Clover was seething. The fresh, visceral anger that had infected her the night of Nickon's party had fermented into something more permanent. This was solid. Most days she was able to push it to the back of her head and never let anyone see. But when it built up too much she found that beating rugs was a useful outlet.

This was how she had spent most of the morning. When she was done she trailed into the kitchen, red-faced and filthy. Dalgo was leaning against a worktop, sipping a cup of tea.

"You look like an angry dust mouse," he said.

"Thank you, sir," Clover said. The basin had a little water left in it and she splashed some over her face.

"No offence intended."

"I'm sure." Clover rubbed her wet hands over the back of her neck. She had seen little of the Grubbs over Yule but from all she could tell the celebrations had been muted and quiet. Even now, on the second-to-last day of Yuletide they hadn't had any other families present. Very un-hobbitlike. "I wanted to get 'em all clean after Yulet," she said. "You should be glad of it."

"I'm exceedingly glad for all you do."

She smiled. "Aye?"

"Aye."

Clover wrinkled her nose. "Don't say 'aye', it doesn't suit your voice." She realised she had been impertinent and added, "No offence intended."

"None taken." There was a crooked smile on his face. Not unattractive.

"Beating the rugs helps me with my letters," Clover said, pouring herself a much-needed cup of tea.

"Is that so?"

"Aye." She stood beside him, cupping her red-cold hands around the mug. "Every blow is a letter in the word I'm spelling out in my head."

"I see. Not the most effective method of learning."

"I'm doing my best with the time I have." She looked over the jars and bottles that were lined up along the shelves. The scribbles on the labels rearranged themselves into sounds and words. It was like looking at the world anew, finding understanding in things that had once been meaningless.

"I, Longo Boffin Esq., can vouch that Miss Clover Delver is an honest, hard-working Hobbit of good family and fine character."

Dalgo raised an eyebrow. "You read your reference."

"Aye."

"Do you think it's a good description of your character?"

"That's not for me to decide, sir. What do you think?"

He tapped one of his long fingers against the side of his cup. "They're not the words I would choose to describe you."

"What words would you use, sir?"

"Small. Angry." He smiled to himself as though thinking of some private joke. "Vociferous."

"You know I'm not as clever as you, sir," Clover said. "You need to help me a little."

"Taken to expressing yourself loudly and insistently."

"I see." It wasn't a bad summation of her character. She could have done without 'small' though.

"And how would you describe me?" he said, a glint in his dark eyes.

Only one word entered Clover's head. She hesitated a little too long and Dalgo must have seen and understood something of what she was thinking.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me," he said.

"No."

"Miss Delver."

Clover winced. It was no use thinking of a complimentary response, he would know it was a lie. "Mournful," she said.

Dalgo said nothing. Turning away from Clover he picked up his tea and left the room without looking back.

You've done it now, Clover thought, looking into her tea. Well bloody done.

Following her parting from Rob, Tiger Lily had spent the last few days in a melancholy stupor. It had been a long time since she'd experienced a bereavement, but she remembered it being something like this; the sudden altering of your world, everything the same but for that one person, who you would never see again. She hadn't seen Sango again, and instead spent her time trailing around after her mother, begging to be of use. Eventually her mother had foisted her off on Opal, who had reluctantly taken Tiger Lily with her to visit the Grubbs.

"I've been so starved of company," Abelia said, lounging back on a settee in the Grubb's parlour. "Mother and Dalgo insisted on a dour celebration but I don't see why."

Tiger Lily knew why. And she knew Abelia did too. Unable to think of what to say she turned to Opal, hoping her ever-confident cousin would show her what to think. Opal's expression was controlled and betrayed no trace of fluster. "I think everyone had a dour Yuletide this year," she said.

The Grubb's maidservant entered and set a tray of tea down on the table. Tiger Lily found herself staring at the maid intently. There was something familiar about her and the more Tiger Lily watched the more she wanted to cry. The maid's eyes were large and brown, but teetered on the edge of hazel. Just like…

She realised Abelia was addressing her and returned her attention to their hostess. Abelia's expression was largely indifferent but she was either unable or unwilling to mask the mocking look in her eyes. "Didn't you hear me? I was asking if your father managed to come home for Yule."

"No."

"Is it very hard for him in the Great Smials—with his difficulties?"

"Um…" Not sure how to answer she looked to Opal for help but her cousin remained silent. She dropped her head low, not wanting to look Abelia in the eye. "I don't know…" she said, very quietly.

"She's been out of sorts all Yuletide," Opal said, giving Tiger Lily a covert nudge with her elbow. "What's wrong with you?"

Lots of things, Tiger Lily thought.

The parlour door was opened unexpectedly by Dalgo Grubb. "Abelia—" He saw the Tooks, froze, and closed the door again without saying anything more.

"Don't be rude, Dalgo," Abelia called through the door. She threw herself back on the settee and huffed. "I'm so bored," she said. "There's nothing to do."

Opal suggested some parlour games, but these were each rejected in turn.

"I know," Opal said after a little more thought. "There's this little ritual Pervinca and Bellis showed me when I last stayed in the Great Smials. According to legend," she said, "if you darken the room and place a single lit candle in front of a mirror, you'll see the face of your future husband in the glass."

Tiger Lily frowned. "Surely you'll only see your own face."

Abelia rolled her eyes. "That's why you light the candles."

"Or," Opal said, ignoring the other two, "if you're destined to die a maid you won't see a face at all. Instead, you'll only see a skull."

"But why look in the mirror at all?" Tiger Lily said.

"To know your future, of course. Don't you want to know yours?"

She fiddled with the lace trim of her bodice. What would there be to see? "I suppose so…"

They went to Abelia's bedchamber, as it had no windows to be blocked out. Opal retrieved a fresh candle from the maidservant and held it carefully, using one hand to shield it from the air as she walked.

"I want to go first," Abelia said, eagerly going to sit at her dressing table.

Opal closed the door, blocking the light from the hallway, and reverentially set the candle in front of the mirror. She stood back, placing her hands on the back of Abelia's chair. "What do you see?"

Tiger Lily was sat in an armchair in the corner of the room. She couldn't make out Abelia's expression but she could tell she was sat on the very edge of her seat. "I'm not sure. I see a face but… It's strange…" Eventually she turned away from the mirror. "Oh, it's horrible. All shadowy."

Opal open the door and Abelia blew out the candle.

"Who did you see?" Opal said.

"I don't know. I hope it wasn't my husband's face, the eyes were so sunken in. But it certainly wasn't a skull. That's some comfort." She shook her hair out, the little curls bouncing against each other. "Will you try it, Lily?"

Tiger Lily twisted her fingers together. "I'm not sure. Aren't you going to try, Opal?"

"I've already done it in the Great Smials, silly thing."

"What did you see?"

"Buffo, of course."

"Oh, look at her!" Abelia said, laughing. "She's frightened she'll see a skull."

Tiger Lily stood up, jutting her chin forward with uncertain pride. "I'm not afraid of death."

"Sit here then, and we'll relight the candle."

Tiger Lily obediently took her place at the dressing table as Abelia darkened the room again and Opal lit the candle. She kept her eyes cast down, not wanting to look up until she was sure she wouldn't see her own reflection. But what did she hope to see? A face, of course, but whose: an unknown, or someone she knew? Which was worse?

Opal drew the curtains, and for the time being her entire world existed only in this tiny corner of the room. Tiger Lily slowly lifted her eyes up to the mirror. There was a face. The candlelight danced and cast writhing shadows, deeper than the primal darkness from before the world was made. Still, there was a face, and one that Tiger Lily didn't like.

"What do you see?" Opal said, stood off somewhere in the bottomless darkness.

Tiger Lily drew a breath. "My own reflection. Nothing more."

"What?" Abelia said. "That can't be all, surely?"

"It's all I see." The face was undoubtedly hers. Even in the odd, distorting light she could pick out the plump cheeks, shapeless nose and receding chin. A pair of bright brown eyes met her own. She cast them down again. "I think that's enough." She carried the candle to the door and opened it, filling the room with light again. "I think I must have done it wrong."

"How can you look in a mirror wrong?" Abelia said, laughing.

"I have experience," Tiger Lily said under her breath.

It hadn't been a skull, which was something she supposed. So she wouldn't die a maid but without a face of a destined husband she was really no wiser as to what she should be doing. But she would have a husband and they would have children. She would give everything she is to please them. And she would be happy.

All the passed between Clover and Dalgo in the afternoon were the detached not-quite-pleasantries that passed between master in servant daily in every smial. He sat reading, as he usually did in the evening, while Abelia was going through another of her insipid children's books with Clover.

"It's not nice to pick on them that's weaker than you," Clover said.

"She's a Took. Everyone knows the Tooks are strange."

Clover wondered if Abelia was aware of her own family's oddities and was choosing not to address it, or if she was saying this with no self-awareness.

"They're rich enough to be strange," Clover said.

"Do you know of many wealthy Hobbits to make the comparison, Miss Delver?" Dalgo said.

Clover started slightly, as she had assumed Dalgo wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "One or two, sir."

"But we're not really rich, not like the Tooks," Abelia said, twirling the pencil between her fingers. "We only have one servant, it's not like we have a whole staff."

Clover bit down on her tongue to remind herself not to reply to this.

"Can we stop now?" Abelia said. "I don't think I can take much more."

"We've only been working twenty minutes. An' you were saying this afternoon you wanted something to do."

"Something interesting. I don't see why you want to do this at Yuletide anyway." She left the room swiftly, leaving Clover to clean up the papers and ink.

"It's the age," Dalgo said from his dark corner. "Or so I've been told."

Clover murmured her agreement as she cleared the desk.

"I am surprised you're here and not with your own family."

"Six days with 'em is a bit much," she said. "Not sure how I managed thirty years without a break. I'm sorry a called you mournful."

Dalgo's mouth moved into something that wasn't quite a frown. His eyes stayed sharp, regardless of what the rest of his features were doing. "It's not inaccurate."

"If you say so," Clover said primly. "But even if you believe it's true it wasn't proper for me to say."

"If I believe it's true?" he said, pausing as he brought a glass of wine to his lips. "It was you who made the suggestion. Or did you decide to cut close to the bone without even believing what you were saying?"

"There's no right way to answer that, sir."

"I wasn't really expecting you to say anything complimentary," Dalgo said conversationally. "Why would you? You've seen me reduce my younger sister to tears."

"I…" Clover hesitated, caught between honesty and a need to keep her place. "It's difficult. I don't think there's a person alive who hasn't hurt another, with or without meaning to. You could be better if you tried."

"That version of myself… seems very far away at present."

"You've been kind to me."

He laughed harshly at this.

"You have," Clover persisted. "You've been much kinder than many a gentlehobbit would be, much kinder than you've any reason to be. A sensible master would have sent me away by now."

At this Dalgo snorted, though this time he seemed genuinely amused rather than just dryly sceptical.

"But you've kept me on," Clover said. "And you've helped me. I'm not sure you understand how important learning my letters is."

"I do understand. But it's not my doing."

"You've helped."

"Not much."

"You have," Clover said. "You went through that book about Buckland with me. You gave me those short stories to read."

"That's not much in the way of practical help."

"Sometimes words can be worth as much as practical help. I know you don't think so," she said, inhaling and smoothing out her skirt over her knees. "But I do."

He smiled gently; a sunbeam through the grey clouds. "I do enjoy your company, Miss Delver."

"From you, Mr Grubb, I consider that the highest of praise."

Dalgo watched her carefully. "Dalgo," he said.

Clover smiled, but took a moment to cast her eyes over the bookshelves, heavy with their words. "Would you help me with my reading this evening? Miss Abelia tries her best, an' I'm grateful for everything she's done for me, but she's so young… She don't know how to teach as well as you do."

"Certainly." Dalgo practically glowed with pride as he rose and started to look over the contents of the book shelves. "Do you have any preference as to content?" he said, running his hands along the spines affectionately.

"Whatever you choose, sir," Clover said.

"This one," he said, pulling a thin volume out. "It's a book of poetry. A small thing, easy enough to handle with some guidance."

"Like me," Clover said without even thinking.

Dalgo made a strangled choking sound and grasped the bookshelf for support, covering his mouth with his forearm. Clover stood frozen, not sure what was wrong. Was he offended? Was he hurt?

Then his shoulders were shaking. It started softly but quickly rose up like a river and she realised he was laughing. "Where did that come from?" he said.

Clover raised an eyebrow, amused at his amusement. "My mouth, like most of my words."

Dalgo took his spectacles off and wiped his eyes. "Oh dear… I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

"I don't know if I like your sense of humour, sir," Clover said.

Though wind does blow

Air chokes with snow

And sun 'neath hills doth bide

We will stay warm

Through rain and storm

On this Yuletide

The Delvers were too many, and their smial too small, for them to stay in one room together for any length of time. But Yuletide was the exception and looking over the faces of the people she loved most, Meg knew this was where she belonged. All the chairs were taken up and others were sat on the arms of the settees or on the floor. Every inch of space was filled. Still there was one person missing. Meg had spent most of the afternoon watching the door, waiting for Clover to arrive. Eventually she had resigned herself to the reality that she wasn't coming.

Traditionally there would be one gift given on each of the six days of Yuletide. While the Delvers seldom manged even this, this year there had only been able to receive one gift each through the entire period. On a Yuletide visit Mr Hobble had insisted that things would be better next year. He and others were sending letters to the Mayor about the trouble and he would sort everything out; shouldn't take more than a few weeks. Mr Delver had said nothing, but looked grim. But for now the Delvers still had the songs and together their voices blended like the colours in a fine painting.

"Do we have to sing anymore songs?" Martin said, sighing and flopping backwards from his place on Mrs Delver's knee.

"Not if you're good," Mr Delver said. "If you're not we might make you go through a whole songbook."

He squealed, wriggled down and ran to Rob, who was sat on the floor, his head lolled against the side of a settee.

"Can we go an' play with my new hoop?"

Rob smiled wanly and ran a hand over Martin's curls. "Later, lad."

Rob had only been half-present for most of the festivities, sunk in some miasma of despondency that (to Meg's knowledge) he had told no one the nature of.

Then Martin let out a whine and Rob, wincing slightly, heaved himself up and followed him outside, agreeing to watch Martin while he played. They were followed by the twins and part-way through the next song Jack snuck out without saying anything. Meg left the song's end, anxious to see if Rob was all right.

She found Jack and Rob sat side by side on the lawn while Martin and the twins were running up and down on the road. Rob had a pipe in his mouth and was taking a long draw, his eyes closed with the indulgence.

"It was always going to end nasty," Jack was saying. "Best for it to be now, afore you got too attached."

Rob exhaled, letting a thick stream of smoke blow away from between his lips. He handed the pipe back to Jack and let his head sink down. "I'd forgotten how good smoke is," he murmured.

"Where'd you get the leaf?" Meg said, settling down on Rob's other side.

"None of your business," Jack said from around the stem of his pipe.

She returned her attention to Rob, who was staring ahead blankly. "You want to talk about it?" she said.

"His lass's finished with 'im," Jack said.

Meg ignored the twang of relief she felt upon hearing this news. "Oh, I'm sorry, lad," she said.

"It was goin' well," Rob moaned.

"I know…"

"She promised she'd see me again when last I saw her. I don't get it."

"I thought all lasses were contrary like that," Jack said.

Meg scowled at him. "We're not animals, Jack, we don't act without reason anymore'n you do."

"But I can't find a reason," Rob said. "I keep thinking about everything over an' over in my head an' I don't know what I did."

Meg sighed. "She'll have a reason, even if only she knows it. But you'll probably never know so you'd be best not thinking about it. I know it's hard, but you've gone through heartbreaks before, you'll get through this one. You're strong."

"But before I always sort of knew things were coming to an end, or I wanted to end it myself. This was overnight. She weren't even going to say goodbye."

"She don't deserve you," Meg said, watching Martin and the twins.

Rob didn't reply, then after a time got up and went inside, muttering something about his hands being cold.

"Poor sod," Jack said, and sighed. "Don't ever bother with lasses, Martin, they'll bring you nothing but grief."

Clover looked at her reflection, turning her head from side to side to better see her cheekbones, such as they were. Her face was too round for her liking. She laboriously removed the last of her hairpins and arranged her loose curls around her face. She didn't often wear her hair loose. When it wasn't done up in a neat bun for work, she usually kept it tied back for practicality's sake.

Nothing was fair. Bad things happened to good people and people you loved could leave you in a ditch if it suited them. But Clover wasn't enough on her own. She was stuck where she was without the good will of those who had power where she had nothing.

Abelia was the obvious choice; she seemed to be fascinated enough with Clover. But Abelia would only be able to take her so far. She was an unmarried tweenage lass with brothers who would inherit instead of her. There were ways in which cultivating a friendship with Abelia would be beneficial—Clover had already taken advantage of some of them—but they were nothing compared to the opportunities Dalgo could offer. He had a freedom and authority that Abelia would never have, especially not before her marriage.

It was night now and the only light she had to see by came from her own candle. She knocked on Dalgo's door.

"Enter."

She pushed the door open and leaned against the frame. Dalgo was sat at his desk, going over one of his father's journals by the light of a single candle. He was still reading and hadn't yet realised it was her.

"Dalgo?"

He looked up, and was immediately taken aback. His eyes flickered over her loose night dress. 'Improper' had probably been added to the list of words he thought best described her. He swallowed and recovered himself. "Miss Delver. How can I help you?"

She smiled gently. "I was returning that book for short stories you lent me when I had trouble sleeping."

She held the book out at arm's length. He accepted it timidly, like he was removing a mouse from the jaws of a wolf. "I hope you found it useful," he mumbled, still visibly flustered.

"I did, thank you, sir," she said softly. "You have fine taste, I could hardly stand to put it down. I'll be sure to come to you again if I have any more trouble sleeping."

Dalgo's cheeks and ears flushed red. He cleared his throat and turned back down to the pages in front of him, shielding his face from her. "I'm glad it was of use. Good night, Miss Delver."

Knowing it was time to back down, she closed the door. No longer under observation, Clover smiled secretly. Yes. Mr Grubb could be very useful indeed.

A/N: nonsense They say if you stand in a darkened room and say the words 'Bloody Gollum' three times into a mirror he will appear, hit you over the head with a big stick and steal your fish./nonsense

To the guest reviewer on ch 30: I got plans re Tiger Lily, Rob and Sango. Not sure if they're any good but I do have plans. Thank you for your review :)