Title: Love Letters: A Frodo Investigates! Mystery
Author: Kathryn Ramage 
Email: kramage@erols.com
Code: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin
Rated: PG13

Summary: The recovery of a lady's stolen love letters leads Frodo into a deeper 
mystery when his client disappears.

Notes: Like my previous mysteries, this story takes elements from the book, but 
also uses two key points from the film version of LOTR: the Shire is untouched, 
and the four main hobbits are all around the same age.

This story takes place during the summer of 1421 (S.R.).

Some of the names used in this story are taken from the Baggins and Brandybuck 
family trees in Appendix C, but the characterizations are my own.

Disclaimer: The characters and overall storyline are certainly not mine. They 
belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and I'm just playing with them to entertain 
myself and anyone else who likes this kind of thing.

February 2006

!~|i|~!

Frodo was surprised when he received a note from his cousin Angelica, asking him 
to come and see her on the next pony-racing day. He and Angelica had never been 
friendly with each other, and he wondered what she could possibly want. But, 
since his elder cousin, and Angelica's uncle by marriage, Milo Burrows, was 
taking his famously fast black-and-white pony to the Lithetide races at the 
Michel Delving fairgrounds, and Merry and Pippin were going as well, Frodo 
decided to accompany them. 

He rode with the trio as far as the inn near the fairgrounds, where they were to 
meet Angelica's husband, Lad Whitfoot, but he did not go with them to the racing 
field. Instead, he sought out Lad's and Angelica's handsome new house not far 
from the Mayor's residence. His cousin was sitting on the grass in the garden, 
playing with her infant daughter. 

Those who cared to count noted that Angelica's baby had been born less than 
seven months after her marriage to Lad Whitfoot, but they did not say so above a 
whisper, except perhaps to observe that the child seemed remarkably healthy for 
one born so early. Little Willa was a very healthy-looking baby, Frodo thought 
when he saw her. She was also the image of her mother, blue-eyed and flaxen-
curled and quite pretty. 

Angelica smiled a sincere welcome when she saw Frodo come up outside the garden 
gate, and rose to greet him.

"I'm glad you've come early, Frodo. I wasn't expecting you 'til after the races, 
but this will give us a better opportunity to talk. If I know my Lad, he won't 
be home 'til the last pony has had its run."

"You let him stay out so late?" Frodo teased.

"Oh, Lad may stay at the races as long as he likes," Angelica answered with a 
toss of her curls. "I don't interfere with his fun, but I won't let him ruin us 
with it. I don't want him to become like Uncle Milo." She grew more serious, and 
told him frankly, "I adore Uncle Milo, but I saw very well the trouble he put 
poor Aunt Peony and the children in when he couldn't pay his racing debts. Aunt 
Peony spoiled him terribly and always let him have his way, and so did his 
mother. I won't have that happen to us. It's best I put my foot down about that 
sort of thing right away. Lad has an allowance for his ponies and his wagers, 
but not a penny more!"

Apparently, Angelica was just the sort of "managing wife" Mayor Whitfoot had 
hoped she'd be for his son. "What did you want to see me about?" Frodo asked 
her.

Angelica picked up the baby and invited Frodo into the house, where they could 
speak privately. "It's about a dear, close friend of mine," she explained once 
they were seated in the parlor. "You see, she's gotten herself into some 
difficulties, and of course I know how you like to investigate things--and how 
discreet you can be with other people's secrets. I told her I would speak to 
you."

"I'll be happy to help to if I can," Frodo answered, but he was already doubtful 
of the existence of this "dear, close friend." He had learned from his previous, 
confidential cases that people who spoke of "a friend" in trouble were usually 
talking about themselves. "What sort of difficulty is she in?"

"My friend is a young lady, recently married," Angelica told him. "She wrote 
some letters to another boy--not the one she married, you understand. He sent 
them back to her after her betrothal, and she should have thrown the lot into 
the fire right away, but instead she did a very foolish thing: she tied them 
into a packet with the letters she'd received from _him_ and locked them up in 
what she thought was a secret hiding place no one else knew about."

"Why?" wondered Frodo, surprised at this tale. He had never heard of Angelica 
having a romance with anyone but Lad. If she'd ever been in love another boy, it 
must have happened while he was away.

"She still loved him, I suppose," answered Angelica. "The boy she did marry was 
her family's choice, not her own. He was more prosperous, and from a better 
family."

Frodo was hopelessly confused; the situation Angelica had described wasn't her 
own at all. Her family had not wished her to marry Lad. If they'd hoped for her 
to marry a boy from a more prosperous family, it was himself. Was she trying to 
disguise her own story, which he knew very well? Or was he mistaken, and was she 
honestly speaking of someone else? 

"Can you tell me your friend's name?" he asked. "If I'm to help her, I need to 
know at least that much."

Angelica hesitated, then said, "Camellia Bilbury. At least, that was her maiden 
name. It's Stillwaters now she's married. She's been my friend since we were 
little girls. You don't know her, do you?"

"Not that I recall." There was a family called Bilbury that lived in Overhill 
who were friends of Angelica's parents, but Frodo did not recall if they had a 
daughter around Angelica's age.

"Perhaps it's best that you be introduced so you can speak to her directly about 
this. She's very shy, but I'll see if I can convince her to visit you and tell 
you her troubles."

Their business concluded, Angelica invited Frodo to stay for tea and to wait for 
the others to come for dinner; she was sure Lad would invite his companions home 
when the races were done. Rather than go and try to find his friends on the 
fairgrounds, Frodo agreed to stay. He was surprised that he could while away an 
afternoon pleasantly in Angelica's company, but it was so. Motherhood became 
Angelica; getting everything she wanted had taken the impatient and frustrated 
edge off her personality. They were much more comfortable with each other now 
that Aunt Dora was no longer trying to push the two of them into marrying, an 
idea neither had relished. 

At dusk, Lad came home, bringing Milo, Merry, and Pippin with him. "I said we'd 
give `em a better dinner than they'd get at the Inn," he explained to his wife 
as the party entered the parlor. "That's that all right with you, love?"

"Of course." Angelica kissed his cheek, then her uncle's. "I expected them. I 
gave instructions to Cook that we'd be having guests for dinner. Please, make 
yourselves at home." She excused herself and went into the kitchen. Frodo's 
cousins flung themselves into chairs around the parlor, and looked surprised to 
see him there.

"We wondered where you'd gone to, Frodo," said Pippin. "Have you been here at 
Jelly's all day?" 

"As a matter of fact, I have. Angelica asked me to visit."
 
Lad looked a little leery at this information. He was as aware as anybody that 
the Bagginses had wanted Angelica to marry Frodo instead of him; only Angelica's 
lack of interest in her handsome and wealthy cousin, and the rumors going around 
Hobbiton about Frodo and Sam Gamgee had assured Lad that he had nothing to worry 
about.

Frodo did not want to discuss the case he'd been called here to investigate in 
front of Lad and Milo, since Angelica had obviously not wanted them to know 
about her friend's problem. There would be time later to explain things to 
Pippin and Merry, if they were going to help him look into it. But some 
explanation was needed to put Lad at ease.

"She wanted to introduce me to my new niece," he said, indicating little Willa, 
who was asleep in his lap. Angelica had bestowed the baby on "Uncle Frodo," 
while she'd gone to see about dinner. Willa was technically his third cousin 
twice removed, and even though hobbits took great delight in being able to 
determine these precise degrees of relationship, they found them too cumbersome 
for everyday use, preferring to call their relatives "aunt/uncle," 
"nephew/niece," and generally "cousin," as age and situation warranted. "We've 
been playing all afternoon."

At the mention of his daughter, Lad's expression brightened. "She's a darling, 
isn't she?" he said with a note of pride. "Best baby you could ask for--never 
frets or cries. She'll be the prettiest girl in the Shire one day, just like her 
mother."

"We'll be having one of our own at Bag End soon," Frodo told him. "Have you 
heard? Sam and Rosie are expecting a baby in the spring." 

"Already?" said Milo. "Now, that is good news! I always said that was the best 
thing for your Sam, didn't I--settling down with a nice girl? It's put a stop to 
all the gossip. You ought to get married yourself, Frodo."

Frodo passed over this suggestion, and answered, "I suppose I'll have to get 
used to having a baby around the house, even if it's not mine."

"You'll get used to it," Merry said. "If Rosie and Jelly go around plopping 
babies down in your lap for you to mind often enough, it'll do the trick. You 
might even decide you want one of your own. Isn't that right, Pip?" He turned 
pointedly to his cousin. No one but Pippin understood this odd joke, and Pippin 
didn't find it funny.

The conversation then turned to the day's races; Milo's pony had been a great 
success, and had made them all a little richer over the course of the afternoon. 
Frodo had no interest in racing, but he listened politely to his friends' 
enthusiastic tales, until Angelica returned to announce that dinner was ready.

As Lad led the other guests into the dining room, Angelica retrieved her baby 
and whispered to Frodo, "I'll bring Camellia by Bag End to meet you as soon as I 
can."

!~|ii|~!

Two days later, after he had returned to Bag End, Frodo received a note in the 
morning post from Angelica, saying that she and Camellia Stillwaters would call 
upon him at tea-time. He went into the kitchen, where Sam was finishing his 
second breakfast and Rosie sat at the opposite side of the table nibbling on an 
unbuttered roll. 

"I say, Rose, can we have something specially nice for tea this afternoon? I'm 
expecting company, two ladies."

He hadn't intended for Rosie to become his housekeeper when she'd married Sam--
Bag End was to be her house as much as his--but once she'd settled in, Rosie 
seemed to regard looking after him and managing the household as being as much a 
part of her new duties as caring for Sam. Plus, she seemed to hold the odd 
prejudice of most working-class hobbits that a gentleman couldn't be expected to 
do anything for himself.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo," Rosie answered. "We've got some nice, fresh cream in the 
cold-larder, just fit for cream-tarts. What about blueberries? I could make some 
nice little blueberry tarts. They're in season, and I'll fetch some from the 
Bywater market when I do my shopping."

"Thank you--that'll be lovely."

"Are you feeling up to it?" Sam asked.

Frodo assumed that Sam was worried about his receiving visitors so soon after 
his long journey to Michel Delving--but just as he opened his mouth to reply, he 
realized that Sam was speaking to Rose. She was in the early weeks of her first 
pregnancy and had felt queasy earlier that morning, skipping her first 
breakfast. She seemed to be feeling better now but, to Sam, a missed meal was 
always a cause for concern. 

"I'll go to the market instead of Rose," Sam offered, then told his wife, "You 
shouldn't be going all that way and back, carrying heavy baskets."

"Don't be silly, Sam. It's only first thing in the mornings I'm a bit off, and 
the sickly feeling passes quick enough. Some fresh air and a walk to Bywater 
will do me good..." Rosie gave him a flirtatious smile, "Whyn't you come 
shopping with me? You can carry the basket if you like."

Sam was happy to accept this offer. Now, he turned to Frodo and asked, "Who're 
these ladies coming to tea?" 

"My cousin Angelica. She's bringing a friend."

"Why the fuss? You don't like her."

"No..." said Frodo, although he did seem to be getting on better terms with 
Angelica since she had married. "But the friend may be a client."

The excitement of last autumn, when Frodo had become famous as an investigator, 
had died down, but one or two people still knocked on the door of Bag End each 
week to ask for his help. Frodo's efforts were limited since he had been ill 
throughout the spring, but he aided them whenever he could. 

He told Sam a little of what Angelica had told him about her friend's 
predicament.

"It's the first real investigation you've had since your bad spell," Sam said. 
"Are you sure you're fit for it?"

"I may need assistance," Frodo conceded. "I can count on your help, can't I, 
Sam?"

"`Course you can!" Sam assured him. "You've only got to ask."

Rosie and Sam went out to do their shopping, and Frodo's guests arrived at Bag 
End shortly before 4:00 that afternoon.

Frodo had thought it odd that a vain and selfish girl like Angelica would have a 
close girl-friend, but when he saw Camellia Stillwaters, he understood: Camellia 
could never be a threat to Angelica's vanity. She was a plain, quiet-looking 
young lady with long, sandy ringlets and a timid face. Although she was taller 
than Angelica and he by several inches, she seemed to shrink and fade beside his 
cousin's radiant good looks. If Frodo had ever met her before, he couldn't 
recall it. 

"We've been at Aunt Dora's," Angelica explained as Frodo showed the two ladies 
into the best parlor, where Rose had laid out their tea. "She wanted us to stop 
for tea with her, but I said we already had another engagement. I've left the 
baby with Aunt Peony. The family's still angry about how I tricked everyone to 
marry Lad, but they adore my Willa and she's making up for anything scandalous I 
might've done to have her."

"Willa is a dear little girl," Camellia said with a wistful, shy smile. "I'd 
love to have a baby like her for my own."

"You have no children, Mrs. Stillwaters?" Frodo inquired as he offered them tea 
and some of Rosie's blueberry tartlets.

"No..." she shook her head. "Not yet. I've only been married six months."

"Do you and your husband live near here?" asked Frodo. "I believe your family is 
from Overhill?"

"Yes, that's right, but we don't live here now. Val--that's my husband--and I, 
we live near Budgeford, with Val's mother." 

"Camellia's visiting her family here while her husband is at the Lithetide 
races," Angelica added. "They'll be going home tomorrow, so this was the most 
convenient time for her to come and see you."

Camellia nodded in agreement. She seemed ill at ease, and Frodo waited until 
after the ladies had had some refreshment and Camellia looked more comfortable 
before he got on with the reason for her visit. "Angelica's told me something of 
your problem, Mrs. Stillwaters. Will you tell me more? I'd like to hear what 
happened in your own words, and learn something of your situation."

Camellia glanced at Angelica, who briefly took her friend's hand and said 
soothingly, "You can trust Frodo, Cammie. He never tells secrets. I'll leave you 
to talk." She left the parlor to have a chat with Rosie. It was only polite that 
Angelica speak to Rose while she was here. While the two had been in very 
different social circles as unmarried girls, they'd become acquainted during 
Sam's and Rosie's honeymoon visits to Michel Delving. As married ladies, one 
with her first baby and the other expecting, they had much more in common.
 
"Will you tell me?" Frodo repeated once he and Camellia were alone. 

"You see, there was a boy..." Camellia began timidly, then the color rushed to 
her cheeks and she faltered. 

"And your parents objected to him," Frodo prompted, to encourage her to speak 
further, but his visitor shook her head.

"No, not my parents. I'm an orphan."

"But I understood that you were visiting your family? I thought Angelica said-" 
Frodo was certain that his cousin had mentioned Camellia's family several times.

"She meant my aunt and uncle," Camellia explained. "My parents died when I was 
barely in my tweens, and Aunt Rue and Uncle Turlo brought me up. They always did 
their best to look out for me, and the money my parents had left me. They tried 
to protect me from fortune-hunters."

"Is that what they thought this boy-"

"Rolo," Camellia supplied the name. "Rolo Bindbole." Then she explained in a 
sudden burst of confidence: "He came from Bindbole Wood, to be `prenticed to the 
Bywater smith. We met at a harvest dance two years ago. His family was very 
poor, and he had no money of his own beyond what was in his pockets, but he 
asked to marry me all the same. I wasn't yet three-and-thirty, so I must ask my 
aunt and uncle for their permission. They wouldn't allow it."

"They thought that Rolo wanted to marry you for your money?"

"Yes, that's right. Uncle Turlo had a word with Rolo's master, and he was 
dismissed. He went back to the Wood, and I never saw him again--but Uncle made 
him return all the letters I wrote him. Aunt Rue said it was for the best, and I 
was lucky to have them look out for me. But I didn't think so. It felt terrible, 
at the time." She had leaned forward over the tea table toward Frodo as she 
spoke in a low, quick voice, and she was crushing folds of her skirt in her 
clenched hands. "I couldn't believe it of Rolo, but now that my letters have 
been taken, I don't know what to think! Who else might want them, or would know 
that I had them?"

"Then you suspect he's taken them?" Frodo asked. "Has he been seen near 
Budgeford?" Bindbole Wood was more than forty miles from Budgeford.

"I haven't seen Rolo," Camellia answered quickly, then added, "It was my maid, I 
think, who actually took the letter from the house. Only after she left my 
service, I realized that they were missing from their hiding place."

"Where was this hiding place?"

"In a secret compartment of my old portable writing desk. I've had it since I 
was small, and brought it with me to Stillwater Hall when I married. There's a 
false panel at the back, beneath the hinged lid, and a few inches of space where 
I've always hidden my special treasures."

"You're quite sure it wasn't your husband who found them?"

"No!" Camellia shook her head. "Val hasn't the least idea there was anyone 
else." She turned pleading eyes up to Frodo. "I haven't been unhappy with him--
please, don't think that. He's always been very sweet to me and I've no 
complaints of him, only... but he's not the one I would have chosen to marry if 
I'd been allowed my own way. I wish I'd been as brave as Angelica. Even if Rolo 
was after my money, that doesn't meant he would've been a bad husband once he'd 
gotten it. He wouldn't have turned to the bad, and had to steal. All the same, 
I'd like to have my letters back."

Frodo remembered what Angelica had said about Camellia's reason for keeping her 
old love letters: "She still loved him, I suppose." Apparently, she did even 
now.

"Can you help me, Mr. Baggins?" she asked him. "And, please, don't let Val or my 
uncle and auntie know."

"I'll do what I can," Frodo promised and, since Camellia seemed to be shaken by 
the effort of telling him her secrets, he poured her another cup of tea to calm 
her down. "I have just a few more questions, and then we are finished for today. 
Angelica will see you home. Who else lives at Stillwater Hall besides you and 
your husband? You mentioned his mother." 

"Yes, Val's mother lives there," said Camellia. "It's her house. She's a widow. 
Besides the three of us, there are only a few servants, who've been with Mother 
Stillwaters for ages."

"What about your maid? Was she in your employ before you married?"

"No. Mother Stillwaters engaged her for me when I first went to live at the 
Hall."

"Did your mother-in-law also dismiss her, or did the maid leave your service for 
reasons of her own?"

"Mother Stillwaters sent her away. She said the girl was unsuitable."

"How long ago did this happen?"

Camellia thought about this. "It was near the beginning of June, perhaps three 
weeks ago."

"And when did you discover your letters were missing?"

"About a week after that."

"One last question, Mrs. Stillwaters," said Frodo. "What was this maid's name?"

"Betula. Betula Root."

!~|iii|~!

"I have an errand for you, Sam, if you agree to take it," Frodo said after he 
had seen his guests out the door and sought out his friend in the sitting room. 
"It may take you away from home for several days, and I know you don't wish to 
be away, especially now..." Frodo glanced toward the kitchen, where Rosie was 
washing up the tea-things; when she saw the glance, she looked curious.

Sam felt a momentary reluctance, but he had offered to help Frodo in any way he 
could, and he meant to stick by it. "What d'you need me to do?" he asked.

"I must find a girl named Betula Root. She was recently employed as a 
maidservant in a house near Budgeford, but left a few weeks ago. We must trace 
her whereabouts, without asking her previous employers where she's gone. Mrs. 
Stillwaters' case requires a great deal of discretion. We can't go to her family 
with questions. They mustn't even know that she's consulted us. I know I can 
rely on you both-" Frodo included Rose, who had come into the sitting room while 
he was speaking, "to hold your tongues."

Sam, he knew he could trust beyond all doubt, but this was the first 
confidential case Frodo had taken since Rosie had joined his household and he 
wanted to be sure she understood that nothing she overheard about Camellia 
Stillwaters should be repeated outside the Bag End.

Rosie nodded solemnly.

"From what Mrs. Stillwaters has told me," Frodo continued, "the first step in 
retrieving her letters is to find this girl, find out if _she_ has them, and get 
them back from her if she does. If she didn't take them, she may still be able 
to help us with our inquiries. She was a servant in the Hall for several months, 
and could tell us of the household's workings. She might have seen something, or 
heard gossip about the theft."

"Where do I start looking for her?" Sam asked him.

"I don't know," Frodo admitted. "She may still be in Budgeford, or she might be 
anywhere in the Shire by now. If she hasn't taken another job, she may have gone 
home to her family. Do you know anyone named Root, Sam?" Pippin had once joked 
that Sam knew everybody who lived within fifty miles of Hobbiton, and Frodo 
suspected it was very nearly true.

"Root?" Sam gave the matter some thought. "There's the Deeproots in Bywater. You 
know them. And there's the Taproots, as keep that alehouse on the Tuckborough 
Road."

"And there's Old Farmer Grubroot, who has that little farm down past Three-
farthing Stone," Rosie added to be helpful, but none of these were what Frodo 
wanted.

Sam thought some more. "Wait, now--D'ye remember how we stopped at the Beeshive 
Tavern in Whitfurrows last spring, Frodo, on our way back from Brandy Hall? The 
ostler there was just plain Root, and Whitfurrows is right near Budgeford."

"It is indeed!" Frodo exclaimed. He did not remember much about their brief stay 
at the Beeshive, for he had been ill at the time and stayed in his room. "Did 
you have a word with him, Sam?"

"That I did, when I took the ponies to the stable--but I couldn't say if this 
girl you're after is a relative of his," Sam added hastily. "We didn't talk 
about family."

"Nevertheless, it might be worth asking if he has a daughter or niece in 
service," said Frodo. "Will you do it?"

"I don't see as I've got much choice," Sam answered. "It needs doing, and if _I_ 
don't go, you'll go riding off yourself in search of her--and you already had 
one long journey this week!"

Frodo smiled. "I wouldn't do half as good a job of it as you would, Sam," he 
rejoined. "Ostlers and maidservants won't tell me their secrets as easily as 
they would tell you."

"You needn't worry, Sam." Rosie added, supporting Frodo. "Me 'n' Mr. Frodo'll 
look after each other while you're away."

!~|iv|~!

The next morning after an early breakfast, Sam rode away down the East Road. 
Frodo was still asleep, but Rosie saw her husband off at the door with a kiss 
and a packet of hard-boiled eggs, apples, and sandwiches to sustain him on his 
journey. It was more than thirty miles to Whitfurrows, and he would not reach 
his destination until well after lunchtime.

Although Rosie was not interested in taking part in investigations herself, she 
was supportive of Sam's work with Frodo. She was proud that her husband was 
known around Hobbiton and elsewhere as the famous detective's assistant, and 
frequently said so. During their courtship, she had listened to Sam's stories of 
his investigations with Frodo, her eyes shining with admiration. Sam always made 
Frodo the hero of the tale and praised his extraordinary cleverness in solving 
the mystery, but Rose insisted that Mr. Frodo would never have managed without 
Sam's help. She was sure Mr. Frodo would say just the same.

"He does," Sam acknowledged.

It was with this knowledge--that Frodo was depending on his help, and that Rosie 
admired him for it--that Sam set out on his errand.

He reached the Beeshive Tavern in Whitfurrows in mid-afternoon. Rather than 
leave his pony to the care of the Inn's stable-hands, he took it around to the 
stable himself, for that was where the ostler would be.

But the ostler Root was not in the stables, nor anywhere to be found. Going into 
the Inn and making an inquiry to the innkeeper, Sam learned that Old Palgo Root 
had quit his place abruptly two weeks ago and gone away; the innkeeper couldn't 
say to where.

Sam sank down in dismay, and considered what to do next. He couldn't ride all 
the way back to Hobbiton to ask Frodo for new instructions. He already knew what 
Frodo would want him to do: Keep looking until he found Mr. Root, or Betula, or 
some clue to the whereabouts of either. But where should he begin?

After fortifying himself with an early dinner and a couple of half-pints in the 
Beeshive's taproom, Sam began his search in the other stables around 
Whitfurrows, then tried the Three Badgers Inn at Budgeford, for it was the 
nearest. The folk he spoke to at the Badgers were most helpful. According to 
local gossip, Old Palgo's granddaughter had gotten into some sort of trouble 
with a lad, and the old hobbit had taken the girl away before there was an open 
scandal. A few questions established to Sam's satisfaction that the 
granddaughter was the same Betula Root he'd been sent to find, but no one could 
say where she and Old Root had gone. The most anyone could tell him was there 
was an aunt in Whitfurrows, and that other members of the Root family had farms 
in the Bridgefields, and there were more of them up around Quarry and Scary.

He tried the aunt first and learned that Betula had stayed with her for a few 
days, before her grandfather had taken her off. She had nothing to say about the 
gossip except that she didn't listen to such nonsense--and neither should he!--
and suggested that Palgo and Betula might have gone to visit one of their family 
in the north.

Sam's journey the following day took him through the Bridgefields and up to the 
two northern towns of Quarry and Scary. He spoke to several more Roots, but 
found no sign of the ostler nor his granddaughter. "They han't been here," was 
all their relatives had to say.

On the third day, he visited the Buckshead Tavern just across the Brandywine 
Bridge in Buckland, then the Golden Perch in Stock, before turning to make his 
way wearily home. He would have to tell Frodo that he'd failed.

At dusk on that day, he arrived in Frogmorton, and decided to stop at the 
Polwygle Inn before the last leg of his journey to Hobbiton. He took his pony to 
the stableyard--and there was Palgo Root.

Sam blinked at the elderly hobbit, who stood quietly currying a pony near the 
open stable door, and he cursed himself for a fool. When he'd passed this way 
three days ago, he'd been so anxious to reach Whitfurrows that he hadn't stopped 
in Frogmorton at all. If he had, he would've found the ostler right away, and 
spared himself all this trouble and fruitless searching!

While Sam was not as keen a pony-fancier as some hobbits, he was fond of them, 
as he was of most animals, and he had tended enough ponies to strike up a 
intelligible conversation with an expert. Within a few minutes of entering the 
stable-yard, he was chatting on friendly terms with the gruff Mr. Root.

"Have you never been to the Michel Delving races?" Sam asked the elder hobbit, 
beginning the conversation innocuously.

Mr. Root shook his head and gave the pony he had finished brushing to a sullen-
faced stable-lad before he turned his attention to Sam's pony. "I been to the 
races in the Bridgefields of a Highday," he said as he worked. "An't as grand as 
they holds in Michel Delving, I hear, but they suits me. Only, I heard tell of a 
pony, fast as the wind, as is owned by Mr. Milo Burrows. I'd like to see that un 
run."

"Oh, he's a fast un all right!" Sam agreed. "Fleetfoot, his name is, and he's 
done Mr. Milo proud."

The old hobbit looked keenly interested. "Seen 'm, have ye, lad? Friend of Mr. 
Milo's, are ye?"

"Well..." Sam hesitated. He'd be giving himself airs if he said he was Milo 
Burrows' friend. "I work for a cousin of his." Discretion forbade Sam from 
saying which cousin it was, but this connection was enough to gain Mr. Root's 
trust.

"I used to see Mr. Milo at the Bridgefields races when he was a lad," Mr. Root 
told him. "He'd come with his dad, Mr. Rufus. A keen gent for the ponies, Mr. 
Rufus was, and Mr. Milo's turned out the same. I hear as he doesn't come out 
Bridgefield-ways these days, save to visit his lady-mum."

"And what brings you so far from Bridgefields?" Sam asked. "You won't remember, 
Mr. Root, but we met at the Beeshive when I went through from Buckland with my 
gentleman last year. I was surprised to see you working here. I didn't know 
you'd left the Beeshive. Didn't the job suit.. ." he prompted, and lowered his 
voice confidentially, "or was it something else that brought you here?"

Mr. Root gave him a suddenly sharp, wary look. "Job suited fine," he replied, 
and was silent as he went around to the other side of the pony and briskly 
brushed down its flank. After a taciturn minute, he glanced up at Sam again and 
confided, "I had to bring my Bet away."

"Bet?"

"My granddaughter. I'm all she's got to look after her--and she an't made it 
easy!" He fixed Sam with a scowl over the pony's back. "Now how'd ye come to 
hear of it, lad?"

"Well..." Lies did not come easily to Sam, but this one was almost the truth. 
"When I was last in Budgeford, I heard talk of a girl named Betula Root as was 
in service at a grand house, and left town right quick afterwards. Would that be 
your Bet?"

"That'd be her," Mr. Root affirmed glumly. "I knew she'd get herself talked 
about! Fool of a lass gets into trouble with a young fellow- Here, you!" The old 
hobbit turned swiftly, finding the stable-boy lurking just inside the open 
doorway behind him. "Mind your own business! Be off!"

The boy slunk away across the stableyard in the direction of the Inn's back 
door, and went into the kitchens. Mr. Root watched him go, and snorted 
dismissively.

"And now she taken up with that un! At least, _he's_ asked to marry her. I'd be 
glad to see Bet with a husband, only the lad's a wastrel. Lazy. He'll come to no 
good end, you may be sure! Never tends to his work, and he's always at the 
kitchens, keeping Bet from hers."

"Your Bet's working here?" asked Sam, and tried not to sound too eager at the 
news.

"She's a-waiting tables in the common room. If you're stopping for dinner, lad, 
you'll no doubt see her."

Dinner sounded like an excellent idea. Once his pony was brushed, watered, and 
stabled, Sam went into the common room. It was still early on a summer evening, 
and he found an empty table easily. After a short wait, a maidservant came to 
him; Sam ordered an ale and some cold beef, and when the maid brought it to him, 
he asked her, "Your name wouldn't be Betula, would it?"

"It would--and who're you that asks it?" she retorted.

Sam didn't answer this, but said, "I'm looking for a girl by that name. Did you 
used to work for a lady named Mrs. Stillwaters?"

"That's right," Betula answered warily. "You're that detectin' fellow, aren't 
you?"

Sam's face went red. He had expected her to be suspicious of his questions, but 
not to guess so quickly who he was. "I'm not the detective," he answered 
modestly, "but I work for `m."

"And what's he want with me?"

"It's Mrs. Stillwaters. She's missing some property of hers-"

"I don't have `em!" Betula protested. "I didn't take anything of hers!"

"I didn't say you did," Sam said to quiet her. There were only a few other 
patrons in the room, but the last thing he wanted was for them to overhear if 
the girl made a fuss. "Only, you was her maid, weren't you? We thought as maybe 
you'd seen something that'd help us. Mrs. Stillwaters's offered a nice, big 
reward to get her property back, and you'd come in for a piece of it if you was 
to point us the right way to finding it." This was not true, but when Frodo had 
given him his instructions last night, he'd told Sam to say this to Mr. Root, or 
Betula, or anyone else who looked promising. If the opportunity arose, Sam was 
also authorized to pay to get the letters back and he'd been given enough money 
to do so.

At the mention of a reward, Betula's eyes momentarily lit up, then her mouth 
dropped open. "I don't have `em," she repeated, but she no longer sounded 
defensive, only disappointed.

"But you did, didn't you?" Sam leaned closer to her with his elbows on the table 
and spoke in a lowered voice. "No lies now, Miss Root. What's happened to `em? 
D'you know where they are? Maybe we can get them back?"

He could see the struggle play out in her face; she wanted to say that she 
hadn't stolen from her former employer, but she'd been offered a large amount of 
money for the stolen items--which was what she'd probably taken them for in the 
first place. How could she resist the offer?

At last, she confessed, "I gave `em to Jorly."

"Who's that?"

"He's the stable-lad as works here. He said he'd know what to do with `em."

Sam recalled the sullen boy who'd been lurking in the stable, and had been 
listening to his conversation with Mr. Root before heading into the Inn, and 
whom Mr. Root had said wanted to marry his grand-daughter. He understood now how 
Betula had guessed who he was. "Where's this Jorly now?" he asked. "Tell him I 
want a word with him."

Betula hastened off to find the lad, and Sam drank his ale and ate his dinner. 
Some minutes later, the girl returned and gestured to summon him. Sam left his 
table to follow her down a long, narrow hallway that led to the kitchens. Just 
before they entered the kitchens, they came to another door; Betula opened this 
and they were outside at the back of the inn, near the stableyard. The boy stood 
there, waiting under the light of a single iron lantern hanging over the door.

"Here he is," said Betula. Sam wasn't sure if she was presenting Jorly to him, 
or him to the lad.

"Bet says you're after some things, some letters that belong to a lady," said 
Jorly. "She says there's a reward if we find `em."

"That's right," Sam answered.

"So _you_ say," the boy retorted. "Hown't we to know it's not a trick? What if 
we say we got these letters? Bet's all but admitted she took `em."

"I didn't-!" she protested.

"Then how'd you come by these letters, Bet? And how'd this detective here know 
to come looking for you in the first place?"

Stung, but unable to argue with this, the girl shut her mouth tightly.

"It's no trick," Sam said, getting down to business. "The lady only wants her 
property returned, no questions asked. If you got these letters of hers, it's to 
your advantage to hand `em over now."

Jorly laughed. "Well, I don't have `em! What d'ye think of that, Mr. Detective?"

"But I gave 'em to you!" Betula cried, and turned to Sam. "I wasn't lying--I 
did!"

"What'd you do with them?" Sam asked Jorly.

"I don't have `em, I tell you." The boy grinned, as if he were telling a joke. 
"Not anymore! I sold `em already. You're not the only one who's a-buying ladies' 
letters today. I gave `em to someone who'll make the best use of `em... your 
lady'll see."

Sam was fuming. So close, and just when he'd found what Frodo had sent him to 
get, the prize was yanked from his grasp! He was sorely tempted to punch this 
obnoxious, jeering creature and wipe the smirk off his silly face... when a more 
fitting punishment occurred to him.

"Now that's a shame," he said. "How much did he pay you? Was it as much as 
_this_?" Sam took out the purse in his coat pocket and opened it to spill a pile 
of coins into the palm of his hand. Both Jorly's and Betula's eyes went wide at 
the gold glimmering in the lantern-light. "Not so much? Pity you didn't wait, 
m'lad--You could've got a lot more for your trouble."

Sam went back into the Inn to pay for his dinner, leaving the pair standing 
there. When he returned to the stableyard a few minutes later to retrieve his 
pony and ride home, he had the satisfaction of seeing Betula quarreling 
furiously with Jorly; the boy wasn't laughing now.

!~|v|~!

"Sam, you're wonderful!" Frodo threw both arms around his neck and laughed in 
delight when Sam told him the story later that evening. Frodo was already in bed 
by the time Sam returned to Bag End, but Sam had gone to his room to report to 
him as soon as he'd come in, pausing only to be welcomed home by Rose and 
assured that she was fine. "Truly a marvel! What would I do without you?"

The praise was gratifying, but Sam knew he didn't deserve it. "I didn't get 
those letters."

"No, but we have an idea of where they are. When that stable-boy said he'd given 
them to someone who'd make use of them, he must have meant Rolo Bindbole. I 
wondered if they wouldn't turn up in _his_ hands all along! Now that we know he 
has them, we have only to locate him. Perhaps we can offer to pay him more for 
their return than he'd ask from Mrs. Stillwaters, and recover them before 
there's a scandal." Frodo sombered. "I only hope it is money he's after, and not 
revenge. If he can be bought, so much to the good. If he wants to hurt and 
disgrace her, we may have to resort to more forceful tactics." His eyes went 
over his lover's face, and the flicker of a smile reappeared. "You don't mind 
playing the bully, do you, Sam?"

"Not if it's in a good cause," Sam answered.

"Oh, the cause is good. A lady's honor is at stake," Frodo said chivalrously.

"But how're we going to find him?"

"He was just in Frogmorton," Frodo mused. "Did you ask at the Inn, Sam? If Rolo 
had dealings with the maid and stable-lad, he might very well have been staying 
there."

Sam gaped at Frodo, and felt like an utter fool. This possibility hadn't 
occurred to him, even though Jorly had told him that he'd sold the letters that 
same day. "Frodo, I'm sorry--I never thought of it- Sam Gamgee, you're a 
pudding-head if ever there was one!"

But Frodo did not seem to be angry at his stupidity. "Never mind, Sam." With one 
arm loosely around Sam's neck, he wriggled closer to give him a consoling kiss. 
"We can go back tomorrow to continue our inquiries. Even if Rolo's left 
Frogmorton, he can't have gotten far. We'll trace him and get those letters 
yet."

"So I'll go out riding again tomorrow," Sam said dispiritedly.

"Yes," Frodo answered, "but I'll go with you, and at least you are home for 
tonight." He lay back against the pillows and reached up with his free hand to 
caress Sam's cheek and bring him down for another kiss. "I've kept count of the 
days since you've been gone, and I believe this is my night... If you're not too 
tired after riding around the Shire all day?"

Sam assured him that he wasn't.

After they'd made love, Sam stole quietly out of bed, washed up and put on his 
clothes. He assumed that Frodo was asleep, but as he tip-toed toward the door, 
the figure curled under the blankets asked, "Where're you going?"

Caught, Sam explained, "I was thinking I ought to go to Rosie. I didn't want to 
say anything, since it isn't her night and you were so happy to have me home, 
but we're done and I haven't seen _her_ in three days neither. I don't want her 
to feel like she's been forgot. Besides, with the baby on the way, I don't like 
her being left alone too much. D'you mind awfully, Frodo?"

"No..." Frodo sighed. "I don't mind, Sam. You're quite right--Rosie mustn't feel 
neglected. Go to her, and I'll see you in the morning."

!~|vi|~!

In the morning, as they were preparing for their journey to Frogmorton, there 
was a knock on the door. Since Sam was busy packing a bag for Frodo, Rosie went 
to answer it.

She returned to announce, "There's somebody to see you, Mr. Frodo. I told him 
you was about to leave, but he begs a minute of your time before you're off. He 
says it's most important."

"Very well. I suppose I can spare a minute, if it's urgent." Frodo went to the 
door to find his visitor standing in the front hall, waiting for him--a hobbit-
lad of about his own age, perhaps a farmer or tradesman's assistant by his 
clothes, but no one Frodo knew.

"You're Frodo Baggins, the famous detective?" his visitor asked.

"Yes, that's right." Frodo had to smile at 'the famous detective' appellation. 
"I believe you wanted to see me?"

"I thought as you'd like to see _me_, Mr. Baggins. I've got sommat to give you." 
The young hobbit reached into a pocket of his worn tweed coat and brought out a 
packet of letters, tied with a faded blue hair-ribbon; Frodo could see that the 
topmost envelope was addressed to 'Rolo'. "I heard you was looking for these, 
for Cammie Bilbury--or, Stillwaters, I should say, though I won't ever be used 
to calling her by that name."

_This_ was an unexpected turn. "Are you Rolo Bindbole?"

His visitor nodded. "I expect Cammie's told you about me, if she's asked you to 
get these back for her."

"She did." Frodo wondered what sort of game this Rolo was playing. Did he mean 
to sell the letters he'd just bought? At what price? There was only one way to 
find out. "Please, Mr. Bindbole, won't you come in, so we can discuss this 
matter?" The necessary conversation would be better held someplace more private 
than the front hall. He guided Rolo down the hallway in the direction of his 
study, then popped his head into the sitting room to call out, "Rosie, tell Sam 
to stop packing. We won't be going to Frogmorton today."

"You were at the Polwygle Inn yesterday," Frodo said once he joined his guest in 
the study. "You bought those letters from Betula Root and her friend, the 
stable-lad."

"That I did," Rolo answered. "They cost me quite a bit too, but I expect the lad 
thought I could make more money from them, through Cammie or her family. If you 
want to know, I was still at the Inn last night when your friend was there, 
though I didn't see him, nor learnt what he was after `til he'd gone. It was the 
stable-lad who told me." He grinned. "He came to me and wanted to buy the lot 
back. I wouldn't, not for the same as I paid for `em, and when he offered me 
more'n that, I got suspicious of what he was up to. I finally got it out of the 
lad that the famous detective from Hobbiton had agents out looking for `em and 
was giving out a big reward. Gold. So I thought as I'd come to you myself."

"I see." It was just as Frodo had suspected. "I'll be happy to compensate you 
for your trouble, Mr. Bindbole," he said dryly. "And there is, of course, the 
question of a reward. How much do you expect those letters are worth?"

"More'n all the gold in the Shire to Cammie," said Rolo, "but I don't want your 
money, Mr. Baggins, nor any of hers."

"You mean, you've decided not to sell Mrs. Stillwaters' correspondence?" Frodo 
asked, surprised.

"I never meant to," Rolo answered. "I'm giving `em to you." He put the packet of 
letters down on Frodo's desk.

Frodo didn't know what to make of this. Until Rolo had come here, he'd been 
fairly certain that Camellia Stillwaters' former love was behind the theft of 
her letters--perhaps, had asked Betula to steal them for him, and she'd taken 
them away with her instead--but he couldn't believe so now. Why would Rolo go to 
the effort of stealing the letters only to return them?

"I see what you think, Mr. Baggins," Rolo said, without rancor. "I don't blame 
you, not if Cammie's told you tales of how her family said I was after her 
money--but I tell you it an't so, and never was. I don't want a thing from her, 
and I wish no harm to her. She's made her choice, and I hope she'll be happy in 
it." There was a note of bitterness in his voice, but Frodo thought he meant it; 
Rolo wasn't after revenge any more than money. "When I learnt how this maid as 
worked for Cammie had the letters I wrote her, I bought `em back. I knew she 
wouldn't want 'em passed around for anybody to read. I was planning to send `em 
to Cammie myself, but when I heard how she'd hired you to find `em, Mr. Baggins, 
I thought I'd do better to bring `em to you. Cammie might refuse a package from 
me if she saw my handwriting on it, or else her husband might get hold of it and 
put her in just the trouble she wants to avoid. You'll do what's right--send `em 
to Cammie, or burn `em yourself."

"Yes, I will." Since Camellia had requested particularly that her letters be 
returned to her, Frodo would send them. "Would you like me to tell Mrs. 
Stillwaters the part you played in this affair?" he offered, rather ashamed of 
his uncharitable suspicions and trying to make amends.

Rolo shook his head. "Thank you, Mr. Baggins, but no. It wouldn't be fitting."

!~|vii|~!

Frodo forwarded the packet of letters to Camellia Stillwaters, and considered 
the matter closed. It was just one of the many cases he had acted on privately 
in the past year, quickly settled to his client's satisfaction. 

He thought no more of it, until a month later, when he received a letter 
addressed from Stillwater Hall:

"Dear Mr. Baggins-

"We are not acquainted, but your aunt Asphodel 
Burrows is a great friend of mine and recommends 
that I write to you. I have been informed that you 
investigate mysterious circumstances, and my family, 
finding ourselves in such a circumstance, turns to 
you for assistance.

"My daughter-in-law, Camellia, has become a source of 
great distress to my son and to me. I have reason 
to believe that she has run away with a boy she knew 
before her marriage, deemed unsuitable by her family. 
It is my hope that she can be found and recalled to 
her sense of respectability and duty to her family 
and ours before the incident becomes an irreparable 
scandal. I rely on your discretion. 

"I understand that you are an invalid, but if it is 
possible for you to travel, I invite you call upon 
me at Stillwater Hall at your earliest convenience. 
If your health makes the journey impossible, I am 
prepared to call upon you at Hobbiton. I look 
forward to your reply, and will make arrangements 
accordingly.

"With sincerest regards,"

It was signed, "Mrs. Verbena Stillwaters."

"Here, Sam-" Frodo handed the letter across the breakfast table to his friend. 
"What do you make of this?"

Sam read the letter slowly. "She uses a lot of fancy words," he said after a 
minute. "She must be a very grand lady."

"If she's a friend of Aunt Asphodel's, she must be one of the most prominent 
ladies in the neighborhood of Budgeford. Fit to associate with a Brandybuck." 

Of the innumerable older female relations whom Frodo addressed as "Aunt," there 
were only two who actually were: his father's sister Dora Baggins, and his 
mother's last surviving sister, Asphodel Burrows, Milo's mother. Asphodel was a 
Brandybuck by birth, daughter of a Master of the Hall. She never forgot her 
place in the world even after she had married the unassuming Rufus Burrows, and 
never let anyone else forget it either. 

"Do you remember Camellia Stillwaters, Sam? Angelica's friend? The business with 
those stolen letters?"

"Back at Lithetide, when I went riding all over the Shire looking for that 
maid?" Sam nodded. "And now the lady's run off? It's funny that her mother-in-
law wrote you about it, 'stead of her husband."

"Maybe he doesn't know as much about it as his mother does. Mrs. Stillwaters 
seems rather anxious to keep Camellia's old love affair with Rolo Bindbole a 
secret."

"Are you going to go?"

"Yes, I have to, for Mrs. Stillwaters's sake--Camellia, I mean." Frodo became 
thoughtful. "She was such a gentle and vulnerable creature when I met her, Sam. 
I'd hate to see her come to harm, even if she weren't a former client or 
Angelica's dear friend. After all the trouble we took to recover her letters and 
preserve her reputation for her, I can't let her fall into scandal now. I shall 
write and tell Mrs. Verbena to expect me this coming Trewsday. I've been 
thinking of visiting Fatty and Estella in any case, and this will be a good time 
to go. Will you come with me, Sam?"

He could see that Sam wanted to accompany him, but was reluctant to leave Rosie 
for long. The baby wouldn't be born until the following spring, and Rosie was 
doing quite well now that those first nauseous weeks had passed, but Sam was 
anxious for her all the same.

"Can you spare Sam for a week or so, Rose?" Frodo asked as Rosie came to the 
table to refill the teapot. "I've been asked to investigate a case near 
Budgeford, and may need his help."

"'Course Sam can go, if you need him, Mr. Frodo," Rosie answered. 

"You'll be all right while we're gone?" Sam asked her.

"I'll be fine. I'll ask Mum to come and stay with me while you're away. If I 
need anything, she can look after me best at a time like this."

"There we are!" said Frodo. "We'll leave on Trewsday morning. I think I'll write 
to Merry and Pippin and ask them to join us. Merry knows that part of the Shire 
much better than I do, and they both might be glad to come away for awhile." 
From Merry's last letters, Frodo inferred that his cousin was bored in 
Tuckborough and only stayed on for Pippin's sake. "An investigation may be just 
the thing."

!~|viii|~!

Frodo and Sam arrived in Budgeford on Trewsday afternoon. While Sam rode into 
the village with their baggage to see about taking rooms at the Inn, Frodo went 
directly to Stillwater Hall, which was off the road to the north. 

Stillwater Hall was built smial-fashion, as all the best houses were, but the 
land here was too flat for hills and natural tunnels; the Hall rose as a large 
curving hummock in the midst of a neat little park with stone-paved paths that 
curved around recently planted clumps of bright flowers in circular beds, and 
shallow, decorative lily-ponds.

Frodo was shown into the best drawing-room, where Verbena Stillwaters was 
waiting to receive him. She was an elderly hobbit-lady, dressed in a dark blue 
velvet gown; her white curls were piled atop her head, and a little lace cap was 
perched upon them. When Frodo entered the room, she rose to greet him.

"You are Mr. Baggins, I presume, Asphodel Burrows' nephew?" As she held out her 
hand, her eyes swept over him and her brows rose delicately. Frodo assumed that 
she was surprised to see how young he was--he was used to this response from 
older hobbits who had never met him before--but Mrs. Stillwaters only said, 
"Yes, I can see a resemblance." She returned to her seat, and offered a chair to 
Frodo. "It's kind of you to come all this way to aide us, Mr. Baggins. I've 
heard a great deal about you. Your aunt has been following your career with keen 
interest and speaks highly of your abilities as an investigator. When she heard 
of the... situation with my daughter-in-law, Asphodel insisted I write to ask 
for your assistance. I trust I may rely on your discretion? I only want Camellia 
found and convinced to return home, with no breath of scandal following her 
absence. I will do all I can to further your inquiries, as long as they are 
conducted discreetly. Will you help?" 

"I will try," Frodo answered. "Do you have any idea where your daughter-in-law 
might have gone?" He had his own ideas on the matter, but he wanted to learn how 
much the Stillwaters knew of Camellia's secrets. Did Mrs. Stillwaters know that 
Camellia had been his client?

"No," Verbena answered, "but I can guess. Before Camellia wed my son, I heard 
that the girl had been in love with someone else. Her family was at pains to 
keep the incident a secret while we were arranging the betrothal, but I 
considered it nothing more than idle gossip. If there were indeed anything in 
it... well, young people often have these unsuitable little romances." She 
smiled wryly. "It was just the same when I was a girl, and the Shire hasn't 
changed so much since then! But any sensible hobbit can be relied upon to make 
the correct choice when the time comes to marry. So it seemed it was with 
Camellia. She agreed to marry my Val--as suitable a match as a girl could hope 
to find--and they have been a happy couple. 

"At least, I would have said so until a month or so ago. Then, I observed that 
Camellia began to be quiet and unhappy. She looked troubled, though she would 
not speak to me of what distressed her. It might have been the usual sort of 
newlywed quarrel. Are you married, Mr. Baggins?"

The question caught Frodo off guard. "No, Ma'am," he answered.

"Then you mayn't understand yet how a husband and wife can find it difficult to 
adjust to their new lives together during the first months of marriage. It's not 
remarkable that they should quarrel, but I never imagined there was a serious 
breach between them, until Camellia disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Frodo echoed.

Mrs. Stillwaters nodded. "Ten days ago, on August 5th, to be precise. She went 
out for a stroll in the garden after dinner and, as far as anyone can say, she 
did not return to the house that night. Her belongings were left in her room, 
but she left no note. She hasn't gone to her family in Overhill. It was then 
that I thought of that earlier romance, and wondered if Camellia had been so 
unhappy with Val that she decided to fly with the other boy."

"Does your son know of your suspicions?"

"No, I don't believe he does," the lady answered. "I've kept my thoughts to 
myself. Val's never heard the old gossip. It would break his heart if he learned 
that Camellia had had another love before her marriage, and that she should be 
so foolish to prefer that lover to him."

"Do you know the other boy's name?" asked Frodo.

"I'm afraid not," the lady said apologetically, "but I believe he's been seen-" 
She stopped and looked up suddenly at the sound of a nearby door opening and 
footsteps padding down the hallway, heading in their direction. 

The door to the drawing-room opened, and her son came in. He was a handsome and 
well-kept hobbit in his forties, with taffy-colored curls and a rose brocade 
waistcoat that Frodo, who had a taste for nice clothing, frankly envied. 

Valerian Stillwaters was studying him with open curiosity as well. "Hullo. I 
didn't know we had company. Who's this?" he asked his mother.

"This is Frodo Baggins," Mrs. Stillwaters made the introduction. "Mr. Baggins, 
my son, Valerian."

"Oh, Mother! Good Heavens!" Val cried out as indignantly as if someone had 
stepped on his toes. "You didn't actually engage an investigator?"

"I thought it best, dear."

"But why? No offense to you, Mr. Baggins--I'm sure you're quite as good as your 
reputation, but we've no need of your services. Cammie's not missing."

"You know where she is?" Frodo asked, surprised. Mrs. Stillwaters also looked 
surprised, and a little discomfited, at this announcement from her son. 

"Not exactly, no," Val admitted, "but I'm sure she's only gone on a visit. She 
was planning a stay with her family in Overhill, wasn't she, Mother?"

"Yes, but we know she isn't there," said Mrs. Stillwaters. "I've exchanged 
letters with Rue Bilbury, and they haven't seen her."

"Then she must have stopped somewhere along the way to see some friends," her 
son responded.

"Has she written to you?" asked Frodo.

"No."

"Is she in the habit of going away on long visits and not telling you where 
she's gone?"

"She's never done it before, if _that's_ what you mean," Val said grudgingly, 
"but she's a grown hobbit and knows her own mind. She's quite capable of looking 
after herself. If she wants to go off, I don't feel I must have her followed and 
know where she is every minute of the day. I hope I'm a broad-minded husband, 
and not one of those possessive, jealous and clinging brutes. I've wondered why 
she hasn't written me, but there's no reason to think any harm has come to her--
not in the heart of the Shire. What a ridiculous notion! Camellia will come home 
when it suits her."

Frodo didn't know how to address this astonishing degree of obtuseness. Broad-
mindedness in a marriage was one thing, but Val seemed completely unconcerned 
about his wife's unexplained absence. Or was he mistaken? Did Val already know 
what his mother was trying to keep from him, that Camellia had run off with Rolo 
Bindbole--and was this seeming indifference his way of putting a brave face on 
an awkward situation? 

"If you're certain you don't need my assistance..." Frodo was about to make a 
tactful retreat, when Mrs. Stillwaters spoke:

"Nonsense. Please, stay, Mr. Baggins. We do need your help. _You_ are the one 
who's being ridiculous, Val. Don't you see that Camellia must be found and made 
to return? People are beginning to wonder where she is--and, worse yet, 
beginning to talk." She gazed searchingly into her son's face. "You don't wish 
to become a subject of scandal, do you?"

"No... Oh, very well," Val conceded, and turned to Frodo. "Mother wishes to have 
you look for Cammie, and I suppose she's right. We can't have gossip. Look all 
you like, Mr. Baggins, but I'm quite sure Cammie is fine, wherever she is."

!~|ix|~!

After he left Stillwater Hall, Frodo paid a call on his Aunt Asphodel in 
Budgeford. Budgeford was a small village, smaller even than Hobbiton, and lay 
two miles north of the larger town of Whitfurrows. It consisted of a cluster of 
buildings--the inn, a post office, a smithy and some shops, around a green--plus 
a dozen or so smials dug into the hills that rose on either side of the broad, 
shallow stream. Asphodel Burrows lived in a tidy, old-fashioned smial in the 
hills on the northern side, overlooking the farms and pastures of the 
Bridgefields and the line of the Brandywine River in the distance. 

Rufus Burrows had been a hobbit of solid respectability but, like his son Milo, 
he was also a keen pony fancier and gambler of unreliable luck. He'd never had 
much money. Asphodel had brought her own fortune to the marriage, but most of 
what she and Rufus owned had gone toward giving Milo a gentleman's position in 
life. After her husband's death, Asphodel had taken what was left of her 
fortune, which was enough for an elderly lady to live on comfortably, sold the 
old Burrows' home outside Frogmorton, and moved to Budgeford. If she had gone 
back to live with her own family at Brandy Hall, she would have become an aged 
relative dependant on the current Master's kindness, much as her surviving 
brother Dinodas was. Here, however, her rank allowed her to queen it over her 
neighbors and create a small, select social circle around herself. To be noticed 
by Lady Asphodel and invited to one of her tea parties was considered a high 
honor, one much sought after by the ladies around Budgeford.

Asphodel was at tea in her tiny but elegantly furnished parlor when Frodo 
entered, but this was not one of her days for a great social occasion. The 
lady's only guest was Beryl Bolger, Fatty's and Estella's maiden aunt, who had 
looked after the two since their parents' deaths.

Asphodel was nearly ninety, but there were some dark strands left in her graying 
curls, and her eyes were a striking blue. Frodo felt a catch in his throat when 
he saw her: She reminded him so of his childhood memories of his mother. If 
Primula had lived so long, she would doubtless look very like her elder sister 
looked today. 

"Hello, Aunties," he said. Asphodel held out her hands to him, and he went to 
her. 

"Frodo, dear boy, welcome. I've heard you haven't been well." As Frodo leaned 
down to give her a kiss, Asphodel placed both hands on his cheeks and studied 
his face. "Yes, you are pale, but I'm pleased to see you aren't as ill as I'd 
feared. I'd hoped you'd be able to come and help with this baffling situation. 
Have you seen Verbena yet?"

"Mrs. Stillwaters? Yes, I've just been to visit her."

"She has been a dear friend of mine for ages. She's a Goldworthy, you know, by 
birth. A good family--not the _very_ best, mind you, but quite respectable."

By Asphodel's standards, the very best families included only the Brandybucks 
and Tooks. The Goldworthys and Stillwaters were among the 'respectables': the 
Burrowses, Bagginses, Bolgers, Boffins, Bankses, Bracegirdles, and other well-
to-do village gentry who were deemed suitable to marry into the best families. 
Like all the Brandybucks, Asphodel considered Frodo one of their own, even if he 
had the misfortune to have a different last name.

"Beryl and I have just been discussing Camellia Stillwaters's disappearance," 
Asphodel told her nephew. "It's quite all right, Frodo--you can speak freely. 
Beryl knows as much of the matter as I do, though I must say that it's all 
thoroughly mysterious to _me_. No one has seen the girl over in a week! What I 
find most bewildering is that her husband seems remarkably unconcerned. If _I_ 
were a young hobbit, newly married, and my spouse left without a word, I would 
be frantic with worry. Do you imagine he knows where she's gone?"

"He says not, but I've wondered that myself," said Frodo. "I didn't like to 
question Mrs. Stillwaters about her own son, but perhaps you could tell me, Aunt 
Del..." Mrs. Stillwaters had said that there'd been gossip about Camellia since 
she had gone; if there was, then Frodo had no doubt that Verbena Stillwaters's 
closest friends were talking the most. He would like to hear what they were 
saying. "What have you heard about Valerian and Camellia? What sort of couple 
were they? Mrs. Stillwaters says they seemed very happy together until recently. 
Would you say the same?"

The two ladies exchanged a glance. "I haven't, of course, had the opportunity to 
observe the young couple as closely as Verbena has," Asphodel answered. "I've 
known Val since he was a boy, and the bride has been invited specially to all my 
occasions, but I can't claim to know her well. I was surprised when Val first 
introduced her. Did you meet Val, Frodo?" Frodo nodded. "Such a dandy! The lad 
stands out in a crowd. And Camellia--do you know _her_?"

"We've met. She's a friend of Angelica's." 

"That very pretty, forward Baggins cousin of yours? How extraordinary! 
Camellia's such a quiet, unassuming girl. Sweet, of course, but with so little 
to say for herself you might easily forget she was there. I couldn't imagine 
what Val saw in her."

"She is said to be very wealthy," said Beryl.

"So are a good many other girls in the Shire," replied Asphodel. "My Burrows 
nieces, the Took girls, your Estella, and any one of them more spirited. Val 
might have had his choice. But there must have been something to draw them to 
each other. In spite of their different temperaments, the two never seemed 
unhappy. If she's left him of her own volition, I have no idea why. Val was 
always most attentive to her when _I_ saw them together, and never gave her 
cause for complaint." 

"_I've_ wondered if there was something more behind it," Beryl said 
meaningfully, hoping that if there was, Frodo would tell them.

"There has been some talk of a lover," Asphodel agreed, "but one always hears 
such tales when a married couple parts, whether it's true or not."

"It's usually true," observed Beryl.

"Perhaps, but in this case, I doubt it. I can't see that quiet little creature 
having a lover, can you? Or being so bold as to fly with him! But where could 
the girl have gone?"

At least one thing was clear to Frodo: Mrs. Stillwaters had not confided 
everything to her friends. Aunt Asphodel hadn't heard Verbena's suspicions of 
her daughter-in-law's whereabouts. 

"Where are you staying, dear?" Asphodel asked him. "At the Three Badgers Inn? 
Though I've never stopped there myself, I've heard it's comfortable for 
travelers, but it couldn't be as nice as a proper home. Why don't you come and 
stay here while you're investigating?"

"Nothing would please me more, Auntie," Frodo said diplomatically, "but I've 
brought my friend, Sam Gamgee, with me, and we're expecting Merry and Pippin to 
join us. I'm afraid we'd crowd you out."

Asphodel appreciated the difficulty; her smial was quite cozy and elegant, but 
little more than a bungalow. She could accommodate one guest, but not four.

Beryl's eyes, however, had brightened at the mention of Merry. "We haven't the 
room for so many guests either," she said, "but I'd be very happy to have you to 
dinner tonight. Can you come? We haven't seen Merry, nor Pippin, in so long! 
Please, bring your friend too."

!~|x|~!

By the time Frodo arrived at the Inn, Sam had taken two rooms, unpacked their 
belongings, and made one room very comfortable with a low fire and warm water 
ready for washing up. He was only waiting for Frodo's return to order their 
dinner--but at Frodo's news that they'd been invited to dine at the Bolgers', 
Sam hastily changed his plans. While Frodo washed up, Sam laid out clean clothes 
for him, and then washed and changed his own jacket for the best one he'd 
brought with him.

Merry and Pippin hadn't shown up yet. Frodo left a note for them with the 
innkeeper on his way out, telling them to come to the Bolgers'.

Fredegar Bolger--called Fatty by his friends--and his younger sister Estella 
were Frodo's second cousins on the Took side. They were as plump, apple-cheeked, 
and warm-hearted a pair of hobbits as could be found in the Shire, and they 
greeted Frodo with a vociferous welcome, for they hadn't seen him since their 
mutual cousin Berilac Brandybuck's funeral over a year ago. 

When Frodo made his apologies for Merry and Pippin's absence, Aunt Beryl was 
deeply disappointed, but Estella was only thoughtful.

He and Sam told them news of Hobbiton over dinner. Sam was usually shy in 
company, but he had dined with greater folk than the Bolgers--Tooks and 
Brandybucks, and the Mayor's family--and could talk about Rose and the baby, and 
some of Frodo's more peculiar investigations, with ease. Beryl was primarily 
interested in Frodo's current case; Frodo wouldn't have minded if she could tell 
him anything about Camellia, but she was so obviously hoping that _he_ could 
tell _her_, and there was nothing Frodo wanted to reveal yet. He was hoping to 
talk to Fatty who, as a young male hobbit, might be better acquainted with Val 
Stillwaters than the elderly ladies were, but any questions would have to wait 
until they could speak privately.

After dinner, Fatty invited the guests into his study for a glass of wine and 
some pipeweed, a custom he had picked up at Brandy Hall. Sam went with him, but 
as Frodo was leaving the dining room to follow, Estella laid a hand on his arm 
to detain him. 

"Frodo, can I ask you-?" she began softly. "You'll be seeing Merry, won't you?"

"Yes, I will," Frodo answered. "I've asked him and Pippin to join us. We were 
expecting them this evening."

"Tell me honestly, please: Has he arrived in Budgeford yet? Is he already here 
at the inn, but wouldn't come to dinner with you, because of me?" 

Frodo blushed. He hadn't realized that Estella was aware of how Merry was 
avoiding her. "He isn't here yet."

The girl looked very sad; Frodo thought he understood why, until she requested, 
"When you see him, will you give him a message for me? Tell him he needn't be 
afraid to come. I know he only visits Fatty when I'm away, but please tell him 
he can come to the house whenever he likes. I'm not silly about him anymore. I 
see now. I know he couldn't possibly love me."

"It isn't _you_, `Stella," Frodo said gently. "He thinks you're a terribly sweet 
girl, and he's fond of you. It's only..." He hesitated. How could he explain 
this to an innocent young lady?

But Estella nodded, and said, "Merry doesn't like girls. Oh, I'm sure he _likes_ 
us well enough to be friendly with, but he doesn't want to marry anybody, except 
Pippin if it were allowed. I do understand that now. Aunt Beryl's tried to keep 
it from me--well brought-up young ladies aren't supposed to know such things 
exist--but I can't help hearing the gossip. Tell Merry, will you? He can come to 
visit, and I won't make a fool of myself over him. Besides," her cheeks turned a 
pretty shade of pink as she ducked her head and confided, "Ilbie Brandybuck's 
been calling on me. I told him he could."

"That's marvelous news!" Frodo took her by the shoulders and gave her a peck on 
the cheek. "Yes, of course, I'll tell Merry. He'll be delighted to hear it. Best 
of luck to you both."

"We'll need the best luck, I'm afraid."

"Is Aunt Beryl giving you trouble?" He could see that she hadn't given up hope 
of Merry courting her niece.

Estella looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, I think she'd rather I married the 
Master's heir, but she has nothing to say against Ilbie. If we were of age, it 
wouldn't matter so much, but Ilbie's awfully young--only just turned thirty, you 
know--and I've got two more years before I don't have to ask for Auntie's 
permission to marry whom I like. So we'll have to wait."

Frodo thought of how Angelica had effectively gotten around this problem, but he 
couldn't encourage Ilbie and Estella to do the same!
 
"Aunt Beryl will come around in time," said Estella. "It's Uncle Saradoc. I'm 
not sure he'll be happy when he hears about it. He hasn't given up on Merry, you 
see."

!~|!|~!

After he left Estella, Frodo went to Fatty's study, where his cousin and Sam 
were sitting comfortably by the fire, sipping glasses of dark red wine. Fatty 
immediately rose and poured out another glass for him.

"Do sit down, Frodo," he said as he handed the glass to Frodo. "I've just been 
asking your Sam about this Stillwater mystery. I could see you didn't want to 
talk about it in front of Stel and Auntie Beryl, but I gather that there's more 
to it than you've let on."

"Sam..?" Frodo gave his friend a reproachful look; Sam's face went red and his 
mouth dropped open in dismay.

"Don't blame Sam," said Fatty. "I guessed. You see, I heard that there'd been a 
stranger in Budgeford and all about the Fields a few weeks ago, asking after the 
Roots. I knew from the description of this mysterious stranger it couldn't be 
_you_, dear Frodo, but it sounded very much like your Sam. Well, you mayn't 
know, but we had something of a to-do hereabouts when the old ostler Root left 
Whitfurrows all of a sudden back in June and took his granddaughter with him--
after the girl was dismissed abruptly from Stillwater Hall. No one knew what it 
was all about. This happened weeks before the younger Mrs. Stillwaters went 
missing, so I wondered what you two were up to, and if the one was connected to 
the other. Will you tell me?" He sank back into his comfortable chair and 
regarded Frodo expectantly as he gestured for his cousin to have a seat. "I 
swear nothing you say in this room will go beyond it."

"It was an extremely confidential matter," Frodo said as he sat down. "I can't 
reveal the details, but it involved some stolen property..." He cast another 
glance at Sam and wondered what Sam had told Fatty before he'd come in, but 
there was no way he could ask without giving more away. Fatty was such an 
indolent and even-tempered hobbit, it was easy to forget that he possessed a 
fairly sharp mind. Pippin had once joked that Fatty was the only other young 
hobbit he knew, besides Frodo, who would rather sit home and read a book than go 
out for an ale.

Perhaps it might be best to take him into their confidence? A source of 
information here in Budgeford would be invaluable. "I do believe it is connected 
to Mrs. Stillwaters's disappearance. In fact, it might help us to locate her. I 
hope you'll be of help as well, Fatty."

"Yes, of course, if I can." 

"The difficulty is that I know very little of the people in this case," Frodo 
explained. "I never met the Stillwaters before today. You've lived near them all 
your life, Fatty. You must know them. I'd like to have some idea of what 
Camellia Stillwaters is flying from before I find her, and try to persuade her 
to return."

Fatty sat forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at Frodo with keen interest. 
"You've guessed what's happened to her already, haven't you, Frodo?"

"I have an idea, yes," Frodo admitted.

Fatty's eyebrows rose at this. "Well! Aunt Beryl has it that the lady's flown 
with a lover. I thought it an absurd notion myself, but I can see that your 
thoughts lie along the same lines, and no doubt with better reason than the 
usual gossip." He sat back again. "The Stillwaters? Yes, I've known Val, as you 
say, since I was a little lad--but I can't say what sort of husband he makes. I 
felt sorry for his wife myself. Not for anything Val did to her, but because she 
kept to herself, didn't make friends easily. Stel went out of her way to be 
friends with her. Here, why don't you have a word with Stel? Camellia might have 
confided in her.

"I can tell you one thing, Frodo: the Stillwaters aren't as wealthy as they're 
made out to be. Val's quite extravagant--the sort who likes the best of 
everything and never thinks of the cost. Plus, he games with dice and darts and 
whatever else people can find to make wagers on. I know for a fact that he's 
thrown away handfuls of money on the Bridgefield races, and gone to Michel 
Delving to lose even more. His mother's paid all his debts so far, but she must 
be feeling the pinch. I won't say Val married for money alone, but a rich wife 
certainly must have come as welcome! Even if he didn't care a straw for her, he 
can't have her run off and take her money with her. Val may be something of a 
ninny, but he's not so foolish when it comes to looking after his own 
interests."

!~|xi|~!

Sam and Frodo returned to the Inn to find that Merry and Pippin had arrived 
while they were out, and were finishing their own dinner in the common room.

"We left a message that we were at the Bolgers'," Frodo told them. "You might 
have joined us."

"We got your message," said Pippin, "but you know how Merry won't go near 
`Stella. He's afraid he'll be forced to marry her if he so much as smiles at 
her."

Frodo stared; this was an oddly catty remark for Pippin to make.

"I'm trying to spare _her_ feelings, and her family's," Merry replied tersely. 
"I'm very fond of the Bolgers, `Stella included. There's no point in getting 
their hopes up."

"That's no reason not to be nice to her," said Pippin. "It isn't _her_ fault 
your father's pushing you at her, is it? You're brave enough to ride into battle 
and stab the Lord of the Black Riders, but you won't face one chit of a girl."

Frodo felt as if he'd blundered into the midst of a quarrel between the two and 
he was certain that whatever their argument was about, it had little to do with 
Estella Bolger.

"You needn't worry," he told Merry. "Ilbie's courting her. Estella told me so 
herself. She's asked me to say that she isn't 'silly' about you anymore. She 
understands about you and Pip."

"Now that is good news!" Merry cried with obvious relief. "I knew Ilbie'd win 
out, if he was patient and didn't make a nuisance of himself."

"You'll have to call on 'Stella now and be civil, especially if she's going to 
marry into your family," said Frodo. "I assume they'll take up residence at the 
Hall." 

A maidservant came to clear the table, and the foursome rose to each order a 
half-pint at the bar. Frodo turned to business: "I'm glad you both came. I'll 
have work for you to do. I'm thinking of bringing Fatty into this investigation 
too, since he already knows quite enough about it." He glanced at Sam, who went 
red in the face again.

"I never told Mr. Fatty about those letters!" Sam protested indignantly. "He 
asked why I'd been looking for that Root girl, who was Mrs. Stillwaters's maid. 
What could I say? He knew it was me, and I must be on an errand for you. Then he 
wanted to know if it had something to do with her being gone."

"And what did you say to that?" Frodo asked.

"Nothing! You came in before it went any further, and you told 'm more'n _I_ 
did."

"What letters?" asked Merry, looking from Sam to Frodo with curiosity. "And 
what's this about a maid? You haven't told us much about why you wanted us for 
this investigation, only that there's a missing lady."

"Not here." Frodo led the group to a double settle at the far end of the room, 
away from the inn's staff, other diners and merry-makers, so they could talk 
without being overheard. "Camellia Stillwaters, the missing lady, was a client 
of mine," he explained in a lowered voice. "You weren't involved with that case. 
She came to me earlier this summer. Her old love letters had been stolen..." He 
told his cousins the story now, and how the elder Mrs. Stillwaters had written 
to him for help. "Her mother-in-law believes she's run off with her cast-off 
lover, and wants me to bring her back. _She_ doesn't know who the lover is, or 
where they've gone."

"But you do, don't you, Frodo?" Pippin asked eagerly. 

"If she's with flown with Rolo, they've most likely gone to hide in Bindbole 
Wood, near his home. They might be sheltered by his family." Frodo sighed. "I've 
been engaged to find Camellia, but I'm concerned for Camellia's welfare as well. 
She asked for my help before her mother-in-law did, and I want to do my best for 
her. When I find her, I'll speak to her on Mrs. Stillwaters's behalf. If she 
wishes to avoid a scandal, Camellia will agree to come home. If she doesn't... 
well, I don't know yet what I'll do. What can I do? In such a case, there's no 
way to serve both ladies' interests."

"Why wouldn't Mrs. Camellia want to avoid scandal?" Sam asked.

"She may not care. If she's happier with Rolo than she was with her husband, and 
_he_ doesn't care for her, then she has no reason to return to her home, except 
for duty to her family. That may not be enough for to give up her happiness. She 
might prefer to stay with Rolo, even if it means social disgrace."

Merry grinned. "Being a social disgrace isn't so bad, once you're used to it. 
You learn not to mind what people say."

"Camellia isn't like you, Merry," said Frodo, thinking of that plain, timid girl 
who had sat so nervously on his parlor sofa one afternoon. "She left Stillwater 
Hall without even leaving a note for her husband. I suspect she flew on a 
moment's impulse, but she hasn't thought through the consequences of her flight. 
Right now, her mother-in-law is doing her best to keep things quiet, but the 
secret can't be kept indefinitely. People are already talking. Once the truth is 
publicly known, it'll be very hard on her. Poor Camellia may find she doesn't 
have the courage to brazen it out as you and Pip have done."

"She might find courage, if she's in love with this other lad," countered Merry. 
"Maybe that's enough."

"She did love Rolo," Frodo agreed. "When I last spoke to her, I believed she 
loved him still." 

"She must, if she's run away with him," said Pippin. 

Frodo nodded. "It may be difficult for her, and scandalous, but if it's what she 
wants, then there's nothing I can do. But I _do_ want to help. If I am to speak 
to Camellia, perhaps advise her on the best course, I need to learn about her 
situation--why she flew, and whom she's flown with. When I met this Rolo, he 
seemed decent enough, but there was something odd about the part he played in 
that business with the letters. I'd like to know more about his character. If 
he's a scoundrel, she must be made to see it before it's too late.

"I'd also like to know about Camellia's husband, Val. I can't decide if he's an 
utter fool, indifferent to her, or if he's only trying to conceal an unpleasant 
truth. All I'm certain of is that he objected to his mother's engaging me to 
find his wife. He says he doesn't think it necessary to search for her, but I 
wonder-?" He turned to Merry. "You've been to Budgeford recently, visiting 
Fatty, and you know this part of the Shire. Are you acquainted with Val 
Stillwaters?"

"I've seen him about," said Merry. "You know that his mother's one of Great-Aunt 
Del's select circle of friends. Milo knows him quite well, of course, although I 
wouldn't call them friends." 

"They used to be," Pippin interjected, "but Milo won't speak to him now."

This made sense, if both Milo and Val were ardent pony fanciers from their 
youth. Frodo wondered what had divided the two. "Fatty tells me Val's a great 
gambler," he said.

His cousins laughed. "That he is!" said Merry. "As a matter of fact, he was at 
the Michel Delving races this past Lithetide. We saw him there, but not to speak 
to. As Pippin says, Milo went out of his way to avoid Val whenever he saw him." 

"Can you seek him out tomorrow? There must be some way for the two of you to 
become better friends with Val Stillwaters. It's too late in the year for races 
in the Bridgefields," Frodo mused. "All the ponies will be needed to bring in 
the hay. Maybe Fatty can help. When you talk to Val, you needn't say a word 
about his wife--I know he won't talk about _that_. Buy him an ale, play dice 
with him, encourage him to chat. I want to find out what sort of hobbit he is."

!~|xii|~!

They went to their separate rooms, Merry and Pippin to one, and Sam and Frodo to 
the other. Frodo changed into his nightshirt and stretched out languidly on the 
bed. His travels around the Shire on previous investigations had sent him and 
Sam to other rooms at inns very like this, and he found these overnight stays 
rather exciting: there was a certain anonymity here, and privacy.

There wasn't much privacy at Bag End lately, not since Sam had married and Rose 
had moved in with them. The plan of "sharing" he had proposed had worked quite 
well technically, with Sam spending one night in Rosie's room, and the next in 
his--but from the first, Frodo had felt somewhat restrained by the knowledge 
that Rosie was only a few doors away. Even if she couldn't overhear anything--
and Sam had chosen a room for his bride far enough from Frodo's to ensure that 
she didn't--she certainly must have a good idea of what they were up to on the 
nights she was alone. Frodo had similar thoughts on the nights when Sam slept in 
his wife's room. And if _he_ was self-conscious at Rosie's proximity, Sam was 
doubly so.

But, tonight, they were alone.

He turned his head on the pillow to find Sam undressing by the fire and smiled 
in invitation... but Sam's thoughts seemed to have taken him miles away. All the 
way back to Bag End, Frodo guessed.

"Don't worry, Sam," he said. "Mrs. Cotton will look after her. She's had four 
children of her own and knows more about having babies than you or I ever will."

Sam, who was absently buttoning up the front his nightshirt, looked up, 
surprised that Frodo knew so exactly what he was thinking. "I know Rosie'll be 
fine with her mum," he answered. "Only, I can't help thinking of her."

"I understand," said Frodo glumly. Rosie might as well be down the hall; she was 
with them just the same.

Now that there was a baby on the way, Sam rarely spent more than an hour with 
him on "his nights," but instead returned to sleep beside Rose in case she 
needed anything. Since he'd learned that she was pregnant, Sam fussed over Rosie 
as much as he did over Frodo during his bad spells--except that Rosie was in 
bloomingly good health. Like Angelica, maternity became Rose; she looked lovely, 
and had an air of secret contentment about her, as if she were always aware of 
the new life she was carrying.

Frodo tried not to be resentful. He told himself that this was only right. It 
was natural under the circumstances that he no longer be the center of Sam's 
life; he couldn't blame either Sam or Rose for behaving in a perfectly normal 
manner for two recently married young hobbits expecting their first child. He'd 
wanted Sam to have a family. But now that Rosie and Sam had embarked upon what 
many hobbits would call the most important business of life--making more 
hobbits--Frodo couldn't help feeling left out. He didn't like to admit it, but 
he was feeling his first real stabs of jealousy. 

He sat up and held out a hand. "Come to bed, Sam." How could he make his needs 
plain without sounding as if he were complaining? "I've been looking so forward 
to being with you tonight. I've missed you."

"Missed me?" Sam looked confused as he sat down on the bed. "But you see me 
every day!"

"Yes, and some nights too, but it's not the same as it was when I had you to 
myself."

Sam's face cleared. "I'll stay all night with you, if you want. You said you 
didn't mind."

"I did say it, and I meant it."

"You know how things'd change once me 'n' Rosie got married. We couldn't go on, 
same as before, once she was living with us. And now there's the baby."

"Yes, I know," murmured Frodo. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his 
arms around his calves. "I don't begrudge that, Sam--honestly, I don't. I knew 
what would happen when I encouraged you to marry, although I didn't expect a 
baby so soon. You've barely been married five months!"

"That's long enough sometimes," Sam replied with a small smile.

"I'm happy for you, Sam, and happy about the baby. But we're meant to be 
sharing, and I don't feel as I've been getting my fair share of your time. When 
you are with me, even if it's only for an hour or two, I'd like to feel that 
your thoughts aren't elsewhere. I know it's selfish of me. I understand that it 
mayn't be easy for you now, with Rosie in her condition, but can you manage it 
for my sake? Just for a little while?"

"I'll try," Sam answered, and regarded him silently. Then he said, "All right-" 
and grabbed Frodo by the ankle. A swift tug sent Frodo sprawling--he let out a 
yelp of surprise as he flopped flat onto his back on the mattress. 

His nightshift was swiftly pulled up and pushed into his armpits. Frodo writhed 
and laughed out loud with ticklish delight as Sam's fingers ran lightly over his 
bared ribs and belly, and lower--he yipped again and bucked his hips. 

Sam took him by the waist to hold him still. "Better?" he asked Frodo.

"Marvelous, thank you."

Sam grinned and his head went down; his tongue flickered over a nipple. Frodo 
squirmed at the exquisite sensation and he plucked at Sam's hair and shoulders, 
trying to pull him up so they could kiss. At last, he succeeded. They lay chest 
to chest, mouths meeting hungrily.

For the first time in a long time, Frodo felt as if he had Sam's full attention, 
until a shout came from the next room. Sam stopped kissing him and lifted his 
head to look toward the wall above the headboard.

They could hear people talking in the room next door; the sound was muted so 
that the words were not clear, but the strident tone was unmistakable and the 
voices were very familiar.

"Now there's something we haven't heard in awhile," said Sam. "It's almost like 
old times."

But it wasn't exactly like those days last summer when Merry and Pippin had been 
staying at Bag End and shared a room near Frodo's. Then, the sounds they'd 
overheard had been happy. Now, the two were arguing.

!~|xiii|~!

After a rapturous night of Sam's undivided attention, Frodo slept well and woke 
early the next morning. Slipping carefully out of bed, he left Sam asleep, 
washed and dressed, and went out to find the small, sunny, breakfast room at the 
far end of a long corridor. Merry was there, sitting alone at a table. They were 
the only people in the room, apart from the innkeeper's daughter, who had 
boiling water ready on the hob to make them a pot of tea.

"I'm surprised to see you up at this hour, Frodo!" Merry said cheerfully once 
the girl had gone to the kitchen to fetch their breakfasts. "We could hear 
something of what went on in the next room last night."

"We heard a few things too," Frodo confessed. "Merry, I hate to intrude-" but he 
and Merry had always been able to speak more frankly to each other about 
personal matters than they could to anyone else, even Pippin and Sam. "Why have 
you and Pip been quarreling?"

After a moment, Merry answered, "Pippin didn't want to come here. He'll do as 
you ask to help in this investigation, but he's hoping to go back to Tuckborough 
as soon as he can."

"To meet that girl his parents want him to marry?"

"_She's_ expected to come for her visit in two weeks," said Merry. "That's not 
why he wants to go home. His father's promised that he doesn't have to marry her 
or anybody else he doesn't want to."

Frodo didn't understand. "But-"

"It's another love that's drawing him home: his nephew."

"Nephew? You mean, little Peveril?"

"You haven't been there to see it, Frodo. His sister Pearl lobs that blasted 
baby at him every chance she gets, and it's done more effective work in bringing 
him `round than his mother's nagging or his father's being patient. Peveril's 
all he can talk about, and he's beginning to think he'd like a baby of his own." 
Merry laughed bitterly. "I've told him I can't help with _that_. He'll have to 
look elsewhere! Just wait `til he has to change dirty diapers, or sit up all 
night with a colicky, squalling baby. That won't be so much fun, and he'll soon 
change his mind about it."

"But you're afraid he won't?"

Merry nodded. "I think he might actually look elsewhere. He says he's only going 
to be polite to this North-Took girl, but I know he'll end up marrying her--not 
because he loves her, or because it's what his family wants, but because he can 
have children with her. It's the one thing he can never have with me."

Frodo was sympathetic; he knew exactly what his cousin was feeling. He'd gone 
through the same thing with Sam. "You can't keep him from it, Merry, if it is 
what he truly wants. After all, it's only-"

"Only natural," Merry finished for him with a note of sarcasm. "Every hobbit 
wants lots of babies. Well, that need seems to be entirely missing in me. I like 
little children well enough once they get out of diapers and are old enough to 
talk and play games with, but I never wanted a child of my own. You feel the 
same way, don't you?"

"I thought about it once," Frodo admitted. "Last year, when I considered 
marrying Melly. She wanted children, of course, and for a moment or two I 
wondered if I could give them to her. Even if I _could_, it wouldn't have been 
fair to her, or the child. I wouldn't be there to see it grow up." Merry reached 
across the table to take his hand; Frodo gripped his cousin's fingers as he went 
on, "It wasn't easy for me to let Sam go to Rosie when he wanted a wife and 
family of his own, but I couldn't keep him from it just to make myself happy. We 
can't fight nature, Merry, any more than we can change it in ourselves."

"At least, you and Sam and Rosie seem to have worked things out between you."

"Oh, we've had our difficulties adjusting, all three of us!" Frodo laughed, 
perhaps a little nervously. "But it's what we all agreed to and we're trying our 
best."

"I wish we could do the same," said Merry. "I wouldn't mind it so much if I had 
to share Pip with a wife, but I don't see us setting up house together in either 
Tuckborough or Buckland." He sighed, then gave his cousin a soft smile. "You've 
always had an extremely generous heart, Frodo. I don't know if I can be as 
unselfish as you, but I won't keep Pippin with me if he doesn't want to stay. I 
couldn't anyway. I wonder if, in the end, it'll be just you and me left."

"If we are," Frodo rejoined, "then I'll marry you." 

His cousin laughed. "If we are," he rejoined, "I just may take you up on that."

!~|xiv|~!

After breakfast, the four hobbits paid a call at the Bolger smial. Beryl was 
delighted to see Merry, until she understood that he was there to congratulate 
Estella on her prospective betrothal to Ilberic. While Merry was speaking with 
Estella, Frodo sought out Fatty and explained the errand he wanted his cousins 
to undertake; Fatty had a few ideas of Val Stillwaters's favorite haunts, and 
was happy to help.

Once the three lads had gone in search of Val, Frodo had a word with Estella 
about her friendship with Camellia.

"No, she didn't confide in me," Estella reported. "I wish she had. She seemed to 
have something heavy on her heart this summer, and I would've liked to help her, 
if only I knew what to do. A kind word from a friend might have kept her from 
going away. I hope she's all right."

When they left the Bolgers' house, Frodo and Sam rode out to Stillwater Hall. 
Frodo went inside to speak with his client, while Sam stayed outdoors to have a 
look around the gardens.

Verbena Stillwaters was in her drawing-room, as she had been the day before, and 
she smiled in welcome as Frodo came in. "I'm glad you haven't abandoned us, Mr. 
Baggins, after Val was so brusque with you."

"I do understand that he's as anxious as you are to keep this matter from being 
widely known," Frodo said diplomatically. 

"In spite of his inexcusable behavior, he's really quite concerned about 
Camellia and will be happy to see her home again," said Val's mother. "You will 
continue, won't you?"

"I've come to do just that, Mrs. Stillwaters. Yesterday, our conversation was 
interrupted when your son came in, and there were one or two points that I 
wanted to clear up. If you've no objection, may I do so now?" Frodo requested.

"Certainly." She smiled. "I can assure you that Val won't interrupt today. He's 
always out at this hour, and won't return until at least tea-time. What is it 
you'd like to know? I'll answer whatever questions I can."

"You said that your daughter-in-law left her belongings behind. May I see them, 
please?"

Mrs. Stillwaters showed him to Camellia's bedroom. It was a newly furnished and 
tidy room, laid out as if its occupant might return at a moment's notice. A 
hairbrush lay on the dressing table and, beside it, a locked jewelry box. On a 
small round table beneath the window sat the portable writing desk Camellia had 
spoken of: a flat, lacquered wooden box with a slightly slanted, hinged lid, 
designed to sit on a lady's lap while she attended to her correspondence.

It seemed odd to Frodo that Camellia should leave this behind. The writing desk 
was unlocked; he opened it and looked over the neat little compartments for 
paper, pens, and an inkpot. Delicately, he ran his fingers over the panel at the 
back, pushed, and it slid aside to reveal another, hidden compartment. Empty. 
Camellia had at least taken her letters with her, or found a safer hiding place 
for them.

He turned to examine the rest of the room before Mrs. Stillwaters should notice 
his particular interest in the desk. There were a few books of poetry and fairy 
stories on the shelves beside the fireplace. A tall, oaken wardrobe was filled 
with dresses, and a chest of drawers contained a froth of lace-edged petticoats, 
camisoles, and pantalets.

"She took nothing with her?" asked Frodo, blushing as he swiftly shut a drawer 
full of underclothes.

"I don't believe she returned to the house that night," said Mrs. Stillwaters. 
"My daughter-in-law's maid left us rather abruptly some weeks ago, and we 
haven't yet engaged another. My own maid had been attending Camellia as well as 
myself, and she can answer for the clothing. I've been through the wardrobe with 
her, and we are certain that all of Camellia's clothing, save those she was 
wearing, are here."

"You said that she went out for a walk after dinner." 

"Yes, that's so. We dined alone, the two of us."

"Your son wasn't here?"

"Val was dining out with friends, and didn't come home until late," Mrs. 
Stillwaters answered. "It was a fine, still evening and when we rose from the 
table, Camellia said she didn't wish to sit indoors. She went out through the 
dining-room door that opens onto the garden. I last saw her walking toward the 
apple orchard that lies behind the house. I went to bed soon after, and when I 
came to breakfast in the morning, she wasn't there. I leaned that no one had 
seen her since the night before." 

"Didn't Val notice she was gone when he came in?" Frodo asked.

"No. You see..." She glanced discreetly at the open door at the end of the room. 
Frodo peeked in. Apparently, Camellia and Val had separate bedrooms, connected 
by a bath and small dressing-room, where Val kept his own clothes. This wasn't 
so unusual an arrangement for wealthy hobbits who lived in spacious homes--his 
Aunt Esmeralda and Uncle Saradoc had had separate rooms at Brandy Hall for as 
long as Frodo could recall--but it seemed odd that newlyweds would choose to 
sleep apart.

"One last question, Mrs. Stillwaters," he said. "Yesterday, before Val joined 
us, you began to tell me something about the boy you suspect Camellia's run off 
with. You said he'd been seen."

"Yes, but not by me," said Mrs. Stillwaters. "As you may imagine, once we missed 
Camellia, we searched the grounds for her. I was afraid she might have been 
injured, or taken ill. Our gardener saw her in the orchard. He said that she was 
not alone. She'd been joined by a hobbit-lad. It was twilight and our Mr. 
Rakeweed's eyes aren't what they used to be. He couldn't distinguish more than a 
figure under the trees. It was then I began to think of what I'd heard about 
Camellia's old, unsuitable attachment. Of course, I have not told Val any of 
this."

Frodo thanked Mrs. Stillwaters, then went to the dining-room. He opened the door 
to the garden, and stepped outside to look out over a trim green lawn, more 
freshly planted flower-beds around a larger lily-pond, and an apple orchard 
beyond a low stone wall some hundred yards distant. Camellia had gone out of the 
Hall this way, up into the orchard, and then..?

What Mrs. Stillwaters had told him confirmed his own impressions: Camellia may 
have been growing discontented with her marriage--perhaps suspecting that she'd 
refused one fortune hunter only to wed another--but she hadn't planned her 
departure in advance. She may have arranged to meet Rolo in the orchard that 
evening, or merely encountered him there by chance, but once they had met, she'd 
decided to leave with him immediately. What, if anything, had spurred that 
impulsive choice?

Frodo thought he ought to speak to the Hall gardener himself, but as he went 
around to the front of the house, he saw that Sam had anticipated him and was 
already chatting with the old hobbit on friendly terms.

!~|xv|~!

Although Frodo had asked him to look around the Hall property and talk to any 
servants he happened to meet, investigation was not the foremost thing on Sam's 
mind when he'd struck up a conversation with Mr. Rakeweed ten minutes earlier. 
After viewing the gardens, Sam was naturally eager to speak with the gardener 
responsible for such magnificent grounds, and hastened to give the elderly 
hobbit a hand with the wheelbarrow full of mulch he was carting across the front 
lawn. 

"`Though I like a garden that's got a bit more hill to it," Sam concluded his 
compliments. "The soil drains better downhill."

"Aye, it does," Mr. Rakeweed agreed, "but when you've been on a place like this 
as long as I've been, you get to learn its little tricks." He considered Sam 
slowly, but with curiosity. "Gardener yourself, are you, lad?"

"Yes, sir." They were soon in a mutually pleasant and instructive discussion of 
different types of soil, how well each held moisture, and which plants grew best 
where. Sam was much more comfortable talking about gardening than he was about 
ponies. He was in his element here. The old hobbit reminded him so much of his 
own father that he knelt on the lawn beside Mr. Rakeweed to help him weed the 
flower beds and bank them with handfuls of mulch just as readily as he'd always 
helped the Gaffer.

After awhile, Mr. Rakeweed sat back, got out his pipe, considered Sam again, and 
chuckled. "When I was getting my morning mug o' tea, I heard tell from them as 
works in the kitchens how Missus Verbena'd brought in that detective fellow to 
look for the young Missus. If you're him, my lad, you're naught like I thought 
you'd be! `Tis a pleasure talking t'you."

Sam blushed, as he always did when people assumed that _he_ was the famous 
investigator, and hastened to correct the assumption. "No, 'm not him--I only 
came here with him today. He's in the Hall now, talking with Mrs. Stillwaters... 
about the troubles." He wondered how much the old gardener knew. After he'd said 
too much to Fatty Bolger last night, and upset Frodo, Sam was anxious not to 
give anything away this time.

"_I_ could tell 'm a thing or two, if I'd a mind to," said Mr. Rakeweed.

"Could you?"

Mr. Rakeweed nodded, and looked pleased with himself as Sam waited for him to 
say more. At last, the old hobbit went on: "I told the Missus myself, 'bout the 
lad I saw off in the orchard-" he waved his pipe in the direction of the trees 
beyond the Hall, "the same night as the young Missus was last seen. I seen the 
two of `em there, talking-like, and then they walked off by way of the 
Brandywine."

"Are we that close to the river?" Sam asked, surprised.

"It runs not five miles from where we're sitting," Mr. Rakeweed answered. "Take 
the lane on t'other side of the orchard, and you'll be there in ten minutes."

"This lad, d'you know who he was?" 

"'Twas too dark to see his face, but I guess I know. I seen the lad afore, about 
the Hall grounds. Mr. Val or the old Missus hired him to help turn up the flower 
beds `round the ponds for spring planting. There's a lot of `em, as you see, and 
more behind the house. Missus Verbena'll bring a young lad or two in to do the 
work when the job's too hard on my old back. All this stooping and kneeling's 
hard on a back when you get to be my age. I don't mind `em coming in, so long as 
they keep out from underfoot and the job's done proper." 

"And was it done proper?" Sam looked at the flower beds around them; the late-
summer flowers seemed to be growing beautifully, and were very nicely arranged.

"Some bits better'n others," Mr. Rakeweed grunted, and Sam wondered if he minded 
more about the younger gardener than he let on. "Some o' the bulbs in the back-
garden grew up every-which way, as if the lad popped `em in willy-nilly. I 
expect he didn't think it mattered so much `round behind the house where 
nobody'd see."

"You told Mrs. Stillwaters about this lad?" he asked. And had she told Frodo?

"That I did. Now, Missus Verbena han't gone telling tales about it, but I can 
guess for myself what that lad was about with young Missus." He chuckled grimly. 
"I'll wager anything he's made off with her! What was they headed to the 
Brandywine for? He tossed her in! Mark my words--she'll wash up downriver sooner 
or later. They always do."

And that was when Sam saw Frodo come around from behind the house.

!~|xvi|~!

Fatty, Merry, and Pippin began looking for Val Stillwaters by visiting the 
places Fatty thought he was most likely to be. They went to the stables where 
Val kept several ponies for racing, then tried the taproom of the Beeshive 
Tavern in Whitfurrows and some of the smaller pubs in and around the town. They 
started off by buying a half-pint in each place to avoid looking suspicious, but 
grew dangerously wobbly by mid-afternoon. On the road east toward the Brandywine 
Bridge, they stopped to lie down in a meadow for awhile before going on to their 
last destination. 

"We can't go on like this for the rest of the day," Pippin giggled as he flopped 
down into the tall grass. "We'll be falling-over drunk by the time we find `m!"

"How many more places are we going to try?" Merry sat down with his back against 
a tree and asked Fatty, who was sitting nearby with his head in his arms. 

It was a moment before Fatty replied, "One or two more. There's a little pub, 
not far from the Bridge, I thought we'd try next." He lifted his head. "Is this 
what all Frodo's investigations are like?"

"For our part, yes," said Merry. "We go riding all about the Shire, looking for 
people, hiding in the underbrush to follow `em, hanging about pubs to pick up 
gossip-"

"Lots of pubs!" Pippin added with a laugh.

Fatty shook his head. "It's awful wearying work. I don't mind giving Frodo a 
hand, but I'd like it better if this detecting meant sitting in my study, 
smoking a good pipe and thinking things over."

His cousins burst into riotous laughter. "That's Frodo's job!" said Pippin as he 
struggled to sit upright. "When it's _your_ investigation, Fatty, you can do 
that too, and send all your friends and relatives running about on errands." 

They were still laughing when a rider came up the road toward them from 
Whitfurrows, a hobbit in a bright red-and-gold striped waistcoat. Fatty's eyes 
went wide at the sight. "It's him! Get down!" And he flung himself into the 
grass, shoving Pippin down beside him. 

Merry crouched low behind his tree, and watched as Val rode past. "Where's he 
going to?" 

"Probably to that pub I was telling you about," said Fatty. "It's where the 
farmlads from the Bridgefields gather at the day's end. It's a famous place for 
dicing. The farmers won't be in at this time of day, but I know Val goes there 
now 'n' again."

Pippin, muffled under Fatty's outstretched arm across his face, had begun to 
yelp, "Get off! Get off!" until Fatty moved and let him up. Once Val had gone 
out of sight down the road, the trio fetched their ponies from the meadow and 
went after him. As they approached the little pub, which lay some way off the 
road, they saw Val hadn't gone there at all. He was standing on the Bridge 
itself, leaning on the railing and looking down into the broad sweep of ale-
brown water. Even at several hundred yards' distance, his colorful waistcoat was 
conspicuous among the brown leather coats of the bridgemen and the worn tweeds 
of the old gaffers who had gathered to fish in from the river.

"Val, hullo!" As the three drew nearer the Bridge, Fatty shouted.

Val looked up, surprised. "Fredegar Bolger? What brings you out this way?"

"I wondered the same about you, Val! We were just going to pop in over yonder." 
Fatty waved in the direction of the pub, just visible through the trees. They 
were close enough now that there was no longer a need to shout. "Won't you join 
us in a half-pint? I believe you know my cousins."

"I know Merry Brandybuck, of course," Val said pleasantly, and nodded to him in 
greeting. "And you're the Took lad, aren't you? Peregrin?" Then, as he 
considered the trio, his expression grew less pleasant. "You're all related to 
Mr. Baggins, the investigator, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," said Pippin, "to one degree or another."

"I daresay half the gentlehobbits in the Shire can say the same," added Fatty. 
"You might say so yourself, Val. Your mother's a Goldworthy, after all, and 
they've married into the Brandybucks..." This venture into genealogy trailed off 
as Val's eyes grew wider and his face suddenly turned very pale.

"Here-" as his gaze flitted quickly from Pippin to Merry to Fatty and back 
again, his voice shook. "Here- Have you been following me? Has Mr. Baggins sent 
the lot of you after me?"

"Val, no-" 

"Then why are you here?" 

"I'm showing Pip and Merry the best places to have a drink and a bit of fun-" 
Fatty tried to offer the explanation he and the others had agreed upon before 
they'd set out in search of Val.

"I mean--why have they come here to Budgeford, _now_?" Val asked. "You're here 
because _he_ asked you. It isn't enough that I have to endure this gossip, and 
let investigators pry into my private affairs, I must be spied upon too! It 
really is the limit! What's Mr. Baggins after? I know he doesn't believe 
Cammie's only gone away. Does he suspect me of making away with her, or 
something equally monstrous?"

"Of course not!" Fatty exclaimed, horrified at the idea. 

"I want you to tell Mr. Baggins something for me." Val's voice was still 
quavering with emotion. "Tell him that just before Camellia left, she spoke of 
visiting a friend of hers, Angelica Whitfoot--another cousin of his! If he 
wishes to find Cammie, I suggest he begin his search _there_!" 

!~|xvii|~!

That afternoon, when all the hobbits returned to the Inn, they gathered in 
Frodo's and Sam's room. Fatty, who was feeling a trifle unsteady, made his 
excuses and went home to have a nap before dinner. Merry and Pippin described 
their encounter with Val, and Sam repeated the old gardener's story about the 
lad seen with Camellia, which he had already told Frodo on their way back from 
Stillwater Hall.

"It must've been Rolo," said Pippin. "Who else could it be? Maybe your 
gardener's got the right idea, Sam, and he shoved her into the river because she 
wouldn't marry him. That's no doubt why Val was hanging around the Bridge today, 
looking for her."

Sam rolled his eyes at this japery. "_You_ don't believe what Mr. Rakeweed said, 
do you, Frodo?"

"About the river? No. That this same lad was seen around Stillwater Hall before 
he and Camellia walked away together? Yes. I'm sure Pip's right--it must be 
Rolo." Pippin grinned, and Frodo went on, "But I must admit that I can't fathom 
what he's been up to. There are one or two things about him that puzzle me."

"You said that last night, that there was something odd about the whole business 
with the letters," said Merry.

"Very odd," Frodo answered. "How did Rolo know that those letters had been 
stolen if he didn't have something to do with Betula's taking them? And how did 
he just happen to be in Frogmorton to buy them? He seems a little too jack-on-
the-spot. It can't be a coincidence. I didn't bother about it at the time, since 
the letters had been returned and I thought the matter was at an end, but I want 
to look into it now. It may be important. If Rolo _was_ involved in the theft, 
why return the letters to me the instant he learned that we were looking for 
them? It can't be for the money. He was offended when I offered to reimburse 
him."

"Maybe he was afraid of you," Pippin said, teasing. "He knew your reputation, 
and knew you'd catch up with him sooner or later, so he might as well give up."

"Maybe he wanted to get back into Camellia's favor?" Merry suggested more 
seriously. "She'd be so grateful that he bought her letters to give to her that 
she'd agree to see him again."

"After he stole them from her?" asked Frodo.

"Well, he wouldn't tell her about _that_. He'd tell her how he'd chased down 
those scoundrels and rescued her property for love of her. He'd make himself the 
hero of the tale. If she was seeing him, it must've worked."

"Perhaps..." Frodo fell into a pensive silence, eyes growing unfocused as he sat 
curled at the foot of the bed and nibbled on a thumbnail. The others waited 
patiently until he lifted his head, rose, and went to the writing desk. He took 
a sheet of blank notepaper out of the drawer, and began hunting for a quill and 
ink. "We're leaving Budgeford," he announced. "I'll ask Fatty to keep his ears 
open for interesting news while we're gone, but I expect to return here before 
next week is out. I'm going to send you all on errands. Merry--and you too, Pip, 
if you aren't going home-"

"I'll go with Merry," Pippin answered.

"Good lad! I want you two to ride to Bindbole Wood. See if you can trace Rolo, 
find out if he's with his family, or if he has a lady with him. Be discreet."

"Do you want us to talk to them?" Merry asked. 

"No, only see if they're there. When you find out, come and tell me. I'll speak 
to Camellia myself." Frodo turned to Sam. "Sam, you're to go to the Polwygle Inn 
at Frogmorton and speak to Betula Root. I want to know: Did she know Rolo 
Bindbole before he bought those letters from her? Did he ask her to take them, 
or did she have the idea on her own? If it was Betula's own mischief, what did 
she mean to do with them? I rather doubt it was her idea. Someone put her up to 
it. We've heard the local gossip that she'd been in some sort of trouble with a 
lad. Who was he? Jorly? Rolo? Someone else? I'm sure you can get the truth out 
of the girl. After you've done that, dear Sam, I want you to go home. You've 
earned a few days with Rosie." He looked around at his cousins. "We'll all meet 
at Bag End when we've finished our jobs."

"What about you?" asked Sam. "Where're you going?"

"I'm going home too. I have a few errands to run there myself." Frodo found an 
inkpot and a box of quills. "We've learned some interesting things here, but I 
can find out more in Hobbiton. There are one or two people I want to speak to. I 
intend to take Mr. Stillwaters's advice." He sat down at the desk to write a 
letter to Angelica, asking her to meet him at the Old Baggins Place on the 
coming Highday.

!~|xviii|~!

After Frodo had mailed his letter, he returned to the inn to join Sam and his 
cousins for dinner. He found Val was also in the common-room, waiting to speak 
to him. Even in the dim fire- and candlelight, the red-and-gold waistcoat was 
dazzling. 

"Mr. Baggins, I've come to apologize," Val said, stepping forward to greet Frodo 
as he came in. "I was very short with your kinsmen today-" he bowed slightly in 
the direction of Merry and Pippin, who were seated with Sam at a table some 
distance away. "And I was rude to you yesterday, when Mother engaged your 
services. I hope you'll pardon my unforgivable behavior."

"Yes, of course," said Frodo. This turn of events was surprising, but Val 
sounded sincerely contrite.

At Frodo's acceptance of his apology, Val smiled. "I'm so glad you understand. 
It's no excuse, but this has been a most unpleasant and awkward situation for 
me."

"You must be distressed about your wife."

"Yes," Val agreed. "It hasn't been easy for me to acknowledge that Camellia 
might not have gone visiting after all. Nor is it easy for a gentleman to have a 
lot of strangers asking questions about his wife and prying into private affairs 
that should be nobody's business but his own." He met Frodo's eyes meaningfully 
and, in a lowered voice, murmured, "I'm sure you know just how I feel, Mr. 
Baggins. You've been the subject of gossip yourself."

Frodo felt the blood rush to his face. He knew exactly what Val was alluding to: 
last year, before Sam's marriage to Rosie had quashed the gossip around 
Hobbiton, there had been rumors about their relationship--all quite true, but 
disastrous for them both if it was ever openly acknowledged. He hadn't realized 
that the gossip had gotten so far.

"You- ah- won't have to put up with our prying much longer," he answered. "We'll 
be leaving Budgeford in the morning."

Val's eyebrows rose. "Surely you haven't given up so easily?"

"No--I'm going to speak to my cousin Angelica, as you suggested."

"So they told you about that?" Val glanced at the other hobbits at the table 
again; all three were watching with avid curiosity. Sam was especially alert. "I 
hope you didn't think I was implying Mrs. Whitfoot had anything to do with 
Camellia's departure?"

"Not at all," Frodo assured him. He would have written to Angelica in any case.

"It's only that I know she and Camellia are girlhood friends, and girl-friends 
usually confide their secrets to each other," Val explained. "I had the pleasure 
to meet Mrs. Whitfoot at Michel Delving earlier this summer. A charming young 
lady, and quite a handsome one. That seems to run in your family."

"Er- yes." Frodo felt bewildered and somewhat lost. He didn't know what to make 
of this. Was Camellia's husband flirting with him? He'd had a long experience of 
Sam's unspoken devotion, before he'd coaxed Sam into saying what he felt, and 
some experience of Merry's playful kisses, but no older male hobbit had ever 
spoken to him this way before. Or was he mistaken, and was Val simply trying to 
win him over by flattery?

"Well, I shan't keep you from your supper a moment longer. I wish you the best 
of luck in your inquiries, Mr. Baggins. Mother and I will be most grateful when 
my dear wife is returned home and this dreadful business is ended. Good evening 
to you." With another little bow, Val turned to leave.

"So that's Mr. Stillwaters," Sam said, watching warily as the gentleman exited. 
"What did _he_ want?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Frodo admitted, and sat down to eat his dinner in some 
confusion.

!~|xix|~!

On their way home the next day, Frodo and Sam stopped at the Polwygle Inn in 
Frogmorton. Merry and Pippin had not gone with them, but had taken the northern 
road to Bindbole Wood, past Scary and Brockenborings. Frodo hadn't intended to 
be present when Sam interviewed Betula, but she was already there as they 
entered the common room. 

At the sight of Sam, the girl looked angry and embarrassed, but she came to 
their table. "Is this him?" she asked Sam. "Your detective?"

"This is Mr. Baggins," Sam replied. "We've got more questions to ask you, Bet."

"Miss Root, I presume," said Frodo. "How do you do? And how is your friend, 
Jorly?"

"Jorly's still at the stables with Grand-dad," Betula replied sullenly. "Only, 
he an't my friend anymore. We fell out--and that's _your_ doing." She glared at 
Sam.

"Now, you can't blame _me_ for what was your own work," Sam scolded.

"If you hadn't come here, offering us _gold_ for those letters, we'd've been 
happy with what we'd got, and never quarreled."

"That was your own work as well," said Frodo. "You must take some responsibility 
for the results of your avarice." 

The girl looked confused. "Ava- What is it?"

"Greed, Miss Root," he explained.

"I never!"

"Why'd you take those letters then?" Sam asked her. "Wasn't it in hopes of 
getting some money for `em? Or did somebody pay you to do it?"

"No!" she shot back.

"Then what put it into your head?" asked Frodo. "Or should I say _whom_?"

"Say 'who' or 'what,' just as you like," Betula retorted. "I don't have to tell 
you nothing! I've been in enough trouble over them letters as it is, and I won't 
say no more."

"We don't mean to make trouble for you, Miss Root," Frodo persisted, "but we 
must know. Did Jorly put you up to it? Or was it Rolo Bindbole? Did you ever see 
him before he bought those letters from you? Did you know him in Budgeford?"

But Betula had shut her mouth tightly and refused to speak another word.

!~|*|~!

"I don't think it was that Jorly," Sam said as they rode the last miles toward 
Hobbiton. "Not that he wouldn't go in for thievery, but I'd say he didn't know 
her then. When Betula's grand-dad told me about her troubles, he sounded as if 
the stable-lad and the other one was different--he'd took her away from the one, 
and she'd met up with the other lad once they'd come to Frogmorton. Fell in with 
him, you might say, as they're as matched a pair of mischief-making scoundrels 
as ever I saw!"

"I expect you're right, Sam. It must be Rolo. We know he's been seen around the 
Hall for some time, and she shut right up when I spoke his name. He's probably 
been behind this business all the time, just as Merry says, as a trick to win 
Camellia back." Frodo sighed. "Poor Camellia. It looks as if she's traded an 
unhappy situation for a worse one."

"Will you tell her that?"

"I'll have to, but I'd like to have some proof of what I say. If she loves Rolo, 
it'll be hard for her to accept the truth."

They left their ponies at the stable and walked to Bag End. As they came up the 
hill, Rosie came out of the house and rushed down to meet them at the front 
gate; she threw her arms around Sam and gave him a kiss. "Sam, love! I didn't 
think you'd be home for days!"

They went up the steps to Bag End arm in arm, Rosie chattering happily. Frodo 
followed. He would let Rosie have Sam tonight. It was only fair, after he'd had 
Sam all to himself for two days, and he was weary after the exertions of his 
first serious investigation after so long. He intended to rest before he went to 
the Old Place tomorrow afternoon.

!~|xx|~!

The Old Baggins Place was one of the oldest smials in Hobbiton, the property of 
Frodo's aged Aunt Dora. Dora Baggins lived there with her niece, Peony Burrows, 
Peony's husband Milo, and their four children. Angelica had also been a resident 
of the house for awhile before her marriage, when her parents had sent her to 
help look after the old lady in hopes that Dora would leave the Old Place to 
her.

As he walked up to the Old Baggins place that day, Frodo thought how little had 
changed since his visits there last year. The four little Burrowses were playing 
on top of the smial, but came running down to greet him with eager shouts and 
hugs when he came in at the gate. Peony met him at the front door, kissed his 
cheek, said that the family was just having their tea, and brought him into the 
best parlor, where Dora sat in her overstuffed favorite chair by the fireplace. 
Angelica sat on a tuffet beside her great-aunt, and Milo was standing at the 
hearth, leaning with his elbow on the mantelpiece. The only difference from the 
old days was that Dora was not knitting, but dandling Angelica's baby and cooing 
over Willa delightedly. 

"What a pretty little darling you are! What a precious thing!" Then she looked 
up to find him. "Frodo, dear boy, how wonderful to see you! I heard you were 
coming to tea today. Do come in, please. Sit down!"

Frodo sat down in the chair on the other side of the fire, and smiled as he 
said, "How are you, Auntie? I'm glad to see you've been won over." He knew that 
Angelica's marriage to Lad had been a great disappointment to Aunt Dora, but 
Willa was apparently making up for it.

"Oh, what's done is done, I always say, and Angelica's made her choice," Dora 
replied generously. "At least she's had a lovely baby--golden curls, and such 
beautiful big, blue eyes! I'd always hoped to see my Angelica have children with 
eyes as blue as her own... or yours, dear Frodo. What luck that the sweet little 
mite hasn't taken after her father!" 

Milo ducked his head down into the curve of his elbow, and made a choked sort of 
sound that might have been a cough or a desperate effort not to laugh.

Dora looked up at him with concern. "Are you catching a cold, dear?"

"No, Auntie," Milo answered in a constrained voice. "Only something in my 
throat."

"It's all that smoking you gentlemen do. Peony ought to take better care of you. 
A nice cup of chamomile tea with honey will fix you up." Dora gave the baby to 
its mother, and rose to go to the kitchen. "I'll make it for you while the 
water's still hot."

"Auntie, you needn't on my account-" 

"Nonsense, dear. It's just the thing for a cough. Mind you drink it instead of 
the usual tea today."

"Yes, Auntie," Milo surrendered and, once the old lady had left the room, 
laughed out loud. 

"Uncle Milo," Angelica said reproachfully.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but it was too funny." Milo was still chuckling. "Aunt Dora 
never gives up, does she? It's a lucky thing poor Lad wasn't here to hear her! I 
wager she'll still be saying such things even after you and he have been married 
ten years and have a dozen children."

"They'll have to have twins or triplets to manage that," said Peony, who had 
come in with the tea tray while her husband was speaking. She set the tray down 
on the low table between the two chairs and poured out cups of tea, giving one 
to Frodo first. "It's good to see you up and around, Frodo, after you've been 
ill for so long. Are you investigating again?

"As a matter of fact, I am," Frodo answered as he took the cup.

"I heard you've been to visit Mother," said Milo.

"Yes, that's right. A friend of hers has asked me to locate a person, the lady's 
daughter-in-law, who's gone missing."

Milo, his wife, and Angelica exchanged glances. "You mean Cammie Stillwaters," 
said Peony.

Frodo nodded. "Has the news reached Hobbiton already?" 

"Not all of it," Peony answered. "We've only heard that she's gone and no one 
knows to where. And when Angelica came this morning and said she'd gotten a 
letter from you from Budgeford, asking to meet her here, we wondered if you'd 
been engaged to find the girl."

"I thought Angelica might be of help. You're Camellia's best friend--you don't 
have any idea where she might be, do you?" Frodo turned to ask Angelica, who 
shook her head. "When did you last hear from her?"

"About three weeks ago," said Angelica. "She wrote me to say that she was coming 
to visit her aunt and uncle next week--last week, that would be now--and would I 
meet her here in Hobbiton? She said she would write again once she'd arrived... 
but I never had another word from her. I assumed that she'd been delayed and 
would write again soon, until I heard the news that she was missing. I'm glad 
you're looking for her, Frodo." She glanced at her own aunt and uncle. "We all 
want to help. What can we do?" 

"I'd like to talk to the Bilburys," Frodo explained. "They're friends of yours, 
aren't they?"

"Friends of Ponto's and Porto's," said Peony, referring to her elder brothers, 
"but we know them."

"Can you arrange an introduction for me? I'd like to ask them about their niece, 
but I'd rather not have them know that I'm investigating the matter yet."

Peony nodded knowingly; she had helped Frodo to get into other hobbits' homes 
before.

"We can manage it," Angelica said confidently.

Dora returned with the chamomile tea, which Milo sipped even though he didn't 
like the taste of chamomile. After they chatted awhile of other things, Angelica 
put the baby down for a nap and Peony gave her children their tea in the 
kitchen. Milo invited Frodo into the garden to smoke; Dora shook her head 
disapprovingly as the two gentlemen went outdoors.

"Peony and 'Gelica are very keen to get involved in this investigation of 
yours," Milo said as he lit his pipe. "They're worried about the missing girl, 
of course, but I remember how excited Peony was when she helped out in that 
business with the lost jewelry last autumn. I imagine you want to do the same 
sort of thing now, and they'll do their best to get you into the Bilbury house--
and go with you. Is there anything I can do?"

"Actually, Milo, there is," said Frodo. "I didn't just come to see Angelica. I 
wanted particularly to ask you about Camellia's husband, Val Stillwaters. You 
know him quite well, don't you?"

"As well as I want to," Milo answered after a moment's hesitation.

"You used to be friends, but you've quarreled. Merry and Pippin tell me that you 
went out of your way to avoid Val when you saw him at the Lithetide races."

"So, Merry and Pippin are acting as your spies and carrying tales again." But 
Milo spoke without rancor; he sounded almost amused. "You'll have all your 
relatives working for you before this is at an end. Well, I've nothing to hide 
with regard to Val Stillwaters. There was no quarrel, Frodo. I simply grew sick 
of the sight of him. Why do you what to know?"

"I'd like to learn what sort of hobbit he is," Frodo explained. "It might tell 
me what's happened to his wife."

Milo laughed. "Oh, I can tell you just what sort of hobbit Val is! After that 
business with Lotho, you know the worst of my excesses. Val's are at least as 
bad. We were quite close friends when we were lads. His father and mine used to 
take us to the Bridgefield races together. Val was the one who first encouraged 
me to wager more than I could afford to. He said a gentleman never gave a 
thought to his money or how he spent it. And he was right--you don't, until you 
haven't got a penny left. Then it becomes very important. I didn't mind it so 
much when I was a young lad and answerable to no one but myself, but after I 
married Peony and had a family to provide for- You know how that turned out. 
I've finally got myself out of _that_ pit, but it's best that I stay clear of 
Val hereafter. I would have hoped that a good, sensible wife might bring him to 
his senses, as Peony's helped me, but if you're suggesting that Cammie's left 
Val over his gambling..." Milo studied Frodo's face speculatively for some clue 
as to his thoughts.

"I don't suggest it," said Frodo, "but I wondered if it had something to do with 
it." 

"It's possible, certainly, but I think that if she's gone away over _that_, she 
would've returned to her aunt and uncle's house. Where else would she go? 
Unless," Milo looked over Frodo's face again, "I remember there was something 
about a boy, before Cammie married, that the aunt and uncle didn't approve of. 
Angelica could no doubt tell you all about it."

"Yes, she could," Frodo murmured. Poor Camellia. It was beginning to look as if 
neither choice, lover or husband, was very promising for her happiness. He had 
no idea what advice he would give when he found her.

!~|xxi|~!

Angelica came to Bag End late the next morning, dressed in her best lace blouse, 
a skirt and bodice of robin's-egg blue, and a flowered bonnet with long ribbons 
dangling down her back. 

"It's been arranged," she announced when Frodo, who'd been keeping an eye out 
for visitors, answered the door. "You and I are going to pay a call on the 
Bilburys. Aunt Peon