A Slip Twixt Cup and Lip 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."
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