Disclaimer: See First Chapter.

Second Chapter

Spoons and Scoundrels

When pandemonium erupted in the yard, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was on her knees, poking vigorously beneath the stove with her umbrella. Her sharp eyes had spotted a glint in the cobwebby darkness, and she was determined to get to the dusty bottom of the mystery. At last, a lucky swipe sent the object flying out into the middle of the floor. It was a spoon, the twelfth of a dozen solid silver ones that rested in a polished wooden case (a wedding gift from Bungo to his Took bride.) The case of spoons had been one of the first items to go up for auction that morning, and Lobelia, with shrewd bidding and few pointed glares, had secured it. Her outrage upon discovering that the dozen was short by one had left the auctioneer prostrate and in need of refreshment (obtained from Bilbo's cellar) before the proceedings could continue.

Lobelia picked up the dusty utensil with great satisfaction. "So it wasn't Abelard Took that took it after all. Not that he hasn't been responsible for a great many disappearances in his lifetime," she asserted, excusing the memory of a very heated accusation she had made that morning. "Although I'm sure I don't know how Cousin Bilbo came to be so careless with his spoons." (As a matter of fact, it had not been Bilbo, but the his Unexpected Party of dwarves who had been responsible for the spoon's curious resting place. They, you will remember, had done the washing up after tea, and in a particularly enthusiastic burst of song, the spoon had slipped from the soapy fingers of Fili (or was it Kili?) and skittered beneath the stove. The dwarves, being eager to return to matters of dragons and gold, had not deemed it worth the bother of fishing out.) Wiping the teaspoon on the edge of her jumper, Lobelia pulled the case out of her capacious handbag and placed the spoon with its fellows. She had just returned the box to her bag when the frantic hubbub outside reached a peak, and suddenly the front hall of Bag End was flooded with agitated hobbits.

"…returned…"

"Perfect vagabond!"

"…simply can't believe…"

"Not decent…"

"Impossible!"

Lobelia, unable to understand anything from the jumbled bits of conversation, demanded in shrill tones to be told what was going on, just as an authoritative voice near the door insisted, "Attention!"

The crowd of hobbits became astoundingly quiet, and the presumptuous voice continued, "Now if all of you who have traipsed into my house, without wiping your feet I might add, would kindly return outside where there is a little more space, I think matters will be cleared up shortly."

The crowd in the hall muttered but began a reluctant movement toward the door. Progress, however, came to a halt when the same voice declared, "Mr. Boffins, I believe that picture frame belongs to me."

The scandalized tones of Mr. Boffins echoed through the hall. "Belongs to you! I'll have you know I paid one and seventy for this frame, this very morning."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Boffins, but these things are not for sale. I'll see that you get your money back."

"Not for sale!" protested Mr. Boffins, who was much more interested in hanging on to a very fine picture frame than recovering a measly one and seventy. "Not for sale! Well, there's a sign on the gate that says they are, put there by Misters Grubb, Grubb, and Burrowes. Now, if you're going to tell me that such fine, upstanding solicitors would willingly mislead innocent hobbits into buying things that aren't for sale, then I'll say that you're a bounder who's up to no good, that's what I'll say."

This speech inspired muted cheering from the hobbits still in the hall.

"That's the way, Boffins!"

"Tell him what's what, old boy!"

"Sign's on the gate, just like he says."

Then the insistent voice by the door spoke up again, sounding a little weary. "I'm certain it was never intended to deceive anyone, but there appears to have been a rather large misunderstanding. So if you'll just leave the things in here and step outside…"

But Lobelia had had enough. Elbowing through the crowd, she made her way to the door. "I think," she sniffed, "that I have the right to know what's happening on my premises. Sir, I insist that you explain yourself." And she took a long, hard look at the travel worn figure.

Lobelia gasped.

The traveler doffed his hat politely. "Good day, Lobelia. It's really quite simple. As you can see, I've come home."

But Lobelia had no intention of losing one of the finest hobbit-holes in the Shire before she had even moved in. She took a second long, hard look at the stranger and became morally convinced that she had never seen him before in her life. "I perceive, sir, that you are claiming to be my dearly departed cousin, Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Well, I say, having been most closely acquainted with my cousin, that you are not him! You, sir, are an imposter!"

Lobelia lifted her umbrella, and before the so-called Bilbo Baggins could react, he had received a stinging blow across the forehead. "We'll see what the solicitors have to say to you," sniffed the irate Mrs. Sackville-Baggins, and she swept out the door.

To be continued…

Reviews are received with great joy among the peasantry. You'd like to make the peasants happy, wouldn't you?

Notes to Reviewers:

Princess of Ithilien: I'm so glad you think it's in canon! I love hobbits, and Lobelia is particularly amusing. Yes, her ambitions have always been high, but what she wants and what she gets are two different things.

Kabuki: I wrote!

Simbelmyrne: I'm glad you think it's unique (or at least, if there's another story along these lines that you haven't found it!). It's rather hard to come up with an idea that hasn't been done before.