirks on both the Sackville-Bagginses faces was answer enough.

“I want to talk to the mayor,” Frodo said suddenly. He didn’t know Mayor Whitfoot at all, but he was generally thought to be a fair, sensible sort of hobbit. There had to be some way out of this preposterous situation.

“You may do that, certainly,” Filibert said pleasantly. “But he won’t tell you any different. What you must bear in mind, Frodo, is that even if I had a newer will in my hand right now, in which Bilbo left you Bag End, you’re simply too young to inherit it. I’d still have to appoint guardians of Bag End, and of you until you come of age.” Filibert smiled magnanimously. “But worry not. Otho and I have already discussed this, and as your new guardian, he has decided that it might be best for you to live with other relatives. Thus, if you prefer not to remain at Bag End, you can go to Buckland or even Tookland, provided your cousins there will agree to take custody.”

“I’m not leaving as long as these people are living in Bilbo’s home,” Frodo said stubbornly. He swallowed and looked away as he felt his eyes fill. He would not humiliate himself by allowing the S-B’s to see how upsetting it was to think of losing Bilbo’s home as well as Bilbo himself.

Lobelia and Otho didn’t look disappointed, as Frodo had assumed they would. In fact, they didn’t look surprised at all. If they had already known he wouldn’t simply leave, what was their plan?

Frodo automatically rose when Filibert did, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself for being so soundly outmanoeuvred by a couple of Sackville-Bagginses.

Filibert thanked them all for coming and saw them to the door.

“We’ll begin moving our things in tomorrow,” Otho said when they were outside. “You’d better not hide any treasure before we get there, or you’ll regret it.”

Frodo set his jaw under Otho’s threat. “You won’t get away with this. It’s only a matter of time before I find evidence of the later will, or Bilbo comes back.”

“We’ll see,” Lobelia said with a smile, and that frightened Frodo almost as much as Otho’s cold glare.

Frodo was too upset that day to figure out what to do. He had some vague idea of going to see the assistant of Bilbo’s late attorney, and sending off letters to Saradoc and Paladin. Frodo suspected they and their wives might have been witnesses to Bilbo’s second will, in which case he already had the four witnesses he needed. But something told him the Sackville-Bagginses would not have gone forward with their petition if finding witnesses would be so easy; they would know Saradoc and Paladin would be the first people Frodo would ask. But his Buckland and Tookland cousins were a starting point; perhaps they knew who the other witnesses had been.

But he couldn’t forget that the S-B’s were moving in tomorrow—what a dreadful thought. He knew they would do their utmost to torment him, and the only thought in his head right now was to safeguard the things they truly could use to hurt him. Bilbo’s book, for example, and his beautiful maps.

Contrary to popular belief, Bilbo didn’t have any hidden treasure of the sort Otho was no doubt thinking. Most of Bilbo’s wealth had long ago been converted to land, investments, and of course improvements to Bag End itself. It wasn’t as though Bilbo kept piles of jewels just lying around.

But Frodo searched Bag End top to bottom, setting aside the books, papers, and trinkets he knew were especially important to Bilbo. The old hobbit would want them all kept safe for his return, Frodo was certain. Bilbo would turn the S-B’s out of his smial the second he got home, of course, but if Lobelia took it into her head to destroy any of his irreplaceable possessions, Frodo would never forgive himself for not preventing it.

The contents of a tiny drawer in Bilbo’s desk gave Frodo pause; he had found Bilbo’s magic ring. The tween picked it up and held it, hesitating. He knew how fond Bilbo was of this little ring, but so far he had avoided taking anything of monetary value. Considering where he planned to hide these things, he’d thought it best not to risk Otho’s wrath. It was one thing to risk his own neck, but good, kind hobbits who had already done more than enough for him...

Frodo put the ring back and shut the drawer. Even if one of them found it and stole it, they wouldn’t destroy something potentially valuable. Bilbo could probably get it back later without too much trouble, Frodo decided.