If their conversation over dinner had been stilted and awkward, breakfast the next morning was more so. They didn't talk about Frodo's last words the night before, or of how Sam had lain awake for some time afterwards, but Sam wore a hang-dog look of contrition and apology whenever he looked at Frodo over the table; he hated to disappoint him, would take it all back if he could... only he still couldn't do what Frodo wanted.
"I thought I'd call on Mrs. Scuttle this morning," Frodo announced as he coolly buttered a piece of toast. "I'd like to ask her about that maidservant she dismissed. Granted, 'our Maisie' and her brother seem to be our most likely suspects so far, but we've barely begun to look about us and see who else there is." Sam had told him this much about his previous night's activities in the taproom. "Maisie said that there were other girls who could tell worse tales about their encounters with Malbo. She may only have said that to send my attention elsewhere, or she may be telling the truth. Whatever her reason, I think I'd better take her advice. You said yourself that Mrs. Scuttle's maid might be worth considering, Sam."
"D'you want me to come with you?" asked Sam.
"Not if you'd rather not. I've seen how your great-aunt can be quite rude to you, the awful old snob, and there's no reason for you to suffer her jabs again." As Frodo nibbled his toast, he met Sam's eyes. "I will understand if you don't want to come along."
Sam did understand: Frodo wasn't merely referring to Mrs. Scuttle. It might be best if they spent the day apart. He nodded.
"What will you do today then?" Frodo asked him after some more toast-nibbling. "You were going to talk to Tully's father."
"That won't take long. When I was done, I thought I'd go 'n' see my Uncle Andy. Ham was here last night, and I promised I'd stop in. And my cousins've invited me to come have lunch at their farm and meet the rest o' the family."
They went their separate ways on the high road outside the Mousehole. Frodo went westward to the lane where Mrs. Scuttle lived.
The elderly lady's present maid remembered him well from yesterday's visit; a call from the famous detective everybody in Gamwich was talking about had been the most exciting thing to happen to her since she'd taken the work. With an invitation of "Come right in, Mr. Baggins!" she showed him into Mrs. Scuttle's sitting room.
Mrs. Scuttle was surprised to see him again, but invited him to be seated and asked what brought him back. "You've come without my great-nephew, I see. This isn't a social call? No, you've never paid one of those upon me. You only come when you have questions to ask. What is it this time, Mr. Baggins? I've told you all I know about Malbo Glossum."
"I wanted to ask about the maidservant you dismissed with him. You suspected her of helping him to steal from you," Frodo explained without attempting to apologize; the old lady's company wasn't pleasant enough that he would call upon her merely for a chat. "How long ago did it happen? By the look of your garden, it was recent."
"Yes, just three weeks ago. The new girl is doing splendidly, although she does seem a bit excitable. She really should have announced you before letting you in."
"It's the last maidservant I'm curious to know more about," Frodo persisted. "What was her name, please?"
"Tessa," Mrs. Scuttle responded. "Tessa Flock. I would've said that she was a good girl before this incident. Her father used to tend my garden, after Hamfast Gamgee left the job and ran off with my niece all those years ago. Now Mr. Flock--he was an honest fellow. I'm sure my great-nephew can tell you all about the honesty of gardeners. I thought Tessa had been brought up to be the same." She shook her head. "Such a disappointment. She'd never given trouble of that sort before, running out to see sweethearts and such, but then Malbo was an exceptionally handsome and charming hobbit."
Frodo let most of this pass without comment. "Where is Tessa now?" he asked.
"I couldn't say. I haven't followed her comings-and-goings since I told her to leave my house. As far as I know, she hasn't taken another job. No one's asked me to give a recommendation of her--which isn't surprising, since I'd tell the truth about why I dismissed her. Her family lives in a bungalow on the lane that crosses this one. You would have passed it on your way from Gamwich. It's not a mile from here. If she isn't there, they'll be able to tell you where she's gone." She glanced up at him. "Is that all I can do for you, Mr. Baggins?"
"There is one other request I have to make of you, Mrs. Scuttle," Frodo replied. "It has nothing to do with my investigation."
"Indeed?" The old lady looked curious.
"You might be kinder to Sam. Like him or not, he is your kinsman, your niece's child. He's an entirely respectable hobbit, and he doesn't deserve your scorn." He could do this much for his friend, to make up for the difference of opinion that arisen between them.
"Mr. Baggins, I assure you I don't scorn him," Mrs. Scuttle replied to his surprise. "It's hard forgiving his mother for making the choice she did, and perhaps it isn't fair I take it out on him, but Bell and that husband of hers aren't here to bear the brunt of it. At least their son appears to have turned out well. Though I wouldn't have expected it, he's a presentable young hobbit, well-mannered if not perfectly well-spoken. You'd never guess to look at him that he was a gardener's son. I suspect that's your doing, Mr. Baggins."
Frodo wouldn't acknowledge that it was so, but Mrs. Scuttle nodded sagely.
"You've almost made a gentlehobbit of him, and I daresay you'll succeed before you're through. Bell would be proud of him--but if you want my help in future, Mr. Baggins, mind you don't tell him I said so!"
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