52. In Search of Information

It was nearly midnight when Frodo sat down at last, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Every limb ached with exhaustion, but he had searched the entire smial for things to save. Frodo glanced down at the trunk beside him. He kicked the lid shut and turned the key, pocketing it.

It was much later than he’d expected, but perhaps it was better this way; there would be no one out at this hour to see him. He only hoped he would be forgiven for the unpardonably rude thing he was about to do.

Out in the garden, Frodo paused. The trunk was large enough to be unwieldy, but it wasn’t heavy; Bilbo’s own book, and some of his most precious Elvish books, maps, papers, and a few trinkets. Frodo didn’t dare risk anything more.

The night was quiet, and the moon was a mere sliver. No one would be watching at this hour, but the darkness was comforting anyway. Frodo made his way to the gate and down the path to Bagshot Row, walking softly and guided only by starlight. It was too dark to see the colour of the doors, but Frodo knew which one was yellow with a number 3 on it.

He had been afraid everyone would be asleep, but there was a faint light coming through a gap in the curtains over the single window. Frodo put the trunk down as quietly as he could; he didn’t want any neighbours coming to investigate. He knocked twice and waited.

For a moment Frodo feared he would have to knock louder, but then he heard the scrape of a chair leg. The curtain fluttered briefly as Halfred Gamgee’s surprised face peered at him through the window, and then the door opened.

“Can I come in?” Frodo asked in a near-whisper before Halfred could say anything. The other tween, a few months younger than Frodo, was known for his quick smiles and ready jokes, but one look at Frodo told him that something was gravely wrong.

Hal opened the door wider and motioned Frodo inside. Frodo set the trunk down on the floor of the Gamgee’s main room and closed the door behind him. He glanced nervously around and saw that Halfred apparently been sitting alone at the table, in his nightclothes.

“Just having a late night snack,” Hal explained awkwardly, motioning at the table.

Frodo nodded, shifting his weight. Now that the time had come, he felt as though drawing it out would somehow prevent what had happened today from becoming real. But this affected the Gamgees, too; aside from what he was about to ask of them, they would have a new employer as of tomorrow. Frodo wondered idly which would be worse: being a ward of the Sackville-Bagginses, or being employed by them?

“Are you all right?” Halfred asked softly.

Frodo looked away at the concern in the other’s voice, his throat suddenly tight.

“I do hate to ask this,” Frodo said, “but would you wake up your parents, please?”

Halfred’s eyes widened, but of course he knew Frodo wouldn’t ask such a thing without good reason. He nodded and disappeared into the back of the smial.

Frodo shifted uncomfortably but did not sit down; he didn’t want to impose any more than he already was.

“Mr. Frodo,” Bell said, pulling a robe over her nightclothes.

“Mrs. Gamgee, I am so sorry to wake you,” Frodo began, but she waved off his apology.

“Whatever is the matter, dear?” She was looking him over carefully, as though she expected to see some horrible wound gushing blood all over her kitchen floor.

Hamfast appeared behind her, followed by Halfred. The Gaffer’s eyes moved from the trunk on the floor to Frodo’s pale face. “Well, speak up, then,” he said.

Frodo swallowed; he was accustomed to the Gaffer’s abrupt manner, but in the present circumstances he couldn’t help thinking that Hamfast must be angry. He was likely to be angrier still once he heard what Frodo had to say.

But there was no turning back now, and Frodo told them everything. The meeting with Filibert Bolger, how the Sackville-Bagginses had anticipated his every protest, and finally, what was to happen tomorrow.

“And these are Master Bilbo’s things, which you want to hide in my house?” the Gaffer said, looking again at the trunk.

“Yes, sir,” Frodo confirmed.

No one said anything for a moment, and then Bell grasped the trunk by one of its handles, testing its weight.

“We could keep this well hidden in the pantry,” she said thoughtfully. “Behind the flour, if you follow me.”

“No.” Hamfast was shaking his head.

Frodo looked down. His desperation had led him to ask too much of the Gamgees...

“We’ll put it in the space under the bed,” the Gaffer finished.

Bell brightened. “Aye, that will do even better. Come along, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo lifted the trunk, waving off Halfred’s help, and followed Hamfast, wondering.

The Gaffer led him to one of the bedrooms, where he pushed the bed against the far wall. Frodo stood uneasily in the doorway until Bell came up behind him and nudged him gently inside. She went to her husband and handed him the hammer she’d fetched.

Hamfast nodded his thanks and turned the hammer around. To Frodo’s amazement, the old gardener began prying up floorboards where the bed had been.

When Hamfast sat back on his heels, it took a moment for Frodo to realize what he was seeing. The Gamgees apparently had a hollow space in the ground concealed by the floorboards under their bed. There wasn’t much in it but a few papers and a small sack.

Frodo felt awkward about having this secret revealed to him, but Bell and Halfred displayed no resentment. The tween never failed to be amazed by their trust in him.

As the Gaffer took the trunk from him and lowered it carefully into the hollow space, Frodo said, “I do apologize for imposing like this.”

“Nonsense,” Hamfast said gruffly. “You did right, bringin’ this here.” At Frodo’s look of surprise, he added, “We’ve long told ye to count on us for help in any circumstance. Did you not think we meant it?”

“Thank you,” Frodo said sincerely.

“Come, let’s go back to the kitchen and I’ll make some tea,” Bell said. “We’ll none of us feel like sleepin’ just yet, if you follow me. Leave the hammering for tomorrow, dear, or you’ll wake the little ones, not ta mention the neighbours,” she added to the Gaffer, who had just finished putting the floorboards back in place.

In the kitchen, Frodo sat at the table beside Halfred, who clearly had no desire to go back to bed at this point.

“I must ask ye, Mr. Frodo,” Hamfast broke the silence gravely, “will I still have a job tomorrow, do ye think?”

Frodo sighed and tried to smile. “Yes, I think you will, Mr. Gamgee. I feel certain that if Lobelia were planning to replace you, she would not have hesitated to tell me.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I imagine she would very much want to keep you on, actually; she won’t find anyone else with your experience to look after Bag End.”

Hamfast nodded once in simple acknowledgement as Bell poured the tea. “Well then, I reckon that just leaves you.”

“Me?”

“Aye,” Hamfast said. “What are ye going to do?”

“Do?” Frodo echoed stupidly. “Keep trying, of course. Tomorrow I shall visit the office of Bilbo’s attorney in Overhill, and I’ll begin searching for witnesses to the later will. I won’t let them get away with stealing Bilbo’s home!”

Bell and Hamfast exchanged looks.

“I know it’s not my place, Mr. Frodo, but you mustn’t stay here. Go to Buckland, and stay with Mr. Merry,” Hamfast said vehemently.

“I can’t, don’t you see?” Frodo had to make them understand. “If I leave, then the Sackville-Bagginses will have what they want.”

But Hamfast just shook his head. “What they want, lad, is for you to remain here so they can make ye miserable enough to go after Master Bilbo and never come back yourself. That’s the final part of their plan, you mark my words. Who’ll be left ta argue over Bag End then?”

Frodo’s mouth set in a determined line. “They won’t drive me off,” the tween said, and looked up to meet Hamfast’s gaze. “And Bilbo will come back.”

Hamfast measured the determination in the cerulean eyes, and sighed. “Be careful, young master,” he said at last, and hesitated. “That Filibert Bolger is Otho’s cousin, you know. Ye won’t find any official help without that will in your hand, or some very convincin’ witnesses, and that’s a fact.”

“Don’t call me that,” Frodo said stiffly. “Lobelia won’t like it,” he explained when the Gaffer looked at him questioningly. “Thank you for keeping Bilbo’s things. I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t come to grief over it.”

But Hamfast stopped Frodo with a cautious hand on his shoulder. This action alone was surprising enough to halt Frodo’s exit.

“Mr. Bilbo is the rightful master of Bag End, and if he truly is gone, then you are the master. Whatever title I must address ye by for now, Mr. Frodo, we here at least know the truth.”

Frodo started awake to hear birds twittering outside his window. And he had been certain he wouldn’t sleep a wink...

It was much earlier than Frodo usually woke, but of course today was no usual day. He couldn’t decide if he should go to Overhill and risk missing the arrival of Bag End’s new tenants, or wait here in hopes that they wouldn’t do anything too dreadful to the place if he was here to watch.

In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands; the Sackville-Bagginses arrived earlier than expected.

He had just finished dressing and was in the kitchen searching for breakfast when he heard a doorknob being rattled violently.

Frodo got to the foyer in time to hear Lobelia screech through the door, “Frodo Baggins, I know you’re in there!”

Frodo wondered how long it would take them to figure out the door was unlocked. He leaned against the wall and waited.

“Frodo Baggins!”

knock knock knock

“Open this door this instant!”

rattle rattle rattle

“Open this door or I’ll call the shirriffs on you, so help me!”

jiggle jiggle CREAK

Lobelia had finally turned the doorknob and the round green door obediently swung open.

“Hullo, cousins,” Frodo said.

Lobelia stormed up to him and grasped his arm so hard he was sure he’d have bruises.

“I’ll have no more impertinence out of you, do you understand me? This is our smial now, and you’d do well to remember that,” she snapped, shaking him a little.

“Yes, Lobelia,” Frodo said evenly. He knew perfectly well that arguing wouldn’t get him anywhere with this one. He jerked his arm out of her grasp and pushed past a smirking Lotho, snagging his cloak off its hook as he went.

He found Otho standing outside with Ted Sandyman, next to a fully loaded wagon.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Otho snapped as Frodo walked past him. “You’ve got to help with the unloading.”

Frodo didn’t slow down. “I’ll be back tonight,” he muttered. He didn’t think he could stand to be in their presence a moment longer; he might as well walk to Overhill right now, breakfast or no breakfast.

Frodo made it to Overhill by midmorning, having stopped in Hobbiton to buy a pastry to tide him over. It was hardly a proper breakfast by hobbit standards, but he had other things on his mind.

In Overhill, some inquiries led Frodo to a small office in one of the market buildings.

Painted on the half-open door were the words ‘Granto Cooper,’ and it looked as though someone had half-heartedly attempted to scratch it off. Frodo knocked lightly and stuck his head in.

“Hullo?” he called to the seemingly empty room.

“Ah—yes! I’m here,” a voice replied, and a dark curly head peeked out from behind a bookcase. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Granto’s assistant.”

“You’ve found him. Skip Rosso, at your service.”

Frodo found himself face to face with a hobbit only a few years older than himself. Skip seemed awkward but friendly as he explained that he was taking over Granto’s practice.

“I do remember Bilbo,” Skip said thoughtfully when Frodo had explained his errand. “And I remember distinctly that he made a second will—maybe eight years ago? I wasn’t working here then, but we changed our filing system about two years back, and I re-filed most of the wills, including Bilbo’s.”

“You remember the second will?” Frodo exclaimed in surprise. Filibert Bolger had led him to believe this would not be a simple task.

But Skip’s earnest face took on an expression of caution. “Well, I’ll look for it again, of course. But I feel I should warn you; someone broke in a few weeks ago and put a whole shelf in disarray; I’ve only just begun putting things to rights. Filibert Bolger was here a few days ago asking about Bilbo’s file, and I couldn’t find it then. If he’d told me how important it was, I would have looked harder, of course,” Skip added apologetically.

“That’s quite all right,” Frodo said. “Do you have time to look for it now? I should like to stay and help you, if possible.”

“Certainly,” Skip nodded. He led Frodo to the bookcase he had been hidden behind. Frodo was dismayed to see hundreds of pieces of parchment that had been neatly rolled and catalogued lying in disorder upon the floor.

“Was anything stolen?” Frodo asked thoughtfully.

“Oh, no,” Skip said. “The money in the desk wasn’t touched, and though I live right in back, the vandal never even went in there. Probably just some mischief-maker who had too much ale. Quite an inconvenience he caused, though.”

“Perhaps.”

Skip followed Frodo’s gaze to the mess on the floor. It took him a moment to catch on. “You think someone stole documents? Why, that would be dreadful!”

“Let’s find out then.”

They worked the rest of the morning and all afternoon. Skip offered to share his luncheon and, later, tea, with Frodo, for which the younger hobbit was exceedingly grateful.

It wasn’t until nearly suppertime that they finished.

“I can’t thank you enough for all your help, Frodo,” Skip said. “This would have taken me a week to do alone. And I’m dreadfully sorry about your cousin’s will.”

“You are more than welcome,” Frodo replied. It was the least he could do, as he was now convinced that his own relatives were responsible for this mess. They had sorted through the entire pile and put the documents they found back in their labelled envelopes.

An envelope with ‘Bilbo Baggins’ printed neatly across the front was found half-crumpled at the bottom of the pile, but it was empty. After sorting through all the loose papers, they found birth certificates, death certificates for members of Bilbo’s family, and even Frodo’s adoption papers, but none of these would allow Frodo to inherit Bag End in the face of that first will. They found absolutely nothing relating to the second will, and Skip’s incredible memory confirmed that no other documents were missing.

Frodo asked hopefully if Skip remembered who the witnesses to the second will had been, but the other hobbit shook his head.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t here at the time, as I said, and I didn’t look at anything other than Bilbo’s name when I saw it two years ago. Granto may have been a witness—he sometimes did that—but of course that doesn’t help you in the slightest.”

Skip persuaded Frodo to stay for supper as well, insisting he would be glad of the company. When it was dusk and Frodo knew he could stay no longer if he wanted to get back to Bag End tonight, Skip thought of one last piece of information to share.

“Bilbo came in a few years ago, on some other matter, but I remember something interesting that he said.”

“What did he say?” Frodo asked curiously, fastening the tie of his cloak.

“He mentioned ‘grabby relatives’ that he had to outsmart, and said he had hidden a third copy of his will somewhere they would never look.”

Frodo paused, thinking. He couldn’t imagine where Bilbo would have meant, unless it was hidden somewhere in Bag End. He could have buried it outside, Frodo supposed, but then he would risk some unsuspecting hobbit digging it up by accident. No, it must be in Bag End, even though Frodo had seen no trace of it in his search last night.

The tween smiled slightly. It seemed his next step was clear after all. “Thank you,” he said to Skip. “You have been very helpful, truly.”