The next morning arrived much as any other. But for Clover, it was as though everything as shifted slightly. Not enough for anything to be drastically wrong, but just enough to make her feel uncomfortable and anxious. When she awoke Maizey was just doing up the laces on a worn out bodice, while Meg was helping Poppy put her hair up. Myrtle was nowhere to be seen. She was probably helping their mother with breakfast.

"There we are," Meg said, finishing her work with a yellow bow. "Very pretty."

Poppy got to her feet and looked at herself in a small hand mirror that lay on top of the chest of drawers. "Why can't I make it look like this?"

"I'll teach you one of these days." Meg glanced over her shoulder at Clover. Her own oaky, nearly auburn, hair was aflame in the candlelight. "You're awake, then. Anyone'd think it was you that'd spent all night at the inn." She gave Maizey a look of mock disapproval.

Maizey held her hands up submissively. "I wasn't out all night."

"I believe you. Most wouldn't." She turned back to Clover, who sat up groggily. "You all right?"

"Aye. Are you?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

The sisters locked eyes. Although Meg was smiling, Clover got the sense that there was something else going on beyond her cheerful appearance. Like a fire behind a brick wall. It was an expression that said, 'Say why. I dare you.'

"No reason," Clover mumbled, swinging her legs out of bed.

Meg smiled. "Come on, Pop, let's help Mum with breakfast." They sidled awkwardly through the narrow gaps between the beds.

When Meg and Poppy were gone, Maizey turned to Clover, arms folded. "What was that?"

"Nothing." Clover got stiffly to her feet and opened one of the drawers.

"I'm not an idiot."

"Nothing as concerns you, then." She brought out a shift and blue skirt.

Maizey threw her hands up in the air. "I hate lasses. Brothers just come out and say what they mean, but with sisters it's all gossip, and things that ain't said."

Clover cast a brief, questioning look at Maizey. "You say that like you aren't a lass yourself."

"I wish I wasn't," Maizey said with feeling.

"You don't mean that."

Maizey turned away and walked gracelessly out of the room. "I do. If I was a lad I could make something of myself."

Clover paused and looked at the clothes in her hands. In several places the seams had torn, and had been stitched back up again. "No more than Dad did," she said.

The first thing Tiger Lily did that morning was visit Sango, stopping off at the village bakery beforehand. At the Boffins' house a maid informed her that Master Sango was with a visitor in the study. Tiger Lily waited patiently in the entrance hall, her cloak slung over one arm, and her basket in the crook of the other. Presently an older Hobbit with hair the colour of straw marched his way through the hall. If he noticed Tiger Lily, he didn't show it. He closed the door after him with a slam that made her flinch. She recognised him as someone important: a Bolger; or a Bracegirdle; or a Baggins. While she was trying to put a name to the face the same maid found her to say that Sango had returned to his room, but would be happy to admit her. She found him face down on his bed with the curtains closed. He could have been asleep. She cleared her throat.

He shifted slightly. "That you, Tills?"

"Yes."

He flipped over onto his back, and draped an arm across his eyes. "I'm dead. Just so you know."

"Oh dear." She took a few steps into the room and kicked a discarded shirt from her path. "That's still no excuse for this mess."

"If you're going to be cruel I'll evict you," he said, unmoving.

"Sorry. I bought you this." She produced a small meat pie from her basket and held it above him.

Sango lifted the arm away from his eyes and grabbed the pie. It was still warm. "Yes!" he cried. He sat up and bit into it hungrily.

"Am I forgiven?" she said, sitting beside him on the bed.

"Marry me!" Sango said with his mouth still full, throwing his arms out wide.

Tiger Lily brushed a light covering of pastry crumbs off her skirt. "I'd rather not. We'd just fight." She wiped her hands on his quilt.

Sango smiled, still chewing. "Probably true," he said, covering his mouth when he spoke.

"And anyway, what about Lavender?"

"Oh, I couldn't choose between you. I'd have to set up an elaborate challenge so you could compete for my hand. Like Beren." He bit into the pie again.

She smiled. "Did everything go all right with her?"

"Yes… Uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Yes. I'm going to visit her later. I might even use it as an opportunity to ask her father for permission to court her."

"Gosh." She shifted so that she was sat cross-legged on the bed. "Isn't that a bit soon? Not that I'm an expert."

"I don't think so." He took another bite, and looked up thoughtfully. "But just in case, I'll ask her before I do."

"Good." Tiger Lily was yet to engage in courtship, but she had always found the idea of a lad asking her father for permission acutely embarrassing. No one else she'd met seemed to have an issue with it, though. "I'm glad for you. And hopefully this means I won't have to listen to you mooning over her anymore."

"I shall pay you the same courtesy when you finally find a lad to moon over," Sango said.

Tiger Lily said nothing.

"Don't fret." He touched her arm. "Things will get easier, one day. You just need to… I don't know…" He retracted his hand. "Sorry. I wasn't sure how to end that sentence when I started. But it will get easier, I'm sure."

She shrugged. "I'm just sort of hoping that everything will sort itself out."

Sango lay back again and stared at the ceiling, his eyes glazing over. "I remember when I first spoke to her," he said.

Tiger Lily sighed and rested her chin on her fist. This again, she thought.

"I was afraid it might be a dream," he said. "And that I would wake and weep bitter tears of regret, for she was the most beguiling creature—"

At this Tiger Lily snorted. "Stop. You didn't feel any of that, you just made it up to sound romantic."

He propped himself up on his elbows. "Only technically."

"You should put it in a poem," she said.

"Maybe I should."

"I could write poetry. Maybe that's my talent," Tiger Lily said reflectively. "But I suspect all of my poems would be about the sorrows of maidenhood."

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Sango said, and sat up.

A maid pushed the door further open. "Mr and Mrs Boffin are home, sir," she said.

"Thank you, Lavinia." He pushed and rest of the pie into his mouth and shuffled off the bed. "Fancy a walk? I think I need the air." He stepped out into the light of the hallway and shielded his eyes with a hand. "By the Holy Ones…"

Tiger Lily smiled and followed Sango out to the front door, where his parents were removing their hats and coats.

"Hello, dear," his mother said, looking in a mirror and pulling some stray hairs out of her eyes. "How's it been?"

"All well. How was the wedding?"

"As they usually are." She caught sight of him in the mirror and turned around. "You look like death. How much did you drink last night?"

"Not much."

Her eyes turned to Tiger Lily. "Is he telling the truth?"

Tiger Lily panicked under Mrs Boffin's stare. She looked to Sango, who gave her a meaningful glance, and then back to his mother. She fiddled with the lace on her sleeves. "…More or less?"

"Mmm…" She narrowed her eyes at her son. "We'll have words later," she said.

Sango glared at Tiger Lily, and then looked over at his father. "Cousin Lotho called again this morning," he said.

Mr Boffin took off his gloves and rolled his eyes. "Oh dear. The usual, was it?"

"Yes."

"And you told him what exactly?"

"Just that you weren't at home, and I wasn't in a position to do anything."

"Good lad."

Sango put his hands in his pockets and stood on the balls of his feet. "I was going out, unless you need me for anything."

"You can go. The bailiff can help me catch up. I imagine you need a rest after yesterday." He raised his eyebrows. "Depending on how much 'resting' you did last night."

Sango folded his arms. "I behaved completely honourably," he said.

"Yes?" Mr Boffin's eyes flitted to Tiger Lily. "And what do you say?"

Before she could say anything, Sango was pushing her towards the door. "Oh, you can't believe anything she says. She's still drunk from the festival. I'll see you both later."

When they were outside she turned on him. "I'm not a drunk," she said.

"'More or less'!" Sango said. "Good grief, Tills."

"I'm so sorry, but lying is wicked and she was looking right at me and I—"

"Yes, yes. You're an innocent little flower." He linked his arm around hers and they began to walk.

"Sorry," she said.

He shrugged. "I'll always take the company of an ingénue over a pest."

"What?"

"Cousin Lotho. He keeps calling on us, and now he's moving into Bag End it'll only get worse. I'd hardly seen him until a month ago."

"Why the change?"

Sango looked up. "Business things. I shan't bore you with the details."

"It is a shame that Bag End has left the Bagginses. The proper Bagginses, I mean," Tiger Lily said.

"I don't know why he was so keen on it. Three Hobbits have lived in that hole, and two of them have gone mad. Still, any madness that comes upon Lotho will be an improvement."

"Four," Tiger Lily said. "Four Hobbits have lived in Bag End.

Sango frowned in confusion. "You mean including Lotho? No, of course, your Belladonna! I forgot about her. Well, that's still half who've gone mad. I wouldn't take those odds, would you? Where do you want to go?"

Tiger Lily looked to the "Not too far. I have to back for dinner."

"Don't we all?"

"I mean that Buffo's paying us a visit." Tiger Lily hunched down between her shoulders and stuck her tongue out.

Sango snickered. "I don't think you're being fair on him. Just because he's taking Opal away—"

"But he's so old, Rowley," she whined, "and dull."

"Forty-four isn't old. As such. And I believe the proper term is 'respectable'. Which we are as well. Or at least I am. You're not, with your shooting." There was an uncomfortable edge to this last statement.

"I've given it up," Tiger Lily said quickly.

"Really?" The joy was obvious in his voice. "I know you didn't want to upset your father, but I'm so glad you've finally stopped. I hate having to lie to people."

"Me too."

They passed the barn, which was already heaving with workers under the instruction of the bailiff, who had recovered from whatever had been ailing him.

"The only lie you can bring yourself to tell," Sango said. "I suppose telling people you don't hunt doesn't count as wicked?"

She looked away. "A necessary evil, Mother says."

"Do you think the reason you can't bear to tell any other lies is to make up for the one big one?" he said.

Tiger Lily realised that answering that question would mean thinking about herself, and pushed it away. "I don't know. Maybe. More or less. Ooh!" She suddenly started pulling him forward. "Why don't we go north to the stepping stones? We haven't been up there since last winter, you remember? There had been all that rain and they were completely underwater."

For a moment Sango hung back, unsure at the change of tone. Then he smiled, and pushed forward with her, happy to abandon the more complicated aspects of their companionship.

All day the barn had roared with the beating of flails on the threshing floor. The relative quiet clanged in Clover's ears when she and the other Delvers made their way home that evening. Most of the way there she watched Meg, who laughed and chatted freely with Maizey and Hender. She seemed to relish the noise that pressed down on Clover.

A voice inches from her ear said, "What's up with you?"

"Holy—!" She sprung away from the voice, clutching her chest. She glared at Jack. "How is it you make no noise when you move? Like a bloody shadow, you are."

"You're too easy to wind up." Jack walked abreast of her, his hands in his pockets. "I can't resist. And you've been twitchy all day, I don't think I've heard you say two words together. Been thinking again?"

"Yes." She decided this was easier than telling the truth.

"Mum says you'll think yourself to an early grave."

She kept her face intentionally straight. "Least you won't have to worry about that."

"Ooh." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Walked into that, din't I?"

"I've been practicing," she said as they turned down the garden path to the house.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that was true," Jack said, stepping over a chicken. Clover held the door open for him.

They had been at the back of the group, so by the time they got to the kitchen most of the Delvers were already sat. Clover settled in a chair between Hender and Fastad. "You all right there, lad?" she said, addressing the latter.

"Shh! I'm trying to listen," he said, straining to see Meg at the other end of the table.

"Charming," Clover said.

She joined him in listening to what Meg was saying while she made her way around the table, serving out slices of bread. The conversation had turned to the stranger who had been riding through the Shire the night before.

"He was not ten foot tall. I'm not sure even a big person could be that big," Meg said.

"But Cafred Budd said even his horse was taller than a house," Danny said.

"You shouldn't listen to him. Do you remember that time he lied about who walked through Mrs Goodenough's rose garden?"

"Maybe it was an elf," Myrtle said, starry eyed, while she tried to get a head start on the washing up. "Or a fairy."

"Shouldn't think so. He wasn't very fair, to my mind. Nearly kicked my head off," Meg said as she tried to round the corner of the table. "Pull your seat in, Jonson, I can't get past."

"It wasn't a Mewlip, was it?" Martin said fearfully.

"For the final time, there ain't no such thing as Mewlips," Mr Delver said, slamming his cup on the table. He turned on his oldest son. "What have I told you about ghost stories?"

Jonson shrugged. "Din't mean no harm."

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs Delver said from her place at the sideboard. "Old Mr Ramsey—do you remember him, Meg?—well, in his youth he worked out in Buckland, and he saw a Mewlip once, when he was out in marshes."

"No, he bloody didn't," Mr Delver snapped. "I don't like all this. I ain't never seen a big person in the Shire, besides the wizard, and even he hasn't shown his face much of late. I don't plan on seeing any more of them at my time of life."

Mrs Delver laughed from her place at the stove. "Old age becomes you. Help me with the taters here, Myrtle." As Myrtle scuttled around the tables, Mrs Delver continued, "I can't imagine we'll see any more of the big folk. These things don't happen twice."

"I don't know why everyone's putting up such a fuss," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sure the big folk must be as decent as Hobbits. Or more so, in some cases." He looked over the rim of his cup at Jonson as he drank deeply.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jonson said.

"I didn't mean nothing," Jack said. "Unless you've got something to be ashamed of."

Mr Delver slammed his cup on the table again. "Quiet, both of you! I reckon any big person could teach you both some manners."

"Maybe your Winden could stand to learn some, as well," Mrs Delver said, glancing up at Meg while she served up the potatoes.

Clover tensed, and turned her eyes towards Meg, but there was no trace of grief on her sister's face.

"I saw him this morning when I went to market—I got more pipe-weed, by the way. When I said 'Good day', he looked right through me." Mrs Delver grinned. "Still, I suppose you'll put him to rights."

"He ain't my Winden no more," Meg said brightly. "We've broken. Does anyone want more bread?"

The other conversations that had been carrying on in the background faded into silence, and all eyes turned to Meg. Clover slumped forward, resting her elbows on the table, and pressing her fingers between her eyes. Mrs Delver's mouth was open and she stared at her eldest daughter as she sought for something to say.

"Anyone?" Meg said, apparently oblivious to the reaction this news had caused.

"Oh, my girl," Mrs Delver said. She abandoned her work and reached her arms out to embrace her.

But Meg stepped away, a perplexed expression on her face. "I'm fine, really. I don't know why everyone's putting up such a fuss."

Mrs Delver stood with her mouth open, unsure of how to continue. "But— Wh—" She looked to her husband for support.

"Uh…" Mr Delver exhaled, and shook his head disbelievingly. "It's just bit of a shock. You and he was courting for a long time, love," he said finally. "And we all thought that after your birthday…" He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

"When did this happen?" Mrs Delver said. "You both seemed so happy yesterday, at harvest."

"There's your answer, then," Meg said as she set the half-used loaf on the side, and covered it with a cloth. "It was after you lot left. We decided it was best that we don't see each other no more."

"What, just like that?" Jonson said.

"Yes." Meg took her pace at the table. "Pass the jug will you, Rob?"

The meal passed in a tense silence. Silence of any kind was a rarity at the Delver table. As members of the family finished they left the hole, to see friends or play outside, until the eldest six and their parents were the only ones left.

"Thanks for dinner, Mum," Maizey said, and scratched her nose. "Uh… I was going to head down the Dragon."

"Oh, you're not, are you?" Jonson said. "I'm still reelin' from last night."

"I was going to listen to what people're saying about the big person. Just thought I'd let you know in case anyone else wants to come. Get out for a bit." She was looking at Meg as she spoke. "Not to drink."

"Good," Mr Delver said, "'cus you'll get no money for it."

"What about the harvest money?" Jack said.

"That's already spoken for."

This was code for, 'We're behind with the rent'. They all knew this, and their parents knew they all knew it, but still couldn't bring themselves to say it out loud.

"Well I'm sure you'll all have a lovely time," Mrs Delver said, and stood up. "Now why don't you all head off? Will you help me with the dishes, Meg?"

"I can help if you like," Clover said.

Mrs Delver looked at her with a hard expression. "No. I asked for Nutmeg. You go and enjoy yourself."

"I don't mind," Meg said, smiling at her sister.

"Come on, you," Jonson said, dragging Clover to her feet by the arm. "See you later, Mum."

Jonson, Jack, Clover, Rob and Maizey filed out of the hole and ended up gathered in a group on the lawn.

"Any of you know?" Rob asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Not at all," Jonson said. He leaned back, and stared at the sky. "By the Holy Ones."

Maizey was watching Clover, arms folded. "You knew, didn't you?"

Clover nodded, avoiding making eye contact with the other four as she did. "I guessed something was up. She told me what happened."

Jonson sighed and pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. "I'll thrash 'im," he said. "You with me, Jack?"

"Not on your life," Jack said, and walked off down the garden path.

"Rob? Don't pretend you don't want to."

The large Hobbit shrugged. "Don't reckon we should, without knowing all that happened. Mayhap it was her that wanted an end to it."

"We have to do something. She's been wronged."

"Ain't nothing to do with us."

"It is to do with us," Jonson said. "I'm head of the family after Dad—"

"Mum and Meg'll have your hide if they hear you talk like that," Jack said, leaning against a fencepost. "I don't reckon there's anything to do, so I'm headed to the Dragon. You lot coming?"

Maizey followed enthusiastically. Rob less so. Jonson and Clover stayed where they were. He was seething.

"I'll catch up later," Clover said. "I've got business in town."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "What business?"

She edged past him onto the lane. "None of yours."

Jonson watched her leave. "What's wrong with you all?" he said.

"You're the expert on lasses, not me. You coming with us or what?" Jack said.

Jonson's shoulders sagged in defeat. "All right, fine. I'm the only one with any sense of honour around here."

While the remaining four left for the Green Dragon, Meg and their mother stood side by side in the kitchen, Meg washing and Mrs Delver drying. Mr Delver had tactfully gone into the other room. They had poured a fresh kettle into the sink, and Meg winced at the heat. But her hands had taken worse than this over the years. A small pile of plates and pots was already forming on the table, to be put away later. The only noise was that of vigorous scrubbing.

Eventually Mrs Delver said, "Why din't you tell me?"

"I did. At dinner."

Mrs Delver looked at her sharply. "You know what I mean."

"No, I don't." Meg looked at her mother with innocent blue eyes.

Mrs Delver's brow creased. "Playing the fool don't suit you." She noticed a lump of potato on the knife she was drying, and put it back in the sink. "Why do I get the feeling that if I han't mentioned him, you'd never have said anything?"

Meg's only response was to shrug.

"I remember when your last lad left you," Mrs Delver continued, her eyes misting over slightly. "You wept in my arms like a child."

"I was a child."

"Hardly."

"Well, what would you prefer?" Meg said, trying to scrape a particularly difficult stain off a plate. "That I mope around the hole for the rest of my life?"

Mrs Delver choked on air. "For the rest of— Meg, you're thirty-three!"

"Thirty-two."

"Even worse." Mrs Delver placed a handful of cutlery on the table and rested a hand on her hip. "In truth… I was uneasy with you marrying so young."

"You did."

Mrs Delver rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know I did. That don't mean it's what I want for you." She saw the reproach in the look Meg was giving her, and continued, "That don't mean I regret anything. I don't, and especially not you. I love you lot with all I have, more than I have words for. But it was difficult, Meg. Sometimes I forget just how difficult it was. I don't want you going through those same hardships." She chuckled.

"I hate to think what I'd've done if you came home at twenty-six and said you was getting wed. Poor Violet nearly had a stroke. And the fuss I made when she said I'd have to wait 'til I was of age…"

Meg paused for a moment, and stared at her mother, who returned to her work. Mrs Delver didn't often mention her family. Growing up in Little Delving, she had been the eighth of ten children, and had been in late teens when their father died. Their mother had died only a few years later and the five youngest children had been divided amongst the five eldest, something Mrs Delver had never forgiven them for. She hadn't seen any of them since her wedding, thirty-four years earlier. They were probably still living somewhere in Little Delving.

Mrs Delver brushed her hands off on her apron. "What I'm trying to say is that you'll find another lad when you're older an' wiser, an' you'll be the better for it."

"Mmm…" Meg swallowed and looked down. "Or I'll die an old maid."

"Don't think that. Never. Anyway," Mrs Delver said and licked her lips, "being an old maid wouldn't be the worst thing. Least you'd 'ave a peaceful life."

"I thought you din't regret nothin'," Meg said.

"I don't. But I sometimes wonder what my life might've been, as you do."

"I don't want peace," Meg said quietly. "I want a husband. And I want little'uns."

"And they will come in good time. At least I can rely on you to give me grandchildren. I won't get none from Jonson or Jack. Nor Maizey, for that matter."

"I don't know about her. She was sweet on that dwarf once, you remember? He was staying in the Dragon for a few days, while he was travelling the East Road." Meg dropped the cup she was rinsing. "I just always thought that by the time I was of age I'd have it all done with. Like you."

Mrs Delver snorted. "Don't copy me. You was always much cleverer than I am."

Meg smiled. "That ain't true."

"Tis the curse of every mother to think herself less than her child," Mrs Delver said, and returned the smile warmly, "and you'll know it yourself one of these days."

"Aye. I suppose I will." Her breath hitched. "Right. I think I'm finished. Can I go now?"

"If you must," Mrs Delver said. She pulled Meg into a brief but tender hug. "There. Have a nice time, won't you?"

"I will." Meg smiled at her mother as she left. When she stepped outside the smile disappeared. She held her arms around herself protectively and closed her eyes. The wind stirred her hair. Opening her eyes again a moment later, she walked down the garden path, and then the lane, towards Winden's house.