11. The Wrath of Mad Baggins

After putting away the second-breakfast dishes, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins closed the pantry door with a bump and flounced into the parlour, scowling. Of course, scowling was her habitual expression, so Otho went on puffing his pipe, unconcerned.

Lobelia took up the fire poker and gave the roaring blaze in the hearth a good jab. A few sparks floated up, and Lobelia settled in her favourite armchair, looking disdainfully at the fire poker. Really, they ought to have servants for such tasks, not to mention for the cooking and washing up, but they had none. Well, she supposed young Ted Sandyman was in their service, but only nominally. They often hired the simple-minded miller’s son for outdoor labour, but still, it wasn’t right at all that Lobelia should have to do her own cooking and cleaning.

And if that little upstart Bucklander wasn’t got rid of soon, the Sackville-Bagginses in all likelihood would never have any of the trappings a family of their station ought to have. Lobelia’s scowl deepened. As it was, they had borrowed far too much money over the years from that feeble old fool, Bilbo Baggins. She certainly didn’t enjoy being in debt to her eccentric cousin, but it had been necessary to maintain a respectable standard of living, after Otho had lost most of his parents’ fortune.

A step was heard in the hall then, and Lotho came into the parlour, all bundled up in his fine woollen cloak.

“I’m going out,” the tweenager said.

“Make sure and take Ted with you, Lotho-lad,” Otho said, looking up from his pipe to survey his strapping young son with approval. “We don’t want that nasty Bucklander bothering you again.”

Lotho grinned at his father. “Don’t worry, Pop. He won’t!”

“Well, soon we’ll be rid of that brat, like as not,” Lobelia reassured, nodding at her son’s courage in the face of another possible meeting with that vile Bucklander. “Mad Baggins will ship him back where he belongs, no doubt, after the things I’ve been whispering in his ear. And perhaps he already has!”

All three hobbits were considerably cheered by this thought, knowing it would mean Otho would inherit Bag End and all the ill-gotten riches therein.

“Don’t forget your scarf, darling!” Lobelia called after Lotho, as the tween headed for the front door. “We mustn’t have you catching a chill!”

“Yes, Ma,” said Lotho, smirking at his mother’s back. Just as he was pulling his scarf off its hook, someone knocked on the door.

Lobelia immediately leaned across the side of her chair to peer out the window. “Why, it’s old Mad Baggins himself!” she exclaimed. “He must be coming to tell us what a dreadful mistake he made, adopting that troublesome brat, and that he’s reinstated Otho as his heir!”

Otho grinned and put down his pipe, and all three Sackville-Bagginses went to answer the door. Lobelia ended up in front and reached for the doorknob, hissing to her husband and son, “Remember to look sympathetic! Don’t remind him that we told him so!” Otho and Lotho nodded as Lobelia pulled the door open.

“Why, Cousin Bilbo!” she exclaimed, in what she assumed was a sweet voice; it actually made her visitor want to gag, but that was beside the point. “What a pleasant surprise. Do come in!” Lobelia stepped back to allow Bilbo to enter the foyer.

Bilbo came inside, but the fierce expression on his face gave all three Sackville-Bagginses pause. Lobelia involuntarily took a step back. The feeble old fool wasn’t looking particularly feeble today. Or foolish, for that matter.

“You’re to cease meddling with my heir at once, do I make myself quite clear?” said Bilbo.

“Meddling?” gasped Lobelia. “What in heavens do you mean?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Bilbo replied icily.

Lobelia had a sudden sinking feeling that this conversation was not going to go her way at all. Bilbo focused his scorching gaze on her, and Lobelia’s suspicions were most powerfully confirmed with his next words.

“You’ve been attempting to make me doubt Frodo as my choice of heir, and you’ve been trying to make Frodo doubt my regard for him,” Bilbo went on. “Well, I have come to tell you that your deplorable scheming has failed. I know Frodo a great deal better than you understand, and I will never give that boy up.”

Lobelia paled at Bilbo’s words, and all thoughts of sweet conciliation deserted her. “How dare you!” she shrieked.

“Now see here!” Otho cried indignantly. “We Sackville-Bagginses are respectable hobbits!”

“Do respectable hobbits offer violence to younger children?” Bilbo thundered.

“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed Lobelia angrily. Lotho suddenly went pale, and Bilbo’s eyes raked him contemptuously.

“You beat my nephew and then told your parents he’d insulted you, is that it, boy?” Bilbo asked dryly. Lotho glared back defiantly, but said nothing.

“He did no such thing!” cried Lobelia, outraged. The idea of her precious Lotho behaving so... crudely. “What nerve you have, accusing him!”

“I have no interest in discussion,” Bilbo said, in that same maddeningly quiet voice. “I came to tell you the consequences of your actions.”

“Consequences?” Lobelia repeated incredulously.

“I have just been to see my attorney, Lobelia,” Bilbo said calmly. “I have changed my will. Because of your reprehensible treatment of my nephew, none of you will inherit a thing now.”

All three gasped in shock. Among hobbits, it was customary to leave some amount to all relations, even those not named as major beneficiaries. For a wealthy hobbit such as Bilbo, even these small inheritances would be significant. “You can’t do that!” shouted Otho angrily.

“I can, and I have,” Bilbo replied. “However, I have an offer to make.”

Lobelia turned away in disgust. “What could you possibly offer, after insulting us so dreadfully?” Lobelia sniffed.

“Simply this: as long as all three of you behave civilly to my nephew...” Bilbo paused “...I will refrain from calling in every debt you owe me.”

Lobelia was too furious to speak, but Otho’s jaw dropped. “You—you wouldn’t—but that would ruin us!” he shouted.

“I have no doubt it would,” Bilbo said, smiling grimly. “At least to your way of thinking. You would likely be forced to move to a less affluent hole, anyway.” He gestured to the rich fixtures and fine draperies that adorned the walls of Sack Top.

Lobelia scowled ferociously at Bilbo, but she was forced to admit they were beaten. She had never imagined that Bilbo would be so low as to use what amounted to blackmail, in her mind at least. Well, there didn’t seem to be any chance of Otho’s being named heir now, so they must make the best of it. Lobelia decided they could be civil to the impudent little monster, if that would let them keep what they had.

“Very well, we accept your offer.” Lobelia shuddered with bitter resentment. She had never hated that Buckland child as much as she did at this moment.

“Excellent,” said Bilbo. “Then there is only one more thing I must insist that you do.”

“And what’s that?” spat Otho. He knew as well as Lobelia did that Bilbo had them at his mercy.

“You must punish Lotho for beating my nephew,” Bilbo replied. “And it must be a suitable punishment!”

Lobelia’s mouth twitched angrily, but she miraculously held her tongue. The battle between wanting to spoil her son and wanting to placate the wealthy cousin who held so much over their heads was evident on her scowling face for several long moments. Finally, she turned to her son. “Lotho—no supper for you tonight. And—” Lobelia screwed up her face as if she were tasting a lemon “—and you must help Ted with the chores for the next fortnight!”

Lotho looked aghast at this pronouncement. “But, Ma—” the youth began. Lobelia could hardly bear it. He had never received such a harsh punishment in all his young life.

“No buts,” Lobelia snapped, hating herself for capitulating, but hating Bilbo even more. She turned back to glower at Bilbo. “There, will that do?”

Bilbo seemed to consider Lotho’s reaction for a moment, but finally nodded. “That will suffice,” he said. “But see that you carry it out. I shall have means of knowing if you do or not.” The old hobbit nodded curtly and started to turn toward the door, but suddenly he halted and glared icily at Lotho. “I want you to remember, boy, that whether your parents believe me or not, I know exactly what you did.” Bilbo stepped forward and Lotho cowered back against the wall, shrinking from the fury in Bilbo’s face. “If you ever harm Frodo again, I’ll see that you regret it the rest of your life.” Bilbo glared at the tween a moment longer before turning abruptly on his heel and stalking out the door.

Silence reigned in the hall for several long moments before Lobelia screeched in wordless rage and frustration. Lotho scampered off to his room, sensing that now would not be a good time to irk his parents, and Otho stomped back to his chair in the parlour. He put his pipe back in his mouth, but his teeth were clenched so hard that the tip of the stem broke off in his mouth. Otho spat it out in disgust.

Once out on the road again, Bilbo paused and drew a deep breath. His heart was pounding in his ears. It had been an excellent performance, though. He had no idea what he could possibly do to make Lotho miserable for the rest of his life, but he had struck terror into the little beast’s heart, and that was what mattered. And Lobelia and Otho would never be pleasant to Frodo, of course, but now they knew there was no hope of convincing Bilbo to give up his new heir, and they would return to being no more offensive than usual. They might even be frightened enough to be civil to the boy for a while, hopefully until Frodo was a little older and better able to handle them.

Bilbo swallowed and took another deep breath. It had been an excellent performance. So excellent, in fact, that Bilbo had almost frightened himself. That certainly hadn’t been part of his plan, but the confrontation had recalled his feelings when he’d first seen the bruised body of the child in his care, not to mention the wretched story that had come out of Frodo afterward. Did that mean it hadn’t been a performance at all? Bilbo didn’t know.