Another Conspiracy Unmasked - Completed 6/03

[elderberrywine]

Rearrangements Chez Baggins but Pippin proves rather observant.
Rating: G

Another Conspiracy Unmasked

I strode up the path to Bag End from the Row and stopped short. It was the sound of a laugh, giggle actually, that stopped me short. Glancing ahead, I verified the lurid green door. Definitely Bag End. But that sound was one I certainly had never heard here before.

Turning down the path to behind my cousin’s smial, I spotted the creator of that infectious sound. Frodo Baggins was standing behind the hedgerow, sunnily smiling from ear to ear. This was an expression I could not remember ever having seen before on my cousin’s face. The amused look, of course. The wry grin, on several occasions. And the superior smirk (especially when fixed on me), more times than I cared to count. But never this look of pure delight. His gaze was directed down to something behind the hedge, but as I turned the corner, his unusual blue eyes flew up to meet mine.

“Merry!” he exclaimed, positively leaping forward to meet me. “What a, erm, surprise!” Well, it is nice to be warmly welcomed by kith and kin and all, but he positively scurried me off to the front door. “And just in time for tea,” he added in a rather lusty voice, gripping my arm firmly as he danced me along down the path.

Now that sounded like a wonderful idea, and it drove all thoughts of my cousin’s odd behavior out of my head for the time being. The endless dusty road, the long tramp from the Green Dragon, where I had paused but a moment to refresh myself, all combined to render teatime a significant event.

“Frodo, my dear hobbit, you have impeccable timing,” I agreed whole-heartedly. Fortunately, I was carrying no baggage to slow down my progress to the Bag End kitchen. Frodo had the odd bedroom or two, and had always proved to be a reliable source of hospitality when I felt the need to escape the familial haunts. This visit, however, was for another purpose, but I was awaiting my co-conspirator for that.

We reached the kitchen just as Sam Gamgee popped in through the kitchen door. That was not unusual, since on my last several visits, Sam had been promoted to Bag End cook as well as Bag End gardener. Frodo seemed totally unconcerned about running the poor Gamgee lad ragged In fact, Sam appeared to be living somewhere about Bag End now in order to fulfill all his duties. I had, of course, suggested to cousin Frodo that perhaps he should expand his staff, but he seemed immune to practical advice.

There was something a little different about Sam on this visit though, and in a minute I had it. It was the rather large shockingly scarlet petunia lodged in his hair behind the ear. Frodo had turned to the cupboard for cups so I felt it my duty to point it out lest it fall into the bread-and-butter.

“Sam, you managed to get something stuck in your hair,” I pointed out kindly. “Must have been a bit breezy out this morning.”

Sam grabbed for the floral addition, his face matching its shade with impressive speed. Behind me, I heard that unusual sound again, only this time it was an unmistakable chortle.


Now I don’t mean to imply the cousin Frodo was a dour and grim sort of hobbit. Not in the least. It’s just that, as long as I had known him, which was actually all my life and most of his, he had been, well, serious. Even to the point of reading books and such. I had always put that up to his Tragic Story. Plucked from the bosom of his loving family at the tender age of twelve (or rather the family plucked from him) and cast into a perfect sea of Brandybucks had made him infinitely interesting in my young eyes. He had that pale and unusual look about him that seemed to inspire many a lass to conclude that insufficient care was being taken of him and she was the one to cure that deficiency. These proposals never seemed to take, though, and he soon could be found solitary again, up in a secluded tree, book in hand.

Unlike myself, Frodo wasn’t expected to take over any particular position and was pretty much left on his own with no duties other than to show up at mealtimes. I, of course, was wildly envious of this freedom, and it made him all the more attractive as a companion. Which he was. I could not have asked for a better friend, growing up. He told the most wonderful tales, knew the best songs, and made up scores of games for us. He knew where ripe windfall apples might lay, that a child could easily pick up. He knew when the barnyard cat had just had kittens, and in which corner she had hidden away. And nobody was more of a master at pilfering mushrooms, no matter on whose property they might be found. It was a bleak day indeed when Bilbo Baggins took him away.


But back to that sound, there he stood behind me, balancing cups and once again grinning. He looked positively fifteen years old rather than more than three times that. An odd trait of the Baggins. Old Bilbo also seemed to pick an age and then stick with it, as well. But then I heard the unmistakable sound of a plate laden with plum cake being laid on the kitchen table and there were suddenly other matters to be considered than the unusual behavior of the master of Bag End.

The three of us (there being no servant’s hall at Bag End since there were no servants save Sam, and he couldn’t very well be expected to go off and have tea by himself) were taking care of the last bits of a wickedly good cherry tart when conversation began to pick up again. “Staying for awhile, Merry?” Frodo added three spoonfuls of honey to a fresh cup of tea. Sam had risen to clear off the dishes but paused, no doubt waiting to calculate the quantity of additional provision he might need to lay by.

Frodo’s tone seemed a trifle anxious, so I reassured him at once. “Don’t worry, my dear Frodo, I don’t plan on just popping in and running off. I know how much you can use a friendly face around in an out-of-the-way place such as this. As a matter of fact, young Pippin should be joining us sometime this afternoon, so it will seem quite like old times, won’t it.” Not seeing the look of delight I had expected at this point, I hastened to add, “Now don’t worry about Pip. He’s actually relatively tame these days, nearly out of his tweens, you know.”

“Oh, ah. Yes.” Frodo looked rather preoccupied, and not quite as sunny as he had previously. “Well, you know how much Pippin can eat. I supposed I’d better go with Sam and check the larder. It wouldn‘t do to go short, you know.” Sam had placed the kettle back on the counter and was already headed out the kitchen door.

That was a plan I happened to agree with wholeheartedly, so I pulled my pipe from my pocket and strolled out to the garden for a post-prandial smoke. I was studying the bed of petunias next to the lettuce, and how one of them could have flung itself upwards was a mystery to me, when I heard a cheery “What ho!” from the Bag End gate. Cousin Pippin had arrived.

A word about Pippin Took. As long as either Pip or I could remember, we were made painfully aware that we were the future Leaders of the Shire. A grim thought, I know, and not one either of us especially enjoyed, but there you are. So once Frodo had gone, and Pippin had sufficiently grown up enough to hold up his end of a conversation, we were thrown together a good bit. Since Pippin was a lively lad, and always up for a bit of fun, we actually got along quite well. Perhaps a bit too well at times, considering what one of us didn’t think up, the other did. I suspect my parents were, ironically, missing Frodo’s stabilizing influence on me.

But I tried to bear in mind my future role as a Shire statesman, and cultivated a keen interest in those around me whose fates might, some day, rest in my hands. Pip did attempt to follow my example, but with his carefree ways, often took no note of the world around him. Fortunately, his genial charm and kindly nature caused all who came into contact with the lad to keep a fatherly (or motherly, as the case might be) eye on him, and rescue him from any difficulties, when needed.


Such was the lad I saw appear at the garden gate. Pip had shot a good deal in the past year, and was now nearly my height, although still a little on the reedy side. It was hard for me to believe, at times, that this child would, in a few short years, come of age. Where does the time go, I mused, as I sauntered forth to meet him.

“What, ho, yourself, Pip. You’ve just missed tea, but I suppose Sam could turn up something for you.”

“That would be good,” Pippin replied cheerily. “Luncheon was a little on the smallish side.”

Pippin’s idea of smallish could probably feed the Baggins household for a week, but I did not fear. Frodo was familiar with his cousin’s appetite, and would adjust his supply accordingly.

“Hullo, Frodo,” Pippin sang out as we entered the Bag End kitchen. “Your other favorite cousin’s here just in time for a bit of something.”

Frodo and Sam must have been taking a rather extensive inventory, for there was no response at first. Then we heard some muttered conversation coming up the hall, and Frodo entered the kitchen to greet the newcomer. “Good heavens lad, are you taller that I am now?” he spun Pippin around with a smile. “If that doesn’t make me feel like quite the ancient hobbit!”

Pippin gave a laugh, and then greeted Sam, who had followed Frodo into the room, a crate of potatoes held in front of him. “Sam, good to see you too.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “Your weskit, Sam. It’s gone inside out.”

“Oh. Aye.” Sam certainly had picked up a fair amount of color outside this summer. He still seemed rather rosy.

“I believe I’ll go back for the onions, Sam,” Frodo added hastily and quickly left. There was a muffled sound, perhaps a sneeze, as he passed me.

Sam set the potatoes down, reversed the offending article of clothing, and soon had tea begun again and a plate of something lovely in front of Pippin. “That’s very good of you, Sam,” Pippin sat down and glanced at Sam thoughtfully.

“No bother, Mr. Pippin,” Sam bustled about the room, putting everything back to rights again, and then headed for the door. “I’ll just check on the wood for the fires. Getting’ a bit chilly o’the evenings,” And he was gone.

That just left us two conspirators in the Bag End kitchen.


About a week ago, rumor had floated through Brandy Hall that Frodo had purchased a small house down Crickhollow way. Pip and I had thought that odd, for Frodo hardly fills up Bag End as it is, but then we remembered how he loves to go tramping about the countryside. Perhaps, we decided, he wants a bit of a place where he can stop and take a hot bath along the dusty road. And the local inn, though serving a rare brew of spring beer, is a little on the cramped and noisy side. But then just yesterday, a more disturbing piece of news had reached our ears, that Frodo had actually gone and sold Bag End to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her odious issue. No-one seemed to know the details, and being familiar with how close cousin Frodo can be with his personal information, we had decided on dropping by and in the course of our visit, ferreting the particulars out of him.

“So,” Pip mumbled through a mouthful of bread-and-gooseberry-preserve, “Did you get anything out of him yet?”

“ No,” I assured him. “We just only had tea, and he seems a bit, well, busy.”

“I noticed.” Pippin took a healthy slurp of his tea. “Those onions seem rather difficult to find.”

I was already too busy calculating our plan of procedure to be concerned with the layout of Frodo’s pantry. “I think after dinner would be our most promising opportunity. After all, I hate to put the poor old hobbit off his feed before dinner with any distasteful topics such as the Lobelia.”

“Enough to make even the heartiest hobbit pause a bit,” Pippin agreed and the matter was settled.


The rest of the day passed in that congenial way that days do in the somnolent outpost of Hobbiton. We strolled down to the Green Dragon for a mug or two, giving Sam ample time to roll up his sleeves and produce his culinary magic. The conversation veered from this subject to that, but we carefully drove clear of any matter of import. Frodo did seem, however, to rather fade away from time to time. Obviously, something had the poor hobbit quite preoccupied. It wasn’t long before he suggested that we head back and discover what Sam had planned for us, a proposal Pippin heartily approved of.

It was, of course, excellent. The gardens of Bag End are quite nice and all, but I say that that lad’s true calling is in the kitchen. Before too long, we were comfortably stretched out on a rug or two in the parlor, sleepily working on our pipes and dinner simultaneously. Frodo had unaccountably insisted on helping Sam clean up (he really should look into at least hiring a scullery maid) so it was just Pip and I.

“So, should we ask about his plans now then?” Pip asked me in a low voice.

“Hmm.” I considered the best strategy to pursue. “Maybe we should wait a day and see if he pops out with it on his own sometime tomorrow.”

Pippin agreed. “Good idea. After all, I hate to bring up such a nasty subject right before bed. And besides, have you noticed something different about Frodo today? He seems positively mellow.”

Well, I had noticed Frodo seemed a little perkier than his norm. I had attributed it to our visit, though, and mentioned that to Pip. “Sometimes it just does a hobbit good to see a different face or two about the old premises.”

“Ah. Perhaps.” Pippin continued to suck meditatively on his pipe-stem. “I suppose that’s it.”

At this point, we dropped the topic, as Frodo bustled in, followed by the hard-working Sam. “I’ve, we’ve, got your rooms ready,” he informed us.

“Don’t worry about it, old thing,” I reassured him. “I’ve stayed here often enough to find the bedroom. One next to yours, right?”

“Well, ah,” Frodo seemed a little lost, “we had to move the two of you down the hall a bit. That bedroom, ah..”

“Mice,” suddenly popped in Sam, succinctly.

“Right,” Frodo agreed quickly. “Family of mice. Can’t find them, but we know they’re in there somewhere. Will have to turn that room apart one of these days.”

That was good enough for me. I take kindly to all the creatures large and small, of course, but rodents aren’t exactly along my line.

Pippin looked up from his pipe thoughtfully. “Mice,“ he mused. “You haven’t had that problem before.”

“Well, things change. And my! What time is it anyway?” Frodo yawned heartily at that. “Guess I’ll be toddling off,” and proceeded to do so. Sam had already vanished. Pip and I followed not too long after, but I could have sworn I heard a faint click as I walked by Frodo’s bedroom door.


The wonderful aroma of bacon-and-onions awoke me the next morning. I quickly performed my morning ablutions and headed down the hallway. No-one does breakfast better than Sam.

Frodo was seated at the table, slicing bread, when I entered, and Sam was busy over several pans on the kitchen fire. “Ah, Merry,” Frodo greeted me. “Sleep well last night?”

“If stones sleep well, then I certainly did.” I poured myself a cup of tea and joined Frodo at the table. Sam brought some plates over, and then the pan with the potatoes. There seemed something a trifle mussed about him this morning, but I couldn’t quite place it. Normally, he’s a rather tidy hobbit.

Pippin joined us at that point. “Morning, all” he chirped cheerfully. “Buttons, Sam,” he added, his eye falling on the sturdy hobbit.

“Oh,” Sam glanced at his mis-buttoned shirt, adjusting it hastily. “Must have been in that much of a hurry this morning.”

“Ah,” Pippin responded thoughtfully, and pouring himself a cup of tea, sat down at the table as well.

We quickly dispatched Sam’s excellent breakfast and following Frodo’s generous example, helped with the cleaning up.

“Lovely day out,” Frodo mentioned, glancing out the kitchen window. And indeed it was. The sky was blue and clear, with just the nip of a breeze. The summer flowers were all still going at it, and the birds appeared to be in their proper places, chatting merrily with one another. In short, a perfect Shire morning.

Sam also gazed out, no doubt reviewing the many duties that awaited him in the garden. “Those long-beans want propping up,” he mentioned suddenly. “I’d better get to work on those. Just in case you’d be wantin’ me, Mr. Frodo,” he added conscientiously.

“Oh, right, Sam,” Frodo replied, with a smile. “That’s good to know.”

So Sam went off somewhere in the back of the gardens, and the three of us wandered off in another direction and strolled about, breathing in the fresh air for awhile and wondering what we should have for second breakfast. We returned to the kitchen after a bit to review our options, and I noticed that Frodo seemed somewhat distracted.

“Ah,” I thought to myself, giving Pip a wink as if to say, “Here it comes.”

But instead, he coughed once, shoved his hands into his pockets, and ended back up at the kitchen door. “You lads just stay here for a moment,” he was already half-way through the door. “I’ll just check with Sam to see if we should pick up something for elevensies. Shan’t be long.” And he was gone.

Well you certainly couldn’t fault his hospitality, so Pip and I sat there awhile and chatted of this and that while dunking some spare biscuits in cold tea. It started to become clear after a while that Sam must have a rather long list since there was no sign of Frodo. “You know,” I swiped the last of the crumbs off the plate with a wet finger, “Perhaps we ought to go check on cousin Frodo. Hasn’t he been gone for a while now?”

“Actually,” Pippin said with an odd sort of smile, “I don’t think we should.”

I was just about to ask what he meant by that puzzling remark, when Frodo himself did blow in. He was rather out of breath, as if he had run in from the back field, and the brisk walk must have gotten his blood to stirring, since he was actually rather rosy about the face. Sam was following him, a basket of beans held in front of himself.

“See, Merry, I knew they wouldn’t forget there were guests about the place,” Pippin beamed at them. “Lovely beans, Sam. Bits of grass in your hair, though.”

Sam quickly swiped a hand through his curls. The brisk walk must have done him good too, for he was as rosy as his master. “Just cut the grass yesterday, Mr. Pippin. Must still be some bits blowing about.”

“Ah,” Pippin replied pensively.


The second day of our visit was now nearly over and we still hadn’t found the right time and place for cornering Frodo. He had gone to his room after lunch for a nap, and Sam must have been back amongst the beans again, for there was no sign of Frodo’s hard-working employee. After tea, Frodo was insistent on a visit to the Green Dragon again, and that of course was neither the right time or place either. Then we returned back to Bag End where Sam laid on another feast and how Frodo stays as small about the bones as he does I’ll never know. It’s not as if he gets that much exercise either.

So there we were again in front of the evening fire, pipes in hand. It didn’t look as though we were going to get a chance to chat with Frodo alone either because Sam was there too, with his pipe out as well. A rather nice one, I noted. Oh well, you couldn’t very well ask the poor lad to go smoke alone in his room, wherever it was, so there he was, with us.

The chat had been rather dying down when I decided to seize the opportunity to pin the elusive cousin Frodo to the point. After all, the worst that could happen if he became too annoyed at our meddlesome questions was to bung us out on our ears, and at least we had already had dinner.

“Frodo, my dear hobbit,” I began, in a sort of throat-clearing way. “This place in Crickhollow now. What’s the point of that?”

“Yes,” chimed in Pippin, “and what’s this we hear about letting the dreaded Lobelia get her claws on Bag End?”

Frodo looked a little startled at the abrupt change of topic, and then rather uncomfortable. “Ah, well,” he remarked hesitantly, scooting a little closer to Sam on the bench they were sharing, for moral sympathy, no doubt.

“Well, you know, since Bilbo left, I feel I’m bouncing about in this place, so to speak,” he began vaguely, waving his pipe about. Sam put his pipe down on a dish on the table next to him and began to watch Frodo carefully. “And Crickhollow is a rather nice locale, so I’ve heard, and ..and I thought it was time for a change,” he finished, rather lamely. He sidled a little closer to Sam.

“I wouldn’t have thought you would have Sam tending the gardens for Lobelia,” I continued my shrewd questioning. “Why, in the name of Middle-Earth, her?”

Frodo’s eyes flew open at this. “Of course he isn’t,” he exclaimed, obviously startled. “Sam is coming with me, of course!”

Sam nodded quickly, his gaze still on Frodo.

“Moving from Hobbiton, Sam?” Pippin questioned him with a smile. “That will be quite a change for you.”

“Oh, but he has to come, you see,” Frodo began to explain, starting to look strangely agitated, “because I need, well, I need his expertise.” By this time he and Sam were sitting quite tightly together, and their hands seemed to have gotten tangled up as well.

Pippin suddenly burst out laughing. “I have no doubt about it,” as both Frodo and Sam turned inexplicably very red about the face. “No, I‘m sorry,” he protested, waving his pipe towards the pair. “That really was rude of me. But I am awfully glad for the both of you. That‘s lovely news. And Sam,” he added, confidentially, ”the proprietor at the Jolly Bullfrog, and I are quite close, so I’ll put in a good word for you. You’ll be wanting the good stuff.”

Frodo and Sam glanced at each other uncertainly. I was still working this out. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Pippin,” Sam replied tentatively.

Frodo rose quickly, and dragging Sam along, exclaimed, “Well, we’ll be off then. Do bank the fire when you go to bed, very kind of you,” and vanished down the hallway with Sam, digits still firmly interlocked.

Well you could have knocked me over with a pinfeather.

Pippin just sat there, still chuckling to himself in an insufferably sort of way.

“But how?” the words finally came out of my mouth. “How did you know?”

Pippin waved his pipe about in an airy sort of way. “I’ve seen courting lads before,” he loftily informed me. “After all, I’ve three sisters, you know.”