CHAPTER 2

"Mornin' Mr Baggins. I was thinkin' ye'd still be at sixes-and-sevens, so I've brought a nice pot of rabbit stew for later and some home baked bread." Bell Gamgee looked up, from where she was raking out the ashes of the kitchen range, and grinned. "I know how much ye like my bread."

Frodo hurriedly fastened the belt of his dressing gown. "Thankyou, Mistress Gamgee. But please don't call me Mister Baggins. We've known each other for years and it just doesn't feel right."

Bell leaned back on her heels. "Well, now. That is the proper way, now that ye've come of age and Mr Bilbo has left. Although ye can call me Bell, if ye've a mind."

Frodo grimaced. "Just, Bell, doesn't seem polite. You've been a second mother to me and a good friend of late."

There was a silence as both parties considered their new relationship. Bell was first to break the uncomfortable silence. "How about this…I could call ye Mister Frodo and ye could call me Mistress Bell? Would that work?"

A grin lit Frodo's face. "That sounds perfect, Mistress Bell. And, you should not be clearing my grate." He made to relieve her of the hand shovel but she held it away from him, so he tried again. "You have enough work of your own and I can do this. I just need to dig out my slug-a-bed cousin, Merry, and we can tackle it between us."

"'Taint nothin, to me to do this for a few days at least. As yer uncle told it, Mister Bilbo used to do this job, and make first breakfast while ye got yer wash. I'm thinkin' yer goin' to have to come up with a new routine," she smiled ruefully, "Or learn to bank the fire better at night. Twas naught but ashes when I stepped in."

Frodo sighed. "Banking the kitchen fire was always Bilbo's last bedtime job, while I tended the hearths in the other rooms."

"I hope ye won't think it too forward, but can I offer somethin' as I hope will help?"

"I'm open to any and all suggestions at this moment. Once Merry heads home; and Tom Carter is coming to collect him this morning, I shall have to learn to cope on my own. To be perfectly honest, with a smial this size, the prospect is quite daunting."

"Me and Marigold can do the big cleanin' jobs, as we always did for Mr Bilbo, if ye want to go on that way. But I was thinkin' of our Sam. He's been brought up to look after a smial." Bell gave a sniff. "All my lads know that runnin' a smial takes teamwork. Sam can build a fire, mend a shirt and cook a chicken, as well as cleanin' windows and sweepin' floors. How about ye think on what ye need help with, and he'll do for ye?"

"Can Mister Gamgee spare him? I know that your husband is beginning to feel his age when it comes to gardening." When Bell looked a little too thoughtful he added, with some haste, "Of course, I would pay Sam for any work he does indoors, as well as for his work in the garden."

"I'm guessin' he didn't tell ye, but Mr Bilbo and my Ham talked about this afore yer uncle left. I hope this don't sound disrespectful, but Ham and Sam never did take to workin' fer yer Uncle Otho. If yer willin' to pay what they get fer working the garden of those Sackville-Baggins', Sam would make enough money for us, and have the time to get yer jobs done instead."

"I suspect you would actually be better off. I happen to know that Otho and Lobelia tend to be a bit stingy when it comes to paying for work." Frodo did not need to consider for very long at all. He liked Sam. He almost felt like a brother, although Sam would not dare to claim the same, and if Frodo was to have anyone else pottering about in his home, he would rather it be someone from the Gamgee family. "Thank you, Mistress Bell. I shall sit down with pen and paper tonight and consider what needs doing. Then we will all get together and hammer things out. Would tomorrow evening suit?"

Bell smiled widely as she climbed to her feet, with a grunt. "That would suit nicely, Mister Frodo. I'll send Sam over to clear ashes and mend fires tomorrow." She bent to pick up the ash bucket, but Frodo took it from her work-worn hands.

"I'll see to this, or rather, Merry will see to it once I've dug him out of his bed." On an impulse, he leaned in to peck Bell's cheek. "I was so worried that I would not be able to live up to being the Master of Bag End."

Bell coloured a little, then wiped her hands upon her apron. "I don't know why. Me and Mr Bilbo know ye can do it." She made for the kitchen door. "Although mayhap there's some things of being Mr Baggins tis not so wise to live up to."

Frodo was still studying the closed kitchen door when a yawning Merry stumbled in a few minutes later.

The first day of October dawned clear and fresh, and found Mister Frodo Baggins in Hobbiton's market place.

"Hello, Mister Boffin. How are Brinley and Whit doing?" Frodo began examining the fish on Mr Grubb's stall, hoping to find a nice trout for his supper.

"I reckon he's just about got rid of all the aches and pains of the diggin' and rebuildin'. I'm right sorry they caused ye so much trouble, Mister Baggins. I don't know what got into 'em."

Frodo chuckled. "About five halves of cider, by the look of them. I almost felt guilty, making them work with hang-overs the next day."

"Ye've got nought to feel guilty over. I would have made 'em work if ye'd not. Tweens need to learn that actions have con…consquer…"

"Consequences?"

"Aye. Them. I hope as how they did a good job of the repairs and that ye'll let me pay ye for the ale they drunk."

"They did a very acceptable job. Thankyou. And don't worry about the ale."

"Well, that's kind, and still I hope ye'll let me stand ye to a half next time we meet in the Ivy Bush." Kenton Boffin turned away, then paused to add, "Bye the bye, I think ye'd be wise to visit the Ivy soon. There's things ye may want to hear."

Before Frodo could ask him for further explanation, Kenton was swallowed by the market crowds.

A few days later, spurred by Kenton's strange comment, Frodo decided it was time to begin socialising again. Beyond the need to buy food, he had not ventured outside Bag End since the party, unwilling to field questions about Bilbo's disappearance. He was fed-up of the entire topic, and wished people would move on, indeed, more than once after Merry returned to Buckland, he had almost packed a bag and set off to chase his uncle into the wilds.

Although Bilbo had been at pains to ensure that his heir knew how to manage smial and finances, Frodo quickly discovered that study and application, were two fish of very different spots. He had forgotten all about rents the first week, until Daddy Twofoot knocked upon his kitchen door to hand over his pennies. "Does, I mean, did Bilbo usually give you a receipt for your payments?" he asked, a little flustered, as he accepted the money.

Mr Twofoot scratched his head. "Well, he never did. Do ye want to?"

"Not unless you want one," Frodo replied. Daddy Twofoot had always just been a kindly neighbour, and it felt more than a little odd to be in a business relationship with him.

For some moments the two simply stood either side of the back door threshold. Finally Daddy Twofoot gave a toothless grin. "I couldn't read it if ye gave one, young sir. 'Twould be a waste of paper. No. I reckon I trust ye not to throw me out."

Frodo swallowed, the import of the fact that he had such power within his hands, suddenly striking home. "Thank you." Still feeling a little flustered, but remembering that there was more to being a landlord than collecting rents, Frodo asked, "Are you comfortable at Number Two? Do you need any repairs doing?"

Once more, Daddy Twofoot scratched his head. "I'm comfy enough. If ye've a mind to do anythin' I suppose the front door could do with a lick of paint. Mr Bilbo said as how he was goin' to get it done next summer."

"Oh. Thank you for letting me know. I shall ask Ted Bracegirdle whether Bilbo mentioned it to him." Ted had been taking care of the maintenance on Bagshot Row and Bag End for as long as Frodo had lived in Hobbiton; probably longer.

Daddy Twofoot touched his brow in salutation. "Thank ye, kindly, Mister Baggins." And with those words he had trotted away, down the hill.

Frodo had still felt embarrassed, knocking at doors to collect rent from Hamfast Gamgee and Arty Sedgebury, and would have forgotten all about the carpenter's workshop in the yard, had not Tom Buckleby espied him passing and run up to offer his coin. Being the manager of his own money, as well as his own home, would definitely take some getting used to.

Now Frodo stepped up to the polished bar of the Ivy Bush, aware that the hum of conversation had suddenly dropped. He frowned at the bartender in some confusion. Frodo had been joining his uncle and various friends for a half in this establishment for several years, and this was the first time that he felt uncomfortable.

"Hello, Mister Baggins. What can I get you this evenin'?" Borden Brewer was his usual smiling self and Frodo began to relax.

"A half of cider, if you please."

"I'll get that, Borden. I owe our young Mr Baggins a half." Kenton Boffin dropped a coin into Borden's meaty fist and turned to smile at Frodo. A nod of Kenton's head directed Frodo's gaze to a far corner, where the lad was surprised to see Ted and Orton Sandyman, with a small group of sour-faced hobbits. "They've been hangin' around here every evenin' for a week now."

Frodo sighed. "I wonder why. It can't be the ale. I've heard Ted say he prefers the beer in the Green Dragon." Behind him, Borden snorted as he filled a mug.

Kenton nodded. "Tis a tidy walk home of an evenin' from here to Bywater as well, especially when yer trippin' over yer feet…if ye take my meanin'. There's not a good word spoken about anyone by those at that table neither, especially of the Baggins family."

Frodo's drink arrived and he raised it to Kenton in salute. "Cheers, and thank you for letting me know. I don't know what the Sandyman's have against the Baggins family. As far as I know, we've never done anything to offend. Even Bilbo only ever returned tit for tat with them."

Kenton turned him away from the bar and toward a table, where Hamfast and Sam Gamgee sat, with Tom Buckleby and Bartimus Brockbank. "Come join us, lad. I think we can answer ye that riddle at least."

They made space for the two and once greetings were exchanged Kenton leaned in. "Mr Frodo was askin' what the Sandyman's have got against the Baggins'." Heads nodded and all leaned in to listen as Kenton began. "See, nowadays, there's quite a few folk as can read. Some better than others, I'll grant ye."

Hamfast chuckled. "I aint never learned but my Sam's right clever at it, thanks to Mr Bilbo and Mr Frodo."

"Well," continued Kenton, "Back when old Bungo Baggins first dug Bag End, there was hardly a soul in Hobbiton, nor Bywater, neither, who could read a word. Bein' the biggest business round about, the Sandyman's was one of the few families who could. Everyone used to take their letters to Erling Sandyman for the readin' and writin'."

Hamfast gave a sage nod. "Aye. I remember my Da sayin' the same. Erling used to charge a copper penny for each letter he read or wrote for someone. Nobody thought anythin' of payin', and Erling made a good livin' off it."

"He did that and just as well, for he weren't too good at the millin' side of his business. Anyhow, seems as soon as Bungo and his lady, Belladonna, moved in, they began to help folk with their letters instead, and they did it for free," Kenton announced. "Ye can guess that Erling weren't too pleased about that because, not only did he make a pretty penny from it, but he also got to know everythin' about everyone's doin's. And, if ye take my meanin', he weren't above usin' what he knew to make mischief."

Frodo's shock at such a betrayal must have shown on his face for Hamfast nodded. "Aye, Mr Frodo. Not everyone is as much a gentlehobbit as you and Mr Bilbo. And I ain't talking no "accident of birth", as Mr Bilbo used to call it."

Frodo glanced toward the corner, to find Orton Sandyman glaring at him, and dropped his gaze to his cider. "But that was over a hundred years ago," he pointed out.

"That's as may be, but some folk seem to like holding a grudge, blessed if I know why," Kenton declared with a shake of his grey head. "Seems like a proper waste of time if ye ask me."

"Well, I don't see that there's much I can do about something that happened a hundred years ago."

"That's just it, Mr Frodo. Ye can't, but we thought ye should know it weren't somethin' ye nor Mr Bilbo did wrong. I only hope it gives ye some comfort," Kenton offered with an apologetic smile.

"I helps a little. At least I can stop racking my brains to find something to apologise for. Bilbo never seemed to let it bother him, but I've spent years worrying what I may have done to offend." Frodo took a deep swallow from his mug. "It's too bad of Bilbo not to have told me this before."

Hamfast chuckled. "I gave up trying to guess the workin's of Mr Bilbo's mind long since. In truth, I thought he may have told you, but Kenton said as how we should make sure." He raised his mug in salute to his friend. "Looks like he was right. You drink up there, Mr Frodo, and I'll send Sam to get us another round."

Frodo drained his mug, his good humour returned. "No, Mister Gamgee. I owe you all a drink for enlightening me. But if he doesn't mind, Sam can give me a hand to carry the pots."

"I will that, Mr Frodo." Sam leapt to his feet and Frodo followed, spinning about without really paying attention, in his haste. It was to be his undoing, for he ran straight into Ted's son.

"Oiy! Watch where your goin' Master Baggins."

"I am sorry, Orton. If I spilled your drink I'll buy you another." The room grew silent as all paused to see how this would play out.

Orton sneered. "Aye. You've got plenty of coin to do that now, haven't you? Will you get to keep it when they find that poor uncle of yours floating, face down, in the river, though?"

Frodo's mind was having difficulty staying abreast of this conversation. "I beg your pardon?"

Orton's sneer deepened and he turned to take in the entire room as he replied, "Everyone knows you waited until Bilbo was walkin' back from his party, drunk. Then you pushed him off the bridge, into the Water. They ain't found the body yet, but they will, you mark my words."

"What?" was the only word Frodo could manage.

"Don't think we aint noticed that you haven't gone into mournin'," Ted called from his dark corner. "I reckon that body will turn up in my mill wheel one mornin'."

"Don't you pay him no mind," Tom Buckleby advised Frodo. "Ted's been in here, pie-eyed, every night this week."

"I heard that, Tom Buckleby. We all know you rent your workshop from the Baggins', so you daren't say nothin' against him." Ted dragged himself upright and Frodo suspected that it was only the corner angle of the wall behind, that was preventing him from sliding sideways.

Tom Buckleby dropped his head, only murmuring into his mug. "Better than bein' beholden to you, Ted."

Orton's sneer turned into a scowl as he jutted his chin at Frodo. "You could leastwise show some respect and wear mournin', Master Frodo Baggins?"

Frodo's eyes flashed and Hamfast reached out to grab his wrist. Frodo remained still however. "It's Mister, if you don't mind. I have come of age, after all. You can't have forgotten, for I'm sure I saw you at the party, even though you were not invited. As for mourning…Bilbo is not dead, he has only gone away. So, why would I mourn him?"

"So you say," Ted shouted from the safety of his corner.

"Right. That's enough." Borden Brewer and his burly pot-boy, Whitly Grubb, strode out from behind the bar. They each took one of Ted Sandyman's arms and frog marched him out of the inn, a loudly protesting Orton scurrying after.

Borden's "And I don't want to see neither of you in my inn again," was almost lost in a loud cheer from most of the other patrons. Having lost their ring leader, Ted's companions hurried to finish their drinks and slink quietly away, leaving Frodo humbled by the realisation that his neighbours would take his part so readily.

-0-

"Afternoon, Mister Frodo."

Frodo spun about, quill in hand, and swore roundly when a large blob of ink splattered on the rug. "Sam! I didn't hear you come in."

Sam grinned. "I'm guessin' that. I knocked at the back door and called out but you didn't answer, so I thought maybe you was in here. You're just like Mister Bilbo was when he got to writin'."

Grabbing a piece of blotting paper, Frodo dropped to his knees to soak up the worst of the ink from the rug. Sam shook his head for it was a hopeless task, and the old circular rug showed evidence of many years of such failed efforts. Frodo grimaced. "I was answering the latest missive from Aunt Dora. Bilbo's departure doesn't appear to have dimmed her need to advise. She has just switched to addressing me directly." Giving up on the ink blot, he climbed to his feet. "Have you come to collect my laundry?"

"Yes sir. The copper's filled and Ma said, do you need any curtains doin'?" He trailed Frodo down the hall to his bedroom. That was another thing that had changed in recent weeks. Frodo had finally moved into what had been Bilbo's bedroom, aside from the room kept for Gandalf, the biggest of the bedrooms, with a nice view of the flower garden.

Sam held out his arms and Frodo began to pile them with sheets, towels and clothing. "I don't think so. I think we can leave them until spring. I don't smoke as much as Bilbo, so they're not too bad, and I know it's difficult to dry large items like that in winter."

"I think Ma was hopin' you'd say that. By the way, I was wonderin' if you'd had the chimneys swept this year. Only, there was a bit of a haze of smoke in the kitchen when I passed through just now."

Frodo's eyes widened and Sam had to step back smartly to avoid being mown down. Sam ran after his master, leaving a trail of towels and small clothes between study and kitchen, in his efforts to keep up. The haze in the kitchen had thickened, and Frodo paused only long enough to grab a couple of thick cloths from the rope strung across the mantelpiece, before flinging open the oven door. Smoke billowed more thickly now, as Frodo reached in to grab a tray and drop it heavily upon the kitchen table.

Setting the remains of his laundry on a chair, Sam ran to fling open the window, and Frodo waved a tea-towel, in vain attempt to waft away some of the smoke. Sam leaned in to examine what looked like a dozen lumps of black cinder, while Frodo sucked a thumb that he had burned in his haste. Under the circumstances, Sam was willing to forgive Frodo's explosive, "Bugger!"

"What were they?"

Frodo removed his thumb, pausing to examine it and then the culinary disaster, before replying somewhat ruefully, "Fruit scones. The post arrived just as I popped them into the oven, and I always like to reply to Aunt Dora as quickly as possible. If I don't, she has a tendency to assume the worst and ride over."

Sam grabbed another towel to join Frodo's, so far ineffectual, efforts to clear the smoke. "Your aunt's a bit old for ridin' a pony, ain't she?"

Using fingertips, Frodo began to drop the cinders into a waste bucket. The Gamgee's kept a sow and everyone on the hill donated their food scraps to the feeding of Dumpy and her piglets. In return, when they went for slaughter, the Gamgees gave everyone a share of the meat. "She is. It took both Bilbo and me to help her down last time she called. That was Bilbo's fault. He had written his reply but forgotten to post it. You know how distracted he was that last year." Frodo paused a moment, suddenly realising that the pain of talking about his uncle no longer sliced as deeply as it had only a couple of months before.

Having wafted out as much smoke as he could, Sam closed the window against the November chill and set to, picking up the trail of laundry. "He was a mite distant. Do you ever wonder where he is now?"

Frodo chuckled as he set the bucket by the back door, next to the foot washing tray. "If I know Bilbo he will be sick of tramping through woods by now and will have found himself a nice inn, with soft beds and good food. I suspect he got no further than Bree. I hear they have a very good inn…the Dancing Horse or something."

Having collected all the smalls, Sam eyed the empty tray. "Was you goin' to have those scones for your tea? Only the baker in the village may have some left. I can run down and fetch some for you."

"No, Sam. As punishment for my carelessness I shall have toast and jam for my tea. I really must pay more attention. I could try to blame Aunt Dora but the fault is entirely mine. It's not as though I cannot make a passable scone. Goodness knows, Bilbo spent enough time supervising me in their correct making." He dropped into a nearby chair. "I suppose I am still not used to being on my own. Bilbo and I tended to back each other up, and what one forgot the other remembered."

"You still miss him." It was not a question.

"Dreadfully. Did your Pa tell you that I forgot to collect the rents again last week? He collected them all for me and dropped them off with this week's."

"Don't worry, Mister Frodo. You'll get the hang of it, and Ma and Marigold will do your bakin' if it's a bother to you. I could do it if you like. You pay me far too much for the few jobs I do."

Frodo grinned. "Few jobs! Sam, you make up the fires, heat the water for my baths, tidy all the rooms each day, dust, sweep floors and probably half a dozen other jobs that I would not even notice unless you stopped doing them. You more than earn every penny. You even stand there and offer a sympathetic ear when I get maudlin." He straightened, blue eyes taking on a determined gleam, "Just as I am now. No, Sam. I shall not have toast for tea. I shall make another batch of scones and I will sit in here while they bake."

Sam grinned. "I'll leave you to it, then. Ma needs to put the whites to soak overnight, so she can wash tomorrow."

Frodo stood to hold the door open for him. "Thank you. And thank your mother for me. I don't know what I would do without the entire Gamgee family."