Chapter 5. Caught!

Farry saw Goldi to the door of the apartments kept for the Mayor and his family, opening the door with well-practiced stealth, just a hands-width, and listening for all he was worth for the stirring of a minder or servant. Luck was with them, it seemed. They’d met no one in the corridors, on their way from the outer door, and the Mayor’s apartments were silent as a barrow in the Barrow Downs. More so, even, for Farry’s Da, and Goldi’s Dad, in telling of their youthful adventures, had described the hissing and growling of the wight they had encountered, though properly they had been asleep, and only Frodo had been awake at the time to hear it.

In any event, the air was quiet and still within. Farry’s hand tightened on Goldi’s arm for a moment, in silent signal. Then he nodded, opened the door a little wider, and released her, to slip within. No outcry came, no indignation at such a young one being dressed for the out-of-doors and out and about at such an hour, no concern or surprise – evidently everyone within was still deep in dream, and Goldi was lucky, in that she could lay her outer garments under their hooks, as if they’d merely fallen after careless hanging. She could slip into bed and get up again in the morning with none the wiser.

Elanor, had she been there might well have noticed Goldi arising from her rest fully dressed under the bedcovers, but Rose was a more careless lass, who did not rise easily herself, and was not likely to be alert until her eyes had been open and she’d been moving about for some minutes. Thus, no one – not the minder, who slept in a room with the littlest Gamgees, nor the other Gamgee girls, would be the wiser, or be able to guess at Goldi’s activity in the night. Or so Farry hoped.

He congratulated himself on the lateness – or the earliness – of the hour, seeing no hobbit of the escort standing before the door to his family’s apartments on his return. No, though the smell of baking bread was beginning to waft through the corridors, which meant the bakers were well started at their tasks for the day; though the dairymaids were still an hour or so from arising, it was still well short of six o’ the clock, when a messenger would take up his post. He opened the main door to the suite, listened intently to the quality of the silence (to hear only the ticking of the dwarf-made clock in the larger, public sitting room, somehow louder in the shadowy darkness than full light of day), and slipped inside. A single watch lamp burned low on the table, and the room was filled with shadows that moved with the flickering of the flame. A fire was laid ready for lighting on the grate, but the room itself was cool with the chill of night. Farry crept across the room, the thick carpet muffling even the softest whisper of hobbit footsteps.

He hesitated as he passed the table. The usual bowl of fruit resided upon its polished surface, and he was suddenly hungry. Grabbing up an apple, he lifted it to his mouth – and hesitated. Somehow the thought came to him that the soft crunch of his teeth biting into the juicy orb would, like the clock, sound as loud as a thunderclap in the shadowy darkness. He put the apple into his pocket, instead. Perhaps if he ate it, far underneath his bedcovers, no one would ever know, not even the light-sleeping minder. At least until the time came to change the linens.

Nothing moved, not even a mouse – if any mice were to be found in Sandy’s well-maintained environs. Thus far, things seemed to be going well. Goldi was by now safely in bed, and Farry…

But the son of the Thain was not to be so lucky.

He tiptoed, soft as a cat on the hunt, deeper into the suite, listening for all he was worth, but still, all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock receding behind him. Down the corridor, towards the pantry, butler’s pantry, and little kitchen he went, every step slow and cautious, scarcely drawing breath, though of course no one ought to be about at this early hour, not even to fetch fresh-baked bread from the Smials kitchens for breakfast, as the bread was in the middle of baking and would not be fetchable for at least an hour, if not more.

As he passed the partly open door of the butler’s pantry, it occurred – rather belatedly – to him that the door had been firmly closed when last he passed that way. The thought was not enough warning, however, to keep him from jumping, startled, at the soft clearing of a throat.

His first wild thought was that it was his father – who had shown on many previous occasions, an alarming tendency to know when Farry was at mischief – but no. The soft, misting rain hissing on the guttering torches in the courtyard had signaled a change in the weather from the previous day’s bright sunshine. Today would be one of his father’s bad days, he feared, where Pippin would allow himself to be carried from place to place, unable even to stand to his feet unassisted.

Uncle Ferdi, then…? But what would Ferdi be doing in the Thain’s apartments at this hour?

Still, Uncle Ferdi had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune – or perhaps lucky for Farry, in hindsight – times, when mischief reached its height and danger was not far behind.

But what danger could be found in the Thain’s apartments, in the early hours of the morning?

Farry had a wild impulse to dash the rest of the way to the inner recesses of the suite, past the guest rooms, through the little, private sitting room, directly to his bed – or better yet, his parents’ bed, to dive under the covers and huddle there, shivering, but safe. However, that would be a childish thing to do, fauntly in truth, and beneath a son of the Thain. He drew himself up to his grandest twelve-year-old height – which, admittedly, was taller than many Tooks of his age. Still, he found himself holding his breath, looking upward as the door to the butler’s pantry swung wide, to meet the composed, serious gaze of the Thain’s personal hobbitservant, silver serving fork in one hand, polishing cloth in the other.

Farry had overheard his father say to his mother that Sandy’s duties did not include sleep, but he’d always thought it was but a jest… until this moment.

‘S-sandy,’ he managed, trying to sound nonchalant, as if it were common practice for a young hobbit to be wandering the corridors of the Smials in the very early morning.

‘Sleep wandering, were we?’ that worthy answered, with a lift to his eyebrow that gave the question emphasis and weight. ‘On our way back from the Smials’ kitchens, perhaps, after a night of switching the salt and sugar labels?’

Farry’s lips twitched in spite of himself. Such an excursion was rare, but not unknown, and might have occurred in retribution for a sore ear after being caught lifting fresh-baked biscuits from the cooling racks. ‘N-no,’ he replied truthfully, though on reflection perhaps it might have been wiser to stand mute. The grown-ups must not learn of Goldi’s intentions, and try to prevent her carrying out her plan. That would only cause her to be more cautious, so cautious that Farry himself might miss her leave-taking. Frantically he cast about for a plausible explanation.

‘I – I was hungry,’ he said, putting his hand in his pocket and drawing forth the glossy apple. ‘See? I thought I smelled bread baking…’ And he had, though it had been in the outer corridor. ‘Or… perhaps I only dreamed I smelled it, and I got up to look for it, but I came to myself in the main parlour, opening the door – and there was a smell of good baking, actually,’ he added, warming to his subject, and managing to tell mostly truth, if not its entirety. He tried to look young and pitiful, then, and said, ‘but it was all dark, dark it was, and not even Tolly or Hilly or Haldi there, to ask if they might go and fetch a platter of fresh-baked rolls for the Thain and his family…’

Sandy’s mouth tightened at this, for it was hardly an escort’s duty to be escorting breadstuffs, no matter how winsome the requester. (Though, truth be told, all the hobbits of escort were in danger of becoming devoted slaves to the Thain’s young daughter, Forget-me-not. If Faramir were to ask for anything in his younger sister’s name, why, he’d likely have it.) But all he said was, ‘So you thought you’d bring an apple back to your bed, to stave off starvation until early breakfast, I presume?’

This, too, was something that Farry could confess, and with absolute sincerity, and so he did.

‘Very well, then,’ the hobbitservant said, in a tone that implied it was not at all “very well”, but beneath his dignity to say so. ‘Off to bed with you.’

Scarcely believing his luck, Farry complied, with such speed and willingness that Sandy smiled in spite of himself, as he returned to polishing the silver. The hobbitservant propped fully open the door to the butler’s pantry, and stationed himself to have full view of the hallway, however.

Just in case any young hobbit might take it into his head to wander any more that night.

...but Sandy needn’t have worried. Farry fell into his bed without bothering to undress, and managed to fall asleep so quickly that his apple was still in his hand, and nearly whole, when his mystified minder awakened him, performing her duty to ready the children for breakfast.