A Slip Twixt Cup and Lip by Kathryn Ramage
Summary: A brief Frodo Investigates! mystery. Frodo solves the mysterious death of an old acquaintance by the fingerprints on a pair of teacups.
Categories: FPS, FPS > Frodo/Sam, FPS > Sam/Frodo Characters: Frodo, Sam
Type: Mystery
Warning: None
Challenges: None
Series: Frodo Investigates!
Chapters: 9 Completed: Yes Word count: 8620 Read: 27426 Published: July 25, 2008 Updated: July 25, 2008
Story Notes:
July 2008

Notes: This story takes place in the summer of 1424 (S.R.).

This story is a sort of sequel to "The North-Thain's Murder." If you haven't read it, or would like to refresh your memory of that mystery and its ending before reading this, you can find it on the Library of Moria site at The North-Thain's Murder.

The Frodo Investigates! series

1. Chapter 1 by Kathryn Ramage

2. Chapter 2 by Kathryn Ramage

3. Chapter 3 by Kathryn Ramage

4. Chapter 4 by Kathryn Ramage

5. Chapter 5 by Kathryn Ramage

6. Chapter 6 by Kathryn Ramage

7. Chapter 7 by Kathryn Ramage

8. Chapter 8 by Kathryn Ramage

9. Chapter 9 by Kathryn Ramage

Chapter 1 by Kathryn Ramage
Just after Lithetide, Frodo went to Buckland to attend the wedding of his cousin Celie Brandybuck to a more distant cousin, Marleduc. He spent several pleasant days before and after the ceremony with his relatives, hearing all their news and family gossip, and when he was ready to return home, he accompanied his Aunt Asphodel as far as Budgeford.

"The young couple looked quite pleased with each other," Asphodel observed to her nephew after they'd left Brandy Hall. They sat together in her carriage, Frodo's pony trotting riderless behind. "It's a very good match. I understand that Celie had a number of suitors for her hand after her first husband's tragic death, but I believe she made the most sensible choice."

"You mean that she chose another Brandybuck?" said Frodo, smiling.

"Of course. Think of it--she's married twice, and never had to change her name once!" Asphodel, married and long ago widowed, still felt some regret at having to give up her prestigious family name for the more ordinary one of Burrows. She was a Brandybuck through and through, the last surviving daughter of Old Master Gorbaduc, and made every effort to sure all the Shire was aware of this fact. "Young Marleduc's from the cadet branch of the family--Uncle Orgulas's great, great grandson, you know--but so was poor Merimas. I hope the dear girl will be happier this time. They aren't planning to live in that tiny cottage on the Hall grounds where she and Merimas set up house, are they?"

"Oh no," Frodo assured her. "Celie told me herself that she never wants to set foot inside it again."

"I'm quite sympathetic with the child's feelings. Such memories she must have! But his parents' smial in Bucklebury isn't much larger. Surely they don't mean to live there? They'll be quite cramped up with the children."

"No, Auntie. No one's told me so particularly, but I'm certain that when they return from their honeymoon, they mean to stay at Brandy Hall." That had been a small piece of detective work on Frodo's part. Merry had written him shortly before the betrothal had been announced to say that he'd engaged Marly to act as his agent with the local Brandybuck-owned farms ("Since Dodi and Ilbie have no better head for figures than I do," was how Merry had explained his decision); that meant that Marly must come to the Hall daily to discuss business. Why shouldn't he come to live there after his marriage to Celie? It would certainly be more convenient, and there was plenty of room. Also, after Merimas's death had brought Celie and her two little boys back to Brandy Hall, Frodo knew that she had no desire to uproot herself and her children again.

Celie's boys, Mungo and Madoc, were being well looked after in the Hall nursery by Milli Pibble, along with their cousins, Aderic Took, and Ilbie's and Estella's infant daughter Estarla, as well as Milli's own son Jem (who was half-brother to Celie's sons, a fact unknown to the children, but known to the rest of the Brandybuck family). With five small children in residence, Frodo thought that the nursery was almost the way it had been in his own childhood, when another generation of young Brandybucks had grown up there. While at the Hall, he'd spent an afternoon or two up in the nursery chatting with Milli, for she'd been his housemaid while he'd lived in the cottage at Crickhollow and he took an interest in her welfare. Milli was still somewhat bewildered by the Brandybuck family's kindnesses to her and Jem since their relationship to the late Merimas had been discovered, but she told him she was happy with her place at the Hall.

"Your girl-cousins look as if they'd rather not leave Brandy Hall," said Asphodel. "Not that I blame them, for it is the finest and grandest house in the whole of the Shire, but it is usual for a bride to go to her husband's home when she marries."

Frodo understood that she wasn't referring to Celie alone, but also to Melilot, who had returned from Tuckborough last year. Her marriage to Everard Took had not turned out well, and her stay at Brandy Hall had become permanent since Everard had run away with Tibby Clover. This fresh scandal had been talked about a great deal at the wedding, and he and Asphodel discussed it now.

"The Tooks blame Melly for that husband of hers behaving so disgracefully--as if he never would have done such a thing if she'd stayed," said Asphodel. "But I say the poor girl saw her mistake and did the sensible thing by going back to her own family. I understand from Esmeralda that Eglantine also blames Merry for it."

"Merry?" echoed Frodo. "Whatever for?"

"Setting a bad example, I presume." This made Frodo laugh, and his aunt added, "Well, you know how upset Eglantine's been over Merry making a show of himself and young Peregrin. Perhaps she feels that they encourage other boys to behave the same way. There seem to be such a lot of you boys about these days."

Frodo was momentarily shocked to hear his aunt include him along with Merry, Pippin, and Everard as "you boys," but then he reflected that, when he'd lived in Buckland last year, his relationship with Merry had been an open secret among the family there. Was it so surprising that the ladies at Brandy Hall should convey the news to her?

"We Brandybucks have always been considered an odd family--not like the commonplace hobbits--but I must say this last generation has turned out very odd indeed!" Aunt Asphodel went on, "It's a pity that it's happened to some of the most eligible young bachelors in the Shire, but if you're not suited to be proper husbands, that's that. I suppose that whether Merry's example is a good or bad one depends on one's point-of-view. Don't you agree, my dear? I wouldn't have said so once, but I see now it's preferable that a boy like that doesn't wed at all rather than put a girl in such an unhappy position as Everard did poor Melly. I've quite given up on the idea of Merry taking a wife." She gave her nephew a mischievous look. "Is there any hope for you, Frodo? No girl who could change your mind?"

"No, Auntie, I'm sorry," Frodo responded lightly but honestly. "All the ones I'm most fond of are married now anyway."

"Ah," Asphodel said with a note of sympathetic understanding, which confused Frodo until she added, "Poor Melly. What a shame that such a handsome and personable young hobbit should go to waste."

Frodo didn't inform his aged aunt that he was certainly not intending to let himself be wasted. He knew exactly how he meant to spend the time he had--more time than he would've anticipated only a few years ago. When he'd returned from his quest, his health and strength had been so undermined by the Ring's influence that he'd had no hope of living to see forty. But now that birthday lay just a few months away in September and he looked forward to celebrating.

They'd left Brandy Hall at midmorning, and arrived in Budgeford by late afternoon. "You're not going on to Hobbiton tonight, are you? Why don't you stop with your old auntie, Frodo dear?" Asphodel offered as they stopped in front her small but elegant bungalow. "There isn't much room, but I can give you a good dinner and a place to sleep."

"Nothing would please me more, Aunt Del," Frodo answered diplomatically, "but I've reserved a room at the Three Badgers. I'm expecting my friend Sam to come and meet me here, to ride back the rest of the way with me." But he agreed to come to his aunt's for tea and dinner, and to bring Sam along if he'd already arrived.
Chapter 2 by Kathryn Ramage
After he'd seen his aunt into her house and helped the groom with the luggage, he accompanied the groom to the inn stableyard, where the great lady stabled her ponies and had hired the groom and carriage. Once he'd seen his own pony taken charge of by the ostler, Frodo climbed up to extract his bag from the back of the carriage. He was kneeling on the cushioned seat and leaning down to reach into the box behind it, when out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a hobbit coming out through the back entrance of the inn. The face looked vaguely familiar--but by the time he looked up, the other hobbit had disappeared back inside.

"I say," he turned around to the front of the carriage and called out to the two working hobbits, who were chatting familiarly while they unhitched the carriage ponies. "Do you know who that was?"

"Who was who, Mr. Baggins?" the groom asked back.

"The gentleman who just peeked out there. I thought I recognized him."

Ostler and groom both turned to the door Frodo was pointing to. "Can't say, sir. There's not so many gents hereabouts, but we do get our fine visitors now and again, like yourself," the former replied with a respectful tug of his cap. "We've got a lady and gent a-staying here at the Badgers now, but I couldn't tell you as it was him or not, as I didn't see 'm. Mr. Noakes'll know."

Frodo thanked them, and went into the inn through the same door. Mr. Noakes, the proprietor of the Three Badgers Inn, knew him well and was delighted to see him again. Since Frodo and some of friends had stayed at his inn while investigating the disappearance of Camellia Stillwaters, Noakes seemed to feel that he had played an important part in the investigation and discovery of the murderer. He was still telling stories about it to his neighbors and patrons three years later. Mr. Noakes also remembered Sam, but when Frodo asked after his friend, reported that, no, Mr. Gamgee had not arrived. But the room Frodo had reserved was ready for him. The only other people staying at the inn at present were the couple the groom had mentioned, a Mr. and Mrs. Flowers--a common enough name, but not one that recalled anything of significance to Frodo. He was more interested in Sam's pending arrival than the identity of the face he had glimpsed.

He'd written to Sam a few days before leaving Buckland, asking his friend come and meet him here. It wasn't simply Sam's companionship on the ride home that he wanted, as he'd told Aunt Asphodel; he'd made plans for tonight. The Three Badgers was a small inn, comfortable and private. Privacy was more important than ever now for the games they wanted to play together, and harder to come by at Bag End these days.

It was little Elanor who had unwittingly caused the trouble. Sam and Rosie's daughter was two years old now, old enough to climb out of her crib; she had done so in the middle of one night last month when she'd woken up in the dark nursery and had gone in search of her father. Not finding him in her mother's room, adjacent to the nursery, she'd gone pattering up and down the tunnels of Bag End, peeking into as many rooms as she could push open the doors to, until she found Sam asleep in Frodo's bed. She had climbed up to nestle between them, without disturbing either. Although she'd seen nothing unfit for a young child's eyes, Sam had been mortified to awake in the morning to find her sleeping there. It had been days before Frodo could coax him back to bed on their usual nights, and even now Sam felt too self-conscious to relax and enjoy himself. They locked the bedroom door--they'd never bothered to before, for Rosie would no more think of intruding on them than Frodo would dream of disturbing her when Sam was in her bed--but the damage had been done. They'd been made aware that their household arrangement was no longer a private matter between three grown hobbits, but also included a little girl who was of an age to take notice of things, and who would soon be asking questions that they weren't ready to answer.

Frodo left a note for Sam with the innkeeper, and went to spend a pleasant afternoon at his aunt's house. He stayed to dinner and when he returned to the inn that evening, he looked into the public room, which was crowded with local hobbits, and into the private dining room, which was empty, but saw no sign of Sam. He was more disappointed than worried, for Sam was perfectly capable of taking care of himself along the high road through the Shire; surely he'd been delayed by some business in Hobbiton or, a more irksome thought, had balked even at this chance for privacy away from home. Frodo went to bed alone, and slept through a peaceful night.




He was having breakfast in the small, sunny, breakfast room the next morning, when Mr. Noakes came in and said, "I'm glad you're here at my inn just now, Mr. Baggins. Something terrible's happened in the night."

"Something 'terrible'?"

Mr. Noakes nodded grimly. "A horrible accident, or worse. Will you have a look?"

Frodo had learned that being a famous detective meant he was expected to look into every odd thing that happened in the Shire, but this sounded more serious than the usual minor mysteries he was called to examine. Mr. Noakes looked genuinely distressed. "Have you sent for the shirriff?" he asked.

"I sent one o' the stable-lads after Chief Horrocks over to Whitfurrows, but as you're here, I'm sure as he'd be glad of your help. It was you, after all, as knew that poor lady who went missing afore was killed, and told the shirriffs where they could look for her body and who'd put her there." Frodo left his breakfast and followed the innkeeper down the corridor where the guest rooms were. "You asked when you first came if we had other guests, Mr. Baggins, and I said there was two, a lady and her husband."

"Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Flowers." They went past the door to his room, to the one at the very end of the corridor. It was here, Frodo recalled, that he and his friends had tried to keep Rolo Bindbole prisoner, and he had escaped out the window.

"That's right. They was a-staying here this last week. Well, now she's dead and he's nowhere to be found." Mr. Noakes opened the door to the room.

Frodo stepped to the doorway, and the first thing he saw was the body on the bed. The lady lay on her side, fully clothed, curled slightly as if she were asleep, but the color of her face and hands told otherwise, for they were mottled and bluish in the morning light. In spite of the discoloration and the plait of dark hair that fell over one cheek, he was astonished to recognize her. She'd been a beautiful woman of middle years--a face he wouldn't easily forget. And he knew now who he had glimpsed in the stableyard yesterday.

"Her name wasn't Flowers," he told Mr. Noakes. "She was Lady Iris Took, the estranged wife of the North-Thain."
Chapter 3 by Kathryn Ramage
"Lady Iris Took!" the innkeeper echoed. "Dead, in my inn! Now how she'd come to be here? And that was never the North-Thain she was calling her husband."

"No," said Frodo. "He was her lover." Florisel Pumble-Took, a cousin from one of the lesser branches of the Took family, and former land-agent of the North-Thain. He ought to have recognized those Tookish features right away, but he'd never expected to find the two of them here. "They ran off together from Long Cleeve over a year ago." It seemed far more likely that, after that ugly business of the attempted poisoning of the Thain, the two had left the Shire months ago. He wondered where they'd been, and what they'd been up to, during that time. And what had brought them to Budgeford?

Carefully, he stepped into the room to look around. The window was open. Some drawers of the wardrobe were likewise pulled opened and left empty, but others were shut; when Frodo checked, he found that the closed drawers still contained articles of lady's clothing. Florisel must have taken his own things--and hastily too, by the look of it--and gone out the window just as Rolo Bindbole had. There was a small, round table with two chairs set before the fire, and a kettle containing some cool water sat on the hearth. There'd been a fire burning last night, but all that remained of it was a dull warmth emanating from the ashes in the grate. "They didn't come out to dine last night," he said. "Did they eat in here?"

"No, Mr. Baggins. That is, they was accustomed to take their dinners here in their room, in private-like, but they didn't ask for nothing to be brought them last night."

There were no plates set on the table, only a teapot, a small pot of honey, and a half-drunk cup of tea. Another cup lay on its side on the floor beside the bed, as if it had fallen from the lady's hand. A shaft of sunlight from the open window fell on it, highlighting the pottery glaze and certain smudges on the glossy surface.

"Have you touched anything in this room?" Frodo asked.

"Only her--the lady--to be sure she was beyond help. She's cold as a stone."

"What about that cup?" Frodo nodded to the one on the floor; Mr. Noakes reached down to pick it up. "No--don't! Leave it where it lies. Lock the door to this room, and we'll wait for the chief shirriff to arrive."
Chapter 4 by Kathryn Ramage
The Whitfurrows Chief Shirriff, Mr. Horrocks, arrived within the hour accompanied by the local shirriff-on-duty. Mr. Horrocks also remembered Frodo from the investigation of Camellia Stillwaters' disappearance, and didn't seem surprised to find him waiting with Mr. Noakes in the front hall of the inn. "Pleased to see you again, Mr. Baggins," he said with a bow, then added in jocular tones, "When I heard as there was a dead lady at the Badgers, I guessed you might be about in it somewhere."

"Not by intention!" Frodo answered. "I was merely passing by and stopped the night."

"But it's lucky he's here," Mr. Noakes said helpfully. "Mr. Baggins says he knows all about this lady, and the gent as was with her."

"Do you now?" asked Mr. Horrocks, and looked keenly interested. "Well, whyn't you tell me about them, if you please, Mr. Baggins? If you can say who done this murder already, it'd save us time. And you might show us where the body is, Mr. Noakes. Come along, Culby," he addressed the shirriff who had come with him.

Mr. Noakes led the party back to the locked room. While the Chief Shirriff had his own look around, Frodo told Horrocks what he knew of Lady Iris.

"How would you say she died, Mr. Baggins?" Mr. Horrocks asked when Frodo had finished. "With her face all gone blue like that, I'd guess she was smothered by a pillow or some such."

"The only pillows is under her head," Shirriff Culby observed.

Frodo had to agree that suffocation seemed unlikely. There was no sign of a struggle, which would surely have occurred if Florisel or someone else had tried to hold her down. He was forming his own idea of what had happened in this room last night. "We don't know that it's murder, Shirriff," he began, but before he could draw Chief Horrocks's attention to the most important clues, Mr. Noakes spoke:

"What about that cup you said as I shouldn't touch, Mr. Baggins?"

"This one here?" Culby bent down to pick it up, but was stopped by the Chief.

"Ah, it's poison, is it?" asked Horrocks eagerly.

"There are signs," said Frodo. "Aside from her odd color, you'll notice a brownish stain on the pillow beneath her head--I believe she was sick shortly before she died. And that cup--I believe she was holding it. She must have drunk from it. There's very little spilt on the floor."

"Who was it that poisoned her?"

"As I said, we don't know that it is murder, Shirriff," Frodo repeated.

"Suicide, then?"

"Yes, or perhaps an accident. I have reasons to believe that she didn't take her own life deliberately. That cup, for example. Have you observed than when the light strikes it just so, it shows up those little smudges on the glaze?"

The Chief Shirriff bent down to peer more closely at them. "Those finger-marks?" The shaft of sunlight had moved away from the cup and was now over a foot away; the smudges were no longer as obvious as they'd been when Frodo had first noticed them, but were still visible.

"I've been told that the marks on the tips of no two people's fingers are exactly alike," he explained. "Look: you can see there are two distinct sets on this cup, one small and delicate. Hers." He indicated Lady Iris's hand, which dangled over the bedside about eight inches above the fallen cup. Her fingertips were remarkably dainty. "The others are larger and squarish. They most likely belong to her companion."

"The lover you say she run off with," said Culby with some relish at this scandal among high-born folk.

"Yes, that's right. His name is Florisel Pumble-Took. As far as we know, he was the only other person in this room last night. Now, these marks of his are most curiously placed-"

But Chief Shirriff Horrocks was no longer interested in fingerprints; if the famous Frodo Baggins said that this missing lover had handled the cup Lady Iris had drunk from, then he must be the person they wanted. "We'll get right on finding him--catch him if he an't gone right out of the Shire." He turned to give the order to Shirriff Culby to round up as many off-duty shirriffs and other volunteers as he could for the search. "It's plaguey-sharp eyes you have, Mr. Baggins! I'd never've noticed a thing like that. Murder or accident or what have you, he'll tell us how it come about once we find him."

Frodo sighed. He supposed that the Chief Shirriff was right in one thing: Florisel would have to be found and his story heard for the truth to be known.
Chapter 5 by Kathryn Ramage
The ostler reported that someone had entered the stable late during the night, but when he'd come down from his cot in the hayloft to see who it was, the person had fled. All the ponies, including the two belonging to the so-called Mr. and Mrs. Flowers were still in their stalls. Since most of Budgefords' residents stabled their ponies at the inn, it was assumed that Florisel had fled on foot. With this encouraging information, Chief Shirriff Horrocks set off to lead the search. Mr. Noakes went about making arrangements for Lady Iris's body to be laid out properly according to traditional Shire customs.

Frodo, having no appetite for his now-cold breakfast, went out the front door of the inn for a breath of fresh air. A small crowd of curiosity seekers had gathered outside. It seemed as if half of Budgeford--the rest had joined the search--had turned out for more news about the shocking death at the inn. Frodo noted that his Aunt Asphodel was not present, but her maid was; Asphodel would think it unseemly to take an open interest in such a lurid event, but since he was in the middle of it, she would also expect him to come tell her about it without making her to come and stand out in the street with the commonplace hobbits. He spoke briefly to the maid and promised to visit his aunt's house later in the day.

As he scanned the crowd and answered questions from others who were bold enough to ask him, he spotted a familiar face he hadn't expected to see--or rather, one he had forgotten to expect--and he felt an enormous sense of relief. "Sam!" he cried as his friend came around from the stableyard. When Sam was close enough, Frodo gave him a quick but fierce hug. "I'm so glad you've arrived. You missed all the excitement this morning. What kept you?"

"I'm sorry I'm late," said Sam. "The pony cast a shoe, so I had to stop in Frogmorton for last night. I came as quick as I could. Now what's going on here, Frodo? When I went through Whitfurrows, they was saying there'd been a murder at the Three Badgers inn and everyone was out looking for the one that did it."

"That's not quite so. Yes, someone is dead, and it's someone we know. Lady Iris Took. You remember."

"Lady Iris!" Sam remembered her well.

"She apparently drank some poison--I'll tell you about it, and I want you to see for yourself." He had to have someone else see what he had seen in that room, and understand its significance. Frodo took Sam by the arm and they went into the inn. As they crossed the front hall, they were met by Mr. Noakes.

"I was just looking for you, Mr. Baggins," the innkeeper told him once some curiosity seekers who had ventured in were shooed back outside with a 'there's nothing for you to see here!' "We've done what we could for the dead lady, but it seems to me her family ought to be told. Does she have family of her own?"

"A son," said Frodo, "and a mother." He wondered what had happened to Mrs. Scuttle, who had disappeared at the same time as Lady Iris and Florisel.

"What about these North-Tooks. You say as you know them? They'd want to know, wouldn't they?"

"Yes, they would. I'll write them." Thain Brabantius and his family would certainly want to learn how Iris had come to her end--although, except for Iris's son Isigo, whom the Thain had adopted, few would feel sorrow over the news. The Thain's children and their spouses were more likely to say that the lady had met a fitting fate. "I'd like Shirriff Gamgee to have a look at the room. Is it still locked?"

"Not since Chief Horrocks was in it," Mr. Noakes answered, "but it an't been touched yet, save to lay her ladyship out. I made sure as we didn't touch that cup on the floor as you was so particular about." While he didn't understand why it was important, this one point had been fixed in the innkeeper's mind. "Our lass won't dare go in to straighten up as is usual of a morning, but Mrs. Noakes went with me to see to her ladyship. `Tis a more fitting task for a woman." Then he remembered something. "And she found this." He took from his waistcoat pocket a small vial of dark-colored glass with a cork stopper and gave it to Frodo.

"Where did Mrs. Noakes find this?" Frodo asked.

"In the pocket of her ladyship's dress. It fell out, like, when my misses turned her to lie flat. Mrs. Noakes thought you'd be int'rested to see it."

"Yes, indeed. Thank her for me." As the innkeeper left them to intercept another group of curious visitors at the door, Frodo cautiously pulled out the cork. The vial was empty except for some damp residue that clung to the sides and retained a strong but oddly familiar odor. He let Sam have a sniff.

Sam identified it immediately. "Pipeweed."

"A syrup of pipeweed juice." Frodo considered this. If someone were to brew pipeweed leaves and strain off the liquid...? "Can pipeweed kill, Sam? Is it poisonous?"

"It'll give you a nasty cough if you smoke too much of it."

"What if you were to drink it, like tea?"

Sam made a face at the thought. "I wouldn't like to try. It'd most likely make you sick."

"Or worse?"

"Maybe worse, if it was brewed strong enough."

Frodo was still thoughtful as he carefully wrapped the vial in his handkerchief and tucked it into a pocket. "Shall we go and see the room?"
Chapter 6 by Kathryn Ramage
Lady Iris still lay on the bed, but now in the traditional funerary pose, flat on her back with her arms crossed over her breast. Her eyes were shut and her hair had been brushed back into place, away from her face. The pillows beneath her head had been removed, but Mrs. Noakes had set them to one side in a small laundry basket rather than carried them out to be washed. Frodo only gave the body a glance, but Sam paused near the foot of the bed and regarded her solemnly as if he'd come to pay his last respects. Whatever else she might've been, Lady Iris had been kind to Sam when he'd visited Long Cleeve--the only member of the Thain's household who hadn't ignored him or treated him with snobbish disdain.

The shaft of light had moved nearer the wall behind the door. Taking great care, Frodo picked up the cup on the floor between his open palms--one at the base and the other over the top--and held it in the light so Sam could see what he'd observed that morning. "The smaller marks are Lady Iris's prints. Look here, Sam--Do you see how she held the cup in both her hands as she drank?"

Sam, who had come closer to see, nodded and curved both hands as if he held an invisible cup between them in demonstration.

"She didn't touch the handle, nor did her companion. You'll find his fingermarks here--note where they are." Frodo tilted the cup so that a set of larger smudges around and just under the rim caught the light. "That's precisely as I saw them this morning, and it drew my attention. He picked this cup up from over the top. He didn't drink from it. He couldn't have, with his hand placed so."

"But you guessed that already. This was her cup." Sam turned to find the other cup on the table. "That's his, over there. He didn't drink much of it."

"He passed this one to her." They went over to the table. Frodo set down the cup he was holding and, taking care not to smudge the fingermarks nor spill the tea still inside, picked up the other one in the same manner. "Now see: he held his own cup in one hand. But look! She held this cup too. Her smaller fingerprints are there, just as they were on her own cup."

Sam looked puzzled. "She drank from both?"

Frodo set the cup down. "It is curious, isn't it?" He leaned down over both cups to have a closer look at the inside of each. Both Iris and Florisel appeared to have liked a lot of honey with their tea, for there was a thick layer of sweetly scented golden goo at the bottom of both cups. The honey left in Lady Iris's looked a little darker, but that could be because it had dried, while the honey in Florisel's cup had been soaking in the remains of his tea overnight. He was tempted to try a sip of the tea to see if he could taste anything odd, but knew that Sam would knock the cup from his hand before letting him drink anything that might be poisoned. In any case, he suspected that all that honey would conceal any bitter taste. He sniffed both cups, but detected no strong smell of pipeweed in either--no stronger than the incipient smell that lingered in the room, for Florisel and previous guests must have smoked their pipes in here many times. The teapot showed no signs of having anything but tea leaves in it, and Lady Iris's delicate fingermarks were visible on the lid.

But there was one other clue they hadn't examined, that little vial Mrs. Noakes had found. Frodo took it out of his pocket now and held it up to the light. A multitude of fingermarks covering and smudging each other were visible on the dark glass, and with Sam peering at them over his shoulder, Frodo tried to sort them out.

"These little fingermarks might be Lady Iris's or Mrs. Noakes. No- here are the innkeeper's wife's. They're a big larger than her ladyship's but smaller than these others."

"Mr. Pumble-Took's?" guessed Sam.

"I think not. Her husband's. Mr. Noakes has a distinctive scar on his index finger. It shows plainly here, over the other print-marks--he held it there when he gave it to me. If Florisel Pumble-Took touched this vial, I don't see where his fingers were. I'd say that these marks tell us a most interesting tale, Sam." But he saw that Sam didn't see the same story in the fingerprints that he did. Neither had Mr. Noakes or Mr. Horrocks. "Well, we must wait to hear what Mr. Pumble-Took has to say, when they find him, to see if I'm right." They left the room, shutting the door behind them.

As they walked down the corridor to Frodo's room, he continued, "Until then, we have a little time to spend by ourselves. I didn't invite you to come to Budgeford to help me with an investigation, Sam, if you recall." They were now in his room; he went to his friend's arms for a kiss, but he had more than comfort on his mind. "Did you bring the- ah- items I asked you to?"

"There're in my bag--" Sam looked down to find the bag lying on the floor near the wardrobe, where he'd left it on their way to Lady Iris's room. "Now? Before lunch?"

"No," Frodo laughed. "Let's have lunch first. You've had a long ride, and must be hungry. But right afterwards..."
Chapter 7 by Kathryn Ramage
Not long after lunch, Frodo lay face-down on the bed, bound by a single soft cord that was tied at each end to the lower part of the bedpost and looped around his wrists; the length of the cord between lay lightly along his arms and across his shoulder blades. They'd been playing such games for some weeks now, and he'd resigned himself to the fact that Sam would never tie a tight knot. The loops around his wrists were loose enough that he could easily slip a hand free if he wished to. While this was convenient for scratching his nose or pushing the hair out his eyes, Frodo preferred to grip the cord in his hands to increase the illusion of captivity. His feet were unbound, but slightly apart.

Sam sat beside and behind him at the edge of the bed, gently stroking the small of his back and backside. When his fingers brushed a ticklish point on the back of his thigh, it sent a thrill through him and made him wriggle impatiently. He was ready. With quickened breath, Frodo shut his eyes and gripped the cord tightly, waiting. But Sam only continued to pet him. It wasn't like Sam to tease. Whatever was taking him so long?

He opened his eyes just enough to peek through his lashes. Sam was watching him with an odd, thoughtful expression. "What's the trouble?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," answered Sam. "Is that why you like this sort o' thing?"

"Why-?"

"You said you don't want to be hurt, but it's punishment just the same. You want to be punished for the things you think you've done wrong. You let `em weigh on you too much."

Astonished at this remarkable statement, Frodo lifted his head from the pillow and twisted to look over his shoulder. "Sam! No, that isn't it at all. I must say, you've picked the oddest time to bring this up! I've come to terms with my failure. I wasn't responsible for what I did in Mordor. I know that now." Writing about those terrible days, especially the worst moment when his will had faltered at the Crack of Doom, had helped to settle some of the doubts in his own mind. By finishing his book with their return to the Shire, he felt now as if his quest was truly ended and the worst of his adventures all in the past. He could forget them.

"That's not what I meant," Sam answered. "It's you wanting to do this right now, with her ladyship cold just down the hall. To my mind, that's more disturbing than Nel coming into bed with us! But not you. It's set you off. It's the murderers you let get away you want punishment for, like Lady Iris, and that lot in Gamwich."

Frodo sighed and rested his chin thoughtfully in the hollow of his shoulder. "There's nothing we could've done about 'that lot.' We brought the crime we suspected to the attention of the Nobottle High Shirriff and the local magistrate, and they seemed to believe there was no point in pursuing the matter. We could give them no proof beyond what Mr. Woodbine would confess to, and they were in sympathy with him and his reasons."

"Now what about these two?"

"I suppose I am sorry I let them leave Long Cleeve," Frodo admitted. "Especially Florisel."

"You didn't used to think Mr. Pumble-Took was in on poisoning the old Thain."

"I still don't. But when he flew with her, I might've guessed that something like this would happen sooner or later." Frodo tried to explain. "It isn't a single murder alone, or the attempt of it, that troubles me so much, Sam. I realize that sometimes a person can have a good reason for wishing another dead, but that doesn't mean they should be allowed to do it! One murder might be justified, but I'm afraid that a murderer doesn't always stop at that one. Murder changes who you are, and you can't go back to being the sort of person you were before. Once you've killed and gotten away with it, what's to stop you the next time? It's easier to do it again."

Though he had no proof of it, Frodo suspected that Lady Iris had murdered her first husband in order to marry Thain Brabantius, and she had certainly tried to speed the elderly Thain to his death. Now she was dead too, by a poisoned cup of tea. He also saw now that, while his finding them here at the Three Badgers had been a coincidence, the death of Lady Iris occurring while he was here was not. He did feel somewhat responsible for that.

"It's especially easy for a poisoner." He recalled what Gandalf had said about the poisoner who had terrorized Minas Tirith, and it seemed just as true in the present case. "It gives them a sense of power over life and death that no mortal should command. Once they begin to kill, they can't stop. They see murder as the solution to every obstacle and inconvenience."

"Then you think she did it herself," said Sam. "Not deliberate, but accidental-like?"

Frodo could see his friend still didn't understand. "Something like that."

"Then why'd he run off?"

"Isn't it obvious? You've looked at everything I have, Sam. The tea-cups. That vial of poison. Surely you can come to the same conclusions- Ow!"

Sam had slapped his bottom, not hard, but with a surprisingly sharp sting that left a warm, arousing tingle.

"Enough! You always do this when you know something I don't," Sam told him. "I don't want to be playing guessing games!"

"You started it," Frodo retorted. Since that swat, he'd begun to feel as if he were pressed uncomfortably against the mattress, and he shifted slightly. "I was quite happy to be bound up and buggered before you decided to go probing into my conscience instead. Very well--I'll explain everything to you, if you'll just do that again. A little harder this time, please?"
Chapter 8 by Kathryn Ramage
They received no further news until the evening. Later in the afternoon, Frodo took Sam to call on Aunt Asphodel for tea and gave her a gossipy account of the morning's events while perched rather gingerly on the plush settee in her tiny parlor.

"Aunt Del wanted to hear about Lady Iris and Mr. Pumble-Took, not the ugly way Lady Iris met her death," Frodo explained as they walked back to the inn. "She takes no interest in finger-prints."

"I noticed you didn't mention them," Sam observed. "Nor what you thought about it all, any more'n you'd tell me... not `til I found out how to get it out of you. D'you want to play another game after dinner?" His arm was around Frodo's waist as they walked and, spite of their being in the public street, he let his hand drop slightly as if he meant to pat Frodo's bottom.

Still feeling a bit sensitive in that area, Frodo danced quickly away from the touch with a laugh. "Not the same game tonight! With any luck, we'll be riding home tomorrow and I don't fancy bouncing for miles on a saddle. Perhaps when we are home, if Rosie's out with the children." He hadn't been spanked since he was ten years old, and he certainly hadn't found the experience enjoyable then! But that had undoubtedly been punishment, for some long-forgotten naughtiness, and this distinctly wasn't. He'd always known that Sam would never do anything to hurt him, and fortunately Sam was beginning to trust himself in this respect too; once he'd gotten into the spirit of the game, he'd given such a delicious paddling that Frodo had held out some time before he'd surrendered and explained what he believed had happened to Lady Iris.

As they approached the front of the inn, they saw that the local shirriff, Culby, was waiting for them. "He's been found, Mr. Baggins," the shirriff announced. "That gent you sent us after--they caught up with 'm just short of the Hay Gate in Buckland."

"He was trying to leave the Shire?" asked Sam.

Culby nodded.

"Where is he now?" asked Frodo. "Did you bring him back from Buckland? Has he been arrested?"

"No, Mr. Baggins. Chief Horrocks and Chief Muggeredge over to Buckland are keeping him at the hut by the Hay Gate. He won't be budged, and he won't speak a word, save to say he wants to talk to you. You'll come back with me?"

"Yes, of course." It was a long ride, but Frodo had to go. He'd waited all day for this, and was as eager to talk to Florisel as Florisel was to talk to him.
Chapter 9 by Kathryn Ramage
Dusk was settling over the Shire by the time they reached the eastward borders of Buckland. The Hedge rose tall and forbidding at the end of the road before them, dark even in the last golden light of the setting sun. They stopped their ponies at the Hay Gate; to one side sat a small, thatched hut where the gate guards on duty could take shelter, and a group stood outside it--Horrocks and Muggeredge and a number of the shirriffs and volunteers called upon for the hunt that had concluded here. Chief Muggeredge came forward to greet them.

"It's good of you to come all this way, Mr. Baggins," he said. "Mr. Horrocks here's been telling me how you set 'm after this gent. `Tis more excitement than we've seen since you went off from Buckland last year after your poor cousins was killed. Welcome to you too, Mr. Gamgee. It's not often you see so many Chiefs come together unless his Mayorship calls a council in Michel Delving. But this is a special occasion. We had quite a chase!"

"We got him at last, Mr. Baggins," Chief Horrocks added, and sounded rather pleased with himself. "I heard tell this morning that a strange gent stopped at the Buckshead just this side of the Bridge not long past daybreak and tried to hire a pony. He didn't get one--but it told us where this Mr. Pumble-Took was and which way he meant to leave the Shire. I figured as he had to stay near the road to go out through the only gate in this part of the Hedge, and that's right where we found `m! He's in there, waiting." He gestured back to the hut, where one of the shirriffs was standing guard. "Did Culby tell you how he wouldn't explain himself to anybody but you, Mr. Baggins? Good--then you won't mind going in, and we'll hear what he has to say about this business and how the lady died."

Frodo thanked them, and was escorted into the hut. Florisel Pumble-Took sat on a bench within. This was indeed the face Frodo had glimpsed in the Three Badgers' stableyard the night before--handsome as always, but strained and weary and less dapper-looking than Frodo recalled.

At the sight of him, Florisel smiled. "Mr. Baggins. I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you again. I saw you last night--did you know?--when you came into that little town in the elderly lady's carriage. That was fright enough, but then you came to the inn and I realized you meant to stop the night-!"

"I saw you then," said Frodo. "That's what started it all, wasn't it? You told Lady Iris I was there."

"Yes, that's right." Florisel met Frodo's eyes. "They won't hang me, will they?"

"No," Frodo assured him. In this one instance, he was certain that one hobbit responsible for the death of another was justified, and he would do all he could to see Florisel set free. "I'll defend you from that. I'll explain it to the shirriffs." He glanced back at the Chief Shirriffs standing at the hut's entrance, who looked as if they didn't understand a word of this conversation. "We found a small vial in Lady Iris's pocket that Shirriff Gamgee and I believe to have contained a poison--I've brought it with me." If the evidence of the finger-marks wasn't sufficient, surely that would help him to save Florisel. "I haven't let anyone touch the teacups."

Florisel didn't fully understand this last remark himself, but his expression brightened at the mention of the cups. His eyes were still fixed on Frodo's. "Ah, you know just how it was then? I guessed, hoped, you would. The shirriffs, I'm sure, are all good hobbits, honest and diligent, but I thought you would better understand how I came to be in this dire position. I remember how clever you were when you visited Long Cleeve last summer." He looked at Sam. "Mr. Gamgee, I see, is well. How are your other friends? Master Meriadoc, young Peregrin Took--did he marry Diantha after all instead of Diamond as the Tooks expected?"

"No," said Frodo. "They're merely good friends."

"And how is the Thain?" He was asking after Brabantius, not Pippin's father.

"He's still alive," answered Frodo, "but he isn't well, I'm afraid. You must know that Lady Iris's defection was a very hard blow to him, especially once he realized that she was the one who'd poisoned his wine. Did you know it yourself, Mr. Pumble-Took, when you left the Long Cleeve?"

"I was worried it might be so when Brabantius was taken ill so suddenly," Florisel admitted. "What I saw at the Thain's home worried me more, and I certainly knew the truth when Iris asked me to take her away. Oh, I had no doubt then, but I pretended to believe the reasons she gave, that she couldn't stand the suspicions and lies told against her. I helped her to flee. I loved her, you see. I always have, since she was a girl. I didn't care what she'd done--I saw it as my chance to save her and make her happy with me." He sighed. "Love makes us such blind fools."

"What happened to Mrs. Scuttle?" Frodo had assumed that Lady Iris's mother had left the Long Cleeve with her daughter.

"She died this past spring," said Florisel, "of natural causes, I assure you! The poor old woman wasn't used to travel. She'd never been out of the Cleeve before in her life, and the life we must lead while in constant flight was hard on her. Iris wouldn't leave her behind, and so we were obliged to stop. Iris sold some of her jewelry, and we took a little cottage outside Scary."

"Is that where you've been all this time?"

Florisel nodded. "Since last summer. That's when we began to call ourselves Mr. and Mrs. Flowers. We expected that we'd be found out any day, but we weren't."

"No," said Frodo. "Thain Brabantius didn't pursue you. He preferred to keep the matter as quiet as possible."

"Then we might've stayed on there, quietly," Florisel said somberly. "I would've preferred it, but a quiet cottage life wasn't what Iris desired. She waited through those months while Mrs. Scuttle was alive. When the old woman fell ill, Iris nursed her to the last, but once she died, Iris was impatient to be gone. We agreed we had best leave the Shire and start a new life elsewhere. We were on our way to the main road and the borders when we stopped at that little town."

"Budgeford," supplied Chief Horrocks.

"Yes, and imagine my surprise that we should run into you there!" Florisel spoke to Frodo; the others might not have been there for all he regarded their presence. "I went to her and said I'd seen you, that you were staying at the inn and we must fly immediately before we were recognized. Well, that was the end of it."

"Will you tell us about it, please?" Frodo requested gently. "What happened last night?"

"We agreed to hide in our room until we were ready to go," Florisel told him. "While we spoke of our plans to escape, Iris made a pot of tea and put lots of honey into the cups. I watched her do it. I knew that she was weary of the life we'd been living since we left the North Cleeve. She was weary of me. We'd come to it. I saw what I had to do." He was silent for a moment, then gulped and told the rest of his tale quickly, as if he wanted to finish and be done with it. "She drank her tea. She drank it all, and didn't notice anything odd in the taste. Then her face changed. She lay down on the bed as if she were suddenly in a faint, and she was sick. She looked up at me as if she knew what I'd done. I couldn't say No. I couldn't say anything to her, not even farewell. It only took a few minutes--I was surprised how quickly it was all over. After that, I thought it was best not to stay and answer questions, so I gathered my things and left."

"Now wait," said Chief Horrocks. "Did you murder this lady, or didn't you? It sounds to me like you just confessed to it, only Mr. Baggins seems to think you didn't."

"It wasn't murder," said Frodo.

"What was it then?" Florisel asked him, then turned to look at the Horrocks. "Don't you understand? Mr. Baggins does. Iris put poison in the tea meant for me. She gave it to me."

"Then how she'd come to drink it?"

"Quite simple, Shirriff. When she wasn't looking, I switched the cups."
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