Lotho's body was sent back to Lobelia the next day for burial. In light of the dead hobbit's disgrace, there was only to be a small, private funeral. That afternoon, Frodo got out his best black coat with the velvet collar--the same one as he had worn to his cousin Berilac's funeral--in order to pay a visit to his dearly disliked aunt.
"You're sure you want to do this?" Sam asked as he helped Frodo into his coat and brushed it down.
Frodo nodded. "I have to." This was not simply a condolence call. Lotho's death had officially concluded the whole business neatly... and yet Frodo did not think it was truly the end. An idea had been forming in his mind since Robin Smallburrows had brought them the news--a terrible suspicion--and this visit was the only way he could settle the question to his own satisfaction.
"You said you were through with investigating," Sam said reproachfully.
"If I'm wrong, I am done. If I'm right--well, we'll see. In any case, it won't tire me to walk over to Lobelia's," he tried to reassure Sam. "It isn't far, and I won't be gone long."
"Would like us to come with you?" Merry offered.
"No, thank you. I'd better do this alone." Frodo left Bag End, walking down the lane to the Sackville-Baggins smial.
Lobelia answered the door. She was wearing the dourest of black dresses, and a hat with a veil of black netting that fell over her red-rimmed eyes. "Frodo Baggins!" she cried at the sight of him, as if, of all Hobbiton, he was the very last person she expected to find on her doorstep. "Come to pay your respects, have you? You had no respect for my poor Lotho when he was living. None of you did!"
"It's true that I never got along with Lotho, as you well know," Frodo agreed politely. "Nevertheless, I'm sorry that he should end this way. I didn't wish for his death."
Lobelia looked surprised at this, but accepted it.
"May I come in, please, Aunt Lobelia? I'd like to view him." This was an accepted hobbit funerary tradition; unless there was some injury that made viewing the body impossible, or one was particularly squeamish, callers were expected to look upon the deceased one last time to make their farewells.
After a moment's hesitation, Lobelia nodded and opened the door a little wider to admit him. "It's decent of you to come," she said grudgingly as Frodo entered the front hall. "Precious few have."
Frodo wondered how many others had paid condolence calls, or would attend the funeral. Lotho had never been well-liked by his family or neighbors, but under normal circumstances, that would not have kept people away. To die an apparent suicide after murdering his farmgirl mistress, however, was enough to make him a pariah.
"They think he killed that girl," Lobelia went on as they went down the darkened hallway, as if her thoughts were following the same path as Frodo's. "That's what they're all saying. That Brandybuck cousin of yours said so--said it to my face!"
"Yes, I know. I'm sorry."
When they reached the closed door to the best parlor, Lobelia stopped and opened it.
The body was laid out on a bier on a table placed at the center of the room, with a single candle lit above the head. Lotho had been washed and his unruly hair combed down neatly. His face was pale and smoothed of all scowls; expressionless, it was strangely soft-looking, as if it were a mask shaped of wax rather than flesh. He had been dressed in his finest suit, and wore a shirt with a high collar and a white stock tied loosely around his neck to hide the mark of the rope.
"You see, there's nothing unsightly," said Lobelia. "He looks quite peaceful. I can almost believe he's only asleep..." Overcome with tears, she quickly excused herself in a choked voice, and went out.
Once she had gone and he was alone with Lotho, Frodo stepped closer to the bier and delicately touched, then tugged down on the stock and collar. He wouldn't have dared to do it if he didn't already have a good idea of what he might find: The bruise of the rope made a dark line across the waxy-white skin of Lotho's throat. And above and below this line were fainter purple marks, broad circles that looked like the fingertips of large hands had pressed into the flesh. Some of them even had scratches, as if fingernails had broken the skin.
With equal care, he tugged Lotho's collar back into place and left the parlor. Lobelia stood farther down the hallway, sobbing into her handkerchief, but at the sound of the parlor door opening, she quickly blotted her tears.
"I don't like you, Frodo Baggins," she told him bluntly. "I never have and I never will. You took what should have been rightfully my husband's property when Bilbo adopted you. I can't forgive him or you for that. But it doesn't matter anymore, now that my Lotho's gone. All I've ever done was to try to give him what he deserved." She turned her tearful eyes to him. "Who am I going to leave my things to? I'll have to shut up this house after the funeral and go away. I'll have to stay with my sister in Hardbottle, where the scandal isn't so awful."
"I'm very sorry," Frodo said softly, letting her less kind remarks about him pass without comment. Lobelia was right about one thing; the quarrel between them didn't matter anymore. "I wish there was something I could do about the scandal. Will you answer one question for me, please?" he requested. "I've been told that Lotho had gone out of Hobbiton on mysterious trips several times before he disappeared, but he wrote to you. You knew where he was then. Will you tell me? Was it Sackville?"
"No!" Lobelia replied vehemently. "Is that the sort of awful story you've been digging up about him? Why did you have to go poking into Lotho's private affairs?"
Frodo didn't answer this. "I think," he replied instead, "that it would have turned out just the same even if I'd never been involved. Will you answer? It may help."
Lobelia looked as if she doubted this at first, but after considering him carefully, she answered, "He never went to Sackville. If he did, he didn't tell me. He was in the Southfarthing, overseeing the pipeleaf farm his father left him. That's where his letters always came from. He didn't do it, Frodo," she insisted. "My Lotho didn't kill himself, and he didn't kill that girl." She spoke defiantly, but there was an odd note of pleading in her voice as well, as if she were hoping against hope that what she said was true.
Frodo answered her honestly, "I don't believe so either."
Lobelia stared at him in surprise, but when she saw that he wasn't joking or trying to placate her, she nodded, then turned to the front door to show him out. At the door, she said, "Thank you for coming, Frodo. I'm... touched that you did." It was the first completely sincere and civil thing she had ever said to him.
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