54. Presumption and Prejudice

That night, Frodo waited in his room until he was sure the Sackville-Bagginses must be asleep, then he crept back to Bilbo's study. His aching jaw wouldn't let him sleep anyway, he reasoned. And the location of his bedroom had turned out to be convenient in the present circumstances; it allowed him access to a good portion of the smial without having to pass any occupied bedrooms.

Of course, the room Frodo most wanted to search was Bilbo's bedroom, but that was out of the question for now. The Sackville-Bagginses were rarely all out at the same time, and Frodo didn't want to risk being caught just yet.

In Bilbo's study, Frodo set down his candle and glanced around din the flickering light. "Where did you hide it, Bilbo?" he muttered.

Several hours later, Frodo was certain that wherever Bilbo had hidden the will, it wasn't in the desk or any of the book cases. He could hardly concentrate for yawning, so he put everything back the way he'd found it.

When Frodo entered the kitchen the next morning, Lobelia dropped the cup she'd been holding. It clattered on the floor and rolled under the table, but Lobelia did not move to pick it up. Frodo realized she was staring at his face.

"Is there a problem, Cousin?" he asked impatiently when she continued to stare.

"Not at all," she said finally, her expression changing swiftly from startled to calculating. "But you do look pale, Frodo. I fear you must be coming down with something. Yes, you'd best stay in today."

"I beg your pardon?" Frodo couldn't guess what was going through Lobelia's head, but he doubted it was concern for his well-being.

"Have some breakfast," she said shortly. "No need to go anywhere today."

She left the kitchen and Frodo sat down to eat, mystified. Usually she did whatever she could to get him out of doors during the day.

Frodo shrugged and helped himself to some porridge. It would give him an opportunity to write some much-needed letters, at any rate, and perhaps to search for the will, if he was careful.

Back in his room, Frodo composed letters to Saradoc Brandybuck and Paladin Took, the two hobbits Frodo thought most likely to know who had witnessed Bilbo's second will, or to have witnessed it themselves. Deciding quickly, he pocketed both letters and went to put on his cloak.

In the foyer, he heard footsteps, and then Lobelia arguing with Lotho.

"Only just come of age, and you think you know everything," Lobelia was saying.

"I'm almost thirty-five, Ma," Lotho retorted, "and I don't need you or anyone else telling me how to manage my own affairs."

"Foolish boy! Your temper will ruin us all."

"Ma—"

"Not another word!" Lobelia shrieked. "Just… don't touch him again."

The footsteps sounded again, and Frodo glanced up as his cousins walked in.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lobelia snapped.

"To the post office." Frodo was careful not to mention the letters; he would let Lobelia think he wanted to check for mail.

"Lotho can do that." Lobelia's pronouncement wiped the satisfied smirk from her son's face.

"But Ma!"

"Go," Lobelia said sharply. "We haven't checked the post in a fortnight, and Frodo needs to stay here and rest."

Lotho stormed out, sparing Frodo a murderous glare as he seized his coat from its hook.

It wasn't until that afternoon that Frodo discovered the real reason Lobelia didn't want him going out. He was on his way to the kitchen, looking for something to eat with his afternoon tea, when he caught sight of his reflection in the large mirror in the hall. Lobelia had been correct in one sense; he did look tired and pale. But far more striking was the enormous bruise blossoming over the left side of his jaw.

Frodo touched it tentatively and winced. He had certainly been aware all day that his jaw was still tender from Lotho's assault, but it hadn't occurred to him that it would be so obvious.

Frodo sighed and reflected that at least he and Lobelia agreed on one point: he didn't want anyone to see him like this. Especially not any of the Gamgees; they worried too much for him as it was.

"I'm worried," declared Marigold Gamgee. "I can't find Freddy anywhere."

She was only fifteen, but she had a way of commanding attention, and the rest of the family looked up from their supper. Even Samwise, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all day.

"Who's that?" asked Halfred with a smirk. "Your hairbrush?"

"No!" Marigold also had a habit of assigning names to all her favourite possessions.

"Her hairbrush is named Tulip," shy May said with a smile.

"I reckon Freddy must be her new rag doll," Sam guessed.

"No, that's Wilfred," Daisy informed him, helping herself to another pork chop.

"Now, stop teasing," Bell scolded. "Come sit down, Mari, and finish your supper."

"But I can't find Freddy!" Marigold wailed.

"Mind your mother, lass," Hamfast said firmly. "Come sit down and tell us about this Freddy o' yours."

Marigold composed herself and sat down reluctantly. "Freddy is my pet mouse," she said matter-of-factly.

"And where did you see him last?" Halfred asked, amused.

"In the hall," Mari said. "I was playing with him and he jumped right out of my hands, if you follow me. Ran right into the kitchen, he did."

Daisy squealed and pulled her feet up onto the bench. Halfred snickered into his cup of milk, and the other Gamgees glanced around uneasily.

Bell cleared her throat, trying not to laugh. "Mari-lass, remember what we said about keepin' pets indoors."

"Sorry, Mama," Marigold said guiltily. "But what about Freddy? He's all alone somewhere, and hungry, most like!"

"I'll help ye look for him," Samwise offered loudly. He had to speak up to be heard over Halfred's chortling.

"And when ye find him, I'll fix him a nice box ta stay in beside the woodpile," the Gaffer put in reluctantly. He didn't hold with keeping pets, but he had a soft spot for his youngest daughter.

"Thankee Dad, and Sam," Marigold said. She was pleased that the Gaffer had volunteered his help so readily, for he had been somewhat distant lately. It was obvious to the whole family that working for the Sackville-Bagginses was beginning to wear on him.

"All right then," Bell said. "And we'll all help look for Freddy after supper." She looked significantly at the still-smirking Halfred. "If he's in this smial, he will be found."

"You've been awfully quiet today, Sam," Halfred observed, trying to redirect his mother's eagle eye. "What's eatin' you?"

"Mr. Frodo didn't come today," the eighteen-year-old said slowly.

"Oh," said Halfred, surprised. "That ain't like him, is it?"

"Now Sam-lad, you know you mustn't presume too much," the Gaffer lectured, out of habit. "Mr. Frodo is grantin' you a favour, comin' ta give you lessons as he does."

"Don't worry, love," Bell said, patting her son's little hand. "Like as not he just forgot, or found he had ta do somethin' else. We'll see him tomorrow, you mark my words."

But they didn't see Frodo the next day, or the day after that.

"What on earth coulda happened?" Bell asked Hamfast that night. They were conferring in private, not wanting to worry the children. "Sam's right, it isn't like him."

"No," Hamfast agreed. "It ain't like him. I don't know what ta make of it."

"Have you seen the lad at all, coming or going?"

"Not till this morning," the Gaffer said slowly. "He went out real early, before the sun was full up. I was just gettin' out my tools."

"Did he speak to ye? Say anything about his whereabouts lately?" Bell demanded.

"No… well, not right away. He didn't say a word till I called out ta him, asked where he was off to so early."

"Aye? What did he say?"

Hamfast scratched his head. "Said he needed ta mail some letters."

Bell nodded. "I expect he's finally written to his relations about this mess. It's about time, and that's a fact."

"Aye… something weren't right, though," Hamfast said hesitantly. "His manner was different than usual; he were a little short with me, truth to tell. Hardly even looked at me; just answered my question and kept right on walkin'."

"Hm." Bell frowned, not liking the sound of things at all. "I wonder what's gotten into the lad?"

"Might be his new family startin' ta rub off on him…" Hamfast hated to say it, but it made some sort of sense.

Bell stared. "I do hope you're wrong, Ham."

"Think we oughta go up there and see what's what?"

Bell hesitated. "As you're always remindin' our Sam, we ought not to go presuming. It ain't our place to make him talk ta us. Not like he owes us an explanation."

"Aye," Hamfast said tersely. "Still, it's a mighty cruel thing ta leave Samwise hangin' like that, with nary a word about it. I never would've thought Mr. Frodo that sort."

"No, and me either," said Bell thoughtfully. "But changes do happen in the tween years, and not always for the better. Still, no use jumpin' to conclusions. The lad has shown us many a kindness over the years."

"Very true, but he's livin' with the Sackville-Bagginses now," the Gaffer said darkly, unable to move past the earlier theme. "They're a bad enough lot ta alter any impressionable young hobbit. Remember Fredegar Bolger?"

Bell was silent for a moment. "No, Ham, I don't believe it. Not of Mr. Frodo. He were raised better than that."

Hamfast paused. "By Master Bilbo, maybe. But he lived a long time away over in Brandy Hall, if ye follow me. He may be a Bucklander yet, deep inside…"

Bell frowned. "You know I don't hold with such notions, Ham. And I thought you'd given them up! I think working for that Lobelia must be takin' its toll on you, as well."

Hamfast shrugged. It was true these were trying times for him, and Bell might call him narrow-minded, but he figured stories only got started because there was a grain of truth to them.

The following morning, Otho appeared in Frodo's doorway. "Going out today?" he asked shortly.

"Yes," Frodo said, wondering if he was about to be confined to the smial for another day.

But Otho only said "Good," peering at him suspiciously. "My wife noticed some of the library shelves are in disarray. You haven't been in there, making a mess, have you?"

"No," Frodo lied. He mentally reproached himself for his carelessness. He had been searching in there the previous night; he must have been too tired to put everything back in its place.

"If I find you've been stealing from us, you'll learn the meaning of trouble." Otho's stare chilled Frodo's blood, but he remained mute. Finally the older hobbit said, "Lobelia wants to speak with you," and turned on his heel and left.

Frodo sighed and tried to relax. Otho had always been a cold and distant figure, and Frodo had no idea if the constant threats were empty or not. He did not want to find out. But apparently the Sackville-Bagginses had decided the risk of Frodo finding the will outweighed the likelihood of someone being alarmed by the faded bruises on his face; it would be good to get outside, away from his relatives.

The tween paused in the doorway to Bilbo's room. Lobelia was in there, staring absently out the window as she fumbled in her dress pocket. Frodo frowned, uneasy for some reason.

She turned and saw him. "Sit," she said coldly, pointing to Bilbo's armchair. Frodo sat down hesitantly while Lobelia paced back and forth, still fumbling with her pocket.

"We have to talk about this constant rummaging of yours," she said angrily. "We won't stand for any thievery around here, especially not from you."

"I haven't stolen anything!" Frodo said indignantly.

"All this sneaking around at night, it has to stop. I know what you're looking for, but you won't find it. And if I ever catch you—if Otho ever catches you—well." Lobelia paused and turned to glare at him. "Of all the ungrateful—honestly! You're an orphan, Frodo. A miserable Bucklander orphan. And we're giving you a place to live—what more could you want?"

He saw her take something out of her dress pocket and jumped up in anger.

"Where did you get that?" Frodo cried.

Lobelia's bony fingers closed around Bilbo's magic ring. "This? Found it in a drawer. Some of that dragon treasure of Bilbo's, I imagine. Well, it's mine now."

Frodo said nothing, not certain why he was reacting so strongly to this, after everything else he'd been through in the past months.

"Why?" Lobelia was peering at him suspiciously now. "Did you mean to hide this from me? Is there more treasure that you've hidden from me?"

"No!"

"Tell me at once, you little wretch!" Lobelia shrieked, shaking him by the shoulders. "I'll find out what you're hiding. It's useless to keep it from me!"

Frodo twisted away and fled from the room. Outside, he made for the woods in back of the Hill and didn't slow down till he was surrounded by trees. When Frodo closed his eyes, he could still see the greed and mistrust in Lobelia's expression.

Hamfast sat in his favourite chair and stared grimly into the fire, listening to Bell putting away the last of the supper dishes.

"Are ye going ta sit there like a lump all night, dear?"

Hamfast half turned, not having heard her come in. He reached for her hand and drew her closer. "Don't much feel like sleepin', if you follow me. Little ones in bed?"

"Aye." Bell sighed and squeezed his hand. "Well, maybe a little gardening would tire ye out. That shrub out front has fallen right over again."

The Gaffer nodded and stood. "I'll have a look," he said.

Outside with a lantern, Hamfast saw that the poor shrub was tilting drunkenly against the sod wall. He righted it, but saw that it would fall again with little provocation. "Might as well do the job right," he muttered to himself, and set out for the top of the Hill to retrieve some of his tools.

Bag End was quiet and dark, and Hamfast noticed as he passed Frodo's dark room that the curtains were open, the room deserted. He frowned, wondering what Frodo was doing out so late. Carousing with Lotho, perhaps? He wondered what Bilbo would think of Frodo's habits lately, and his failure to honour his promise to Samwise. He sighed and continued on past the kitchen, toward the tool shed.

Hamfast was startled to hear a twig snap very close by; he caught just a glimpse of a pale, thin figure in the light cast by the kitchen lantern.

"Oh!" the figure exclaimed, and retreated a step into the shadows.

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes," the figure said sheepishly, but didn't come any closer. "I'm sorry if I startled you. How are you, Master Gamgee?"

"Well enough," the Gaffer said stiffly. He didn't know how he had expected Frodo to behave on their next meeting, but somehow this wasn't quite it. "Had a busy week, have you?" he asked a little more roughly, because for all his talk the Gaffer felt keenly any slight to young Samwise.

Frodo didn't answer for a moment, and Hamfast wished he would step into the light so he could see the boy's expression. "I—yes, I suppose I have," Frodo said finally.

"I see," Hamfast said, and hesitated only briefly before crossing another line. "Our Sam was mighty low not ta see you of late, Mr. Frodo," he said pointedly.

Frodo was silent at first. "I'm sorry. I should ask his forgiveness, and yours," the tween said after a moment, much to Hamfast's surprise. "I thought of leaving a note, more than once, but I… could not think what to write."

The Gaffer waited for some further explanation, but none was forthcoming.

"It's late, I should go in," Frodo muttered. He started forward as if to go through the kitchen door, head down.

"Out rather late, aren't ye?" Hamfast challenged, not stepping aside. "I don't think Master Bilbo would approve."

"Perhaps not," Frodo agreed, looking away.

"Now look here," the Gaffer said sharply. He decided that gentlehobbit or no, Frodo would not escape before he said his piece. "I don't know where you've been keepin' yourself or what you've been up to, and maybe it ain't my business. But Master Bilbo trusted me ta keep an eye out for ye, and I don't reckon he'd care for the idea of you out carousin' at all hours with Lotho Sackville-Baggins, or whatever 'tis you're doin'."

Frodo's expression was one of shock, but then he looked down again, fair face flushing with anger. "Please, Mr. Gamgee, stay out of it," he said tightly.

"But you've been in the woods, seemingly," Hamfast went on, for he'd just noticed how dirty Frodo appeared. "You Bucklanders have some queer habits, though, and maybe I don't want ta know what you've been up to."

He instantly wished he could take his words back when he saw the unconcealed hurt on Frodo's face.

"I'll go inside now," Frodo said stiffly, and tried to push past the Gaffer.

This was the closest look Hamfast had gotten in days, and even in the dubious light of the kitchen lantern he could see the boy was pale and tired, under the dirt. But close up, the smudges on Frodo's jaw didn't quite look like dirt.

Hamfast seized Frodo by the shoulders. "Is that a bruise there?" he demanded.

"What? No," Frodo said, trying to pull away.

The Gaffer tilted Frodo's chin toward the light, feeling sick. "Somebody hit you, and that's a fact," he ground out.

"Maybe I've been out brawling in the streets, is that what you're thinking, Master Hamfast?" Frodo retorted, sapphire eyes sparking with anger. "It's just too bad Bilbo had the poor taste to adopt one of those queer Bucklanders, I suppose. You just never know what they'll do."

Hamfast stepped back as though he'd been slapped. For a moment he could only stare at the pale face that was twisted with anguish.

"I—forgive me, Mr. Frodo," Hamfast said hoarsely, hearing his own appalling words thrown back at him. "I'm so ashamed, I can't tell ye."

Frodo turned away, clearly struggling to compose himself.

"Those bastards hit you."

Frodo looked back at him, clearly startled by the coarse language. "Lotho did," he admitted wryly. "But his parents didn't condone it, if that's what you're worried about. Lobelia was furious with him, in fact."

"I'm worried about you, Mr. Frodo," Hamfast said gruffly.

The tween looked uncomfortable. “Well, please don’t, truly.”

Realization dawned suddenly. “That’s why you been stayin’ away from our place, is it?” Hamfast scowled. “Didn’t want ta worry us?”

“This situation is difficult enough as it is.” Frodo shifted uneasily.

“Aye, that’s a fact,” the Gaffer said. “But I’ll have a thing or two to say to Lobelia tomorrow, you mark my words.”

“No!” Frodo exclaimed. “You mustn’t do that, please, Mr. Gamgee. What good will it do me if she fires you?”

Hamfast’s brows drew together. “It ain’t right, they way they’re treating you, Mr. Frodo.”

“I know.”

“Surely ye won’t stay here, not after this?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Frodo said firmly.

Hamfast stared at him, dumbfounded in the face of Frodo’s unyielding expression. “You’ll report ‘em if Lotho gets rough again, won’t ye?” he said after a moment.

“He won’t,” was all Frodo said, but the blue eyes flashed with purpose. “I am determined to see this through. Someone must oppose them or they’ll never stop disdaining the liberties of others.”

The Gaffer shook his head slowly. This lad never failed to astonish him. “I’ll help ye any way I can, o’ course,” was all he could think to say.

“Thank you,” Frodo said sincerely. He scuffed his toe awkwardly. “I’ll—I’ll come by and see Sam tomorrow… I suppose there’s no reason to hide, now that you’ve seen me. If I’m still welcome, that is.”

“More than welcome, always.” Hamfast cleared his throat. "I must beg yer forgiveness, Mr. Frodo, for the way I spoke earlier. I—there's no excuse, o' course."

“I don’t—there’s no reason to apologize for how you see me,” Frodo said sadly. “You’re not the only one, I’m sure.”

Hamfast nearly choked. “But that ain’t it at all, Mr. Frodo. I got run away with my foolish notions, and that’s unpardonable, but I… think mighty highly of ye and I don’t reckon Master Bilbo could’ve made a better choice of an heir.” The Gaffer didn’t normally reveal his inner thoughts in such a way, and it was difficult to do now.

But Frodo seemed to hold his head a little higher when he acknowledged Hamfast and bade him good night, and that was a good thing. After Frodo went inside, the Gaffer decided not to bother retrieving his tools. He didn’t think he’d have trouble sleeping now, and he had to be up early in the morning to give Frodo’s property the attention it deserved.