Chapter 43: Lobelia, part 1

Afterlithe, S.R. 1340

Bilbo rose to the sound of Hom Greenhand cheerfully whistling in the front garden. From the angle of the light coming in his window it seemed he was awake just in time for first breakfast. He put on his dressing gown, thinking as he always did when he donned it, of the mother who had made it for him. Belladonna had been gone now for four years, and his father for fourteen; but still he missed them more than he could say. And yet he had a good life, and had grown into his role as Master of the Hill and Head of the Baggins family.

He poured water from his ewer into the wash basin, and washed his face and hands and made his way to the kitchen. He'd left a pot of porridge on the hearth to cook overnight. Lifting the lid to check on it, he gave it a stir. Just right! He moved it to the table, and poked up the embers before adding more wood. Then he put the kettle on, sliced some bread for toasting, and put butter and honey on the table.

He ate a leisurely breakfast while pondering the news in his latest letter from Siggy. His cousin's little daughter Rosamunda was about to have her second birthday, and Siggy and Malva were expecting a new little one sometime in the early fall. Bilbo had decided to send a birthday gift for their little lass. He no longer saw Siggy all that often; since the unfortunate events during his last visit to the Great Smials he was avoiding going there.* Yet he missed Siggy. Perhaps after the birth he could lure his cousin for a visit; surely Bag End would be a quieter place for an infant, and more restful for Malva. He'd consult Dora for her opinion. That decided, he made a plan for the day. It was Highday, so he had no pupils coming. He'd go down to Greenbriars to get Dora's idea of a gift for little Rosamunda, and then go into town to pick up some pipe-weed and stationery. He was also in need of some flour, so he could stop by the Mill as well. He pursed his lips at the thought of how little he liked putting money in Uncle Longo's pocket. Turpin Sandyman had retired, and Ludo Bracegirdle was in charge of the Mill now, and training Turpin's cousin Tassilo to inherit it eventually. But young Otho, who was now nearly of age, was still Ludo's assistant. And of course, a goodly percentage of the profits went to line Uncle Longo's pockets.

But there wasn't much choice of where to get his flour. The closest mill besides Sandyman's was in Frogmorton.

Ah, well! He still had as little to do with his Uncle as possible, but sometimes these things could not be helped. And it was no worse than having to invite him to family functions. Thankfully, he always declined with some excuse or other, as Bilbo did with any invitations he received from the Sackville-Bagginses.

With these thoughts in mind, Bilbo rose and did the washing up and went to get dressed for the day. Soon enough he was making his way down to the other side of the Hill.

Dora answered the door herself. "Good morning, Bilbo! I am afraid Drogo and Dudo are not here today. They are on the way to Budgeford for Uncle Rudigar's birthday." She did not mention her father. Fosco was likely sequestered in his study, as he usually was ever since Ruby's death last year. Dora had remained at home to care for him.

"I know, Dora, for they had explained why Dudo would not be coming for his lessons for a few days. At any rate, my dear, I came to speak with you."

Dora looked surprised, but showed him into the parlour. "I will be right back, Cousin Bilbo, with refreshments."

Bilbo nodded, for he had expected as much. It was, after all, nearly time for second breakfast. Bilbo waited, looking about the parlour, not much changed from when he had helped restore the hole almost thirty years ago, though he saw some of Dora's touches: cushions and doilies he could recall seeing her work on at his mother's side. She soon returned with a loaded tray: sausage rolls, boiled eggs, scones and tea.

Dora poured the tea, and they tucked in. Bilbo complimented her on the sausage rolls, and the broached the subject of a gift for little Rosamunda.

Dora only had to think for a moment before suggesting a stuffed animal or doll, and gave Bilbo a name. “Miss Daylily Banks, Mistress Agate's apprentice, makes very clever dolls and animals as a sideline.” (Mistress Agate was a local dressmaker, very much in demand.) With this advice now taken care of the cousins moved on to local gossip. Dora always knew what was going on in the town.

“Have you heard about Hobbiton's newest inhabitant?” asked Dora.

“New inhabitant?”  

“Ludo Bracegirdle's niece, Lobelia. She just turned thirty**, and from what I understand her parents sent her here to get her away from a 'bad influence'.” Dora herself was only thirty-eight now, but she comported herself like someone much older.

“Have you met Miss Bracegirdle?”

“No, though I have seen her in passing.” Dora's tone was neutral, which told Bilbo a lot. If Dora had approved of the young lady her voice would have been much warmer. But she would not say anything unflattering about the newcomer when they'd yet to meet.

“Who told you her parents were worried about a bad influence?”

“Her Aunt Mignonette.” Ludo's Southfarthing wife had been a Hornblower before her marriage, but Dora approved of her for not “putting on airs” and for being a sensible sort.

Bilbo nodded. Dora did not mind passing on gossip, but only when she was sure of the source. He told her news from Rory's latest letter which delighted her: Rory's wife, Dora's old friend Menegilda, had given birth to a sturdy lad, whom they had named Saradoc.

Dora smiled and shook her head. “Those Brandybuck names! So odd and old-fashioned!”

After they exchanged a few more pleasantries, Bilbo excused himself and went on to visit the talented Miss Daylily in search of a gift.

Mistress Agate's cottage was on the outskirts of the main road into Hobbiton. Its stone walls and thatched roof were covered with ivy. The windows had bright yellow shutters, and the door was sky blue, with a painting of a spray of daisies just above the door knob in the middle. Next to the bellpull hung a discreet sign: Mistress Agate Puddifoot, Dressmaker and Seamstress. Bilbo gave a tug on the bellpull and heard a responding tinkle within. After a moment the door cracked open and a pale face peeked shyly out.

It was a lass in her early tweens, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three. Her big brown eyes grew even bigger as she saw a gentlehobbit upon the doorstep, rather than the usual feminine client.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said in a soft voice barely above a whisper, "but my Mistress is engaged with customers right now."

Bilbo smiled reassuringly. "Actually, I think I have come to see you. You are Miss Daylily Banks, are you not?"

This made her look more alarmed, not less, as she nodded.

"My cousin Dora Baggins recommended you as one who makes dolls and stuffed animals. I need a gift you see."

"Oh! Oh! Sir! I mean...er..." Now she looked excited, but was no more coherent.

Bilbo took pity on her. "Perhaps I could come back later?"

The idea of losing a customer shook her wits out of their daze. "No! I mean, no sir! My Mistress is using the fitting room; we could go into the front room." She stepped back and let Bilbo in.

There was no hall. They came directly into a large room that seemed to be partly a sitting room and partly a workroom. A large table covered with fabrics and the tools of a seamstress' trade dominated the middle of the room. Next to the hearth were two armchairs and a long settee. To the back of the room was an opening that Bilbo could see led to the kitchen, and to the right side were two closed doors leading to other rooms.

"Pray have a seat, sir," the apprentice said. "I'll fetch some tea. Oh, and then you can tell me about the gift you need." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Bilbo shook his head in amusement; she was trying very hard indeed not to be nervous in his presence.

As he waited in one of the armchairs for young Daylily to return, he became aware of voices behind one of the doors. He supposed the indistinct murmurs were those of Mistress Agate and her customers.
 
Suddenly he heard a very shrill and strident voice: "No! It's dreadful! It won't do at all! It makes me look like a child!"
There was some more murmuring, and the voice spoke up again. "I hate it! The neckline is far too high! And this style has been out of fashion in the Southfarthing for years!"

Now another voice could be heard more clearly. "This is not the Southfarthing, Lobelia! You will find the styles here are far more modest--you do not want people around here to think of you as a lightskirt do you?"

"Aunt Mignonette! How dare you?" The shrill voice was near to screeching now.

Well, well, thought Bilbo, so that is Ludo Bracegirdle's niece Lobelia.

The voices now dropped back to normal; Bilbo could hear no more, and Daylily returned with a tea tray, with tea and two cups, and a plate with a few sugar biscuits on it. As he nibbled on a biscuit and sipped his tea, he explained to her about his little cousin Rosamunda who was only two years old.

The two were examining some possible choices from Daylily's wares: a lamb, a kitten, a puppy, and a rabbit. They had decided against a doll, as all of those had button eyes. But the little animals had cunningly embroidered faces. Bilbo was trying to decide between the lamb and the kitten, when the door opened and three hobbitesses came out.

With Mistress Agate and Mignonette Bracegirdle was a lass in her late tweens. She was a handsome enough lass; she might even have been pretty, save that her expression showed a chronic discontent and her bearing was haughty. Bilbo was familiar enough with youthful sulks to understand that she had not had her way about the design of the disfavoured dress.

"Why, Mr. Baggins!" exclaimed the dressmaker. "How may I help you?" It was clear that it was unusual to see a gentlehobbit in her domain.

"I have been helped in a most satisfactory manner by your very clever apprentice," he said, holding up both the lamb and the kitten, "as I came in search of a gift for my cousin's two-year old daughter. I do believe I shall take them both--one for her birthday and one for mine; Miss Daylily, how much do I owe you?"

The apprentice glanced helplessly at her mistress, who smiled and nodded in an encouraging manner. Daylily blushed and said, "Two coppers?"

Bilbo deliberately misunderstood. "Two coppers apiece! Excellent value for such nice work." He took out his purse and glanced within. "Sadly, I seem to have no coppers on me." He handed her a silver penny instead. "Keep the change, my dear! They are quite worth it."

She stammered out her thanks, her eyes wide with astonishment. Bilbo rose and went over to the ladies. "Mrs. Bracegirdle, I have not seen you in quite some time!" He glanced past her shoulder to where young Lobelia stood staring up at the ceiling in an attitude of boredom.

"That is true, Mr. Baggins. We have been quite busy lately. May I present my husband's niece, Lobelia Bracegirdle, who has come to live with us for a while?"

Bilbo made a bow. "Bilbo Baggins at your service, Miss Lobelia," he said insincerely. Privately, he thanked good fortune that she was not a Baggins. She'd be a dreadful scholar, and probably less teachable than even young Otho!

She gave a brief bob of her head. "Atyoursandyourfamily's," she said in a monotone.

Mignonette went red with anger at her niece's rudeness. Clutching the stuffed animals beneath one arm, Bilbo took his farewell and left.

He could not help but feel grateful that he was unlikely to have many future dealings with Miss Lobelia Bracegirdle.

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 *A reference to my story "The Dwarf Dagger".

** In regards to Lobelia's age: Although JRRT gives us no DOB for Lobelia on the Appendix D Family Trees, he states in LotR that she is ninety-nine when she finally purchases Bag End from Frodo. Since Otho and Lobelia were married when Bilbo returned from Erebor, this cannot be correct, for she would have been far too young at twenty-one to marry. He does give a DOB in Peoples of Middle-earth: 1328. That is even worse, for she would only have been twelve.

My head-canon solution to this dilemma is that she and Otho were born the same year (S.R. 1310) which would have made her 109 at the end. Since many women will shave years off their age as they get older, I've decided that she knocked off that nine years at some point after there was no one left who was old enough to contradict her.