The next day, Mersday, was the weekly market day at Bywater, and Sam delayed his trip to the Puddlesby farm to do some shopping. With two hungry guests to feed, the household stores must be kept well-supplied, and that took precedence over any investigations. Merry and Pippin were also out that morning, continuing their search for Lad Whitfoot.
Left alone at Bag End, Frodo settled down to write. Once the others had gone, he sat in his study with Bilbo's large red book open on the desk before him and a freshly-dipped quill at hand, poised for his first sentence... but how to begin? Should he recount some of the history of the Ring first, or save that 'til later? Perhaps he should tell the true tale of how Bilbo had gotten it from Gollum, and explain the earlier, not-quite-accurate version that Bilbo had written himself so long ago. Or perhaps it was best to begin with his own part of the story, with the day the Ring had come into his possession.
Frodo considered the matter carefully, tickling the corner of his mouth with the feather-tip of the quill, then wrote: When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence...
There was a knock on the door. Normally, Frodo would leave it for Sam to answer, but since he was alone in the house, he set down his quill, leaving the sentence unfinished, and went to see who his visitor could be.
Peony Burrows stood on the doorstep.
"Good morning, Peony!" Frodo said in surprise. "What brings you here?"
"I was on my way to the market," she explained, brandishing the oaken basket on her arm as evidence, "and thought I'd drop by to return your call of yesterday. You aren't busy, are you, Frodo?"
"No, not particularly," he answered. It was a lie, but Peony had never visited him before; this was obviously not a social call, and Frodo quickly decided that he could put his writing aside long enough to hear what she had to say. "Come in, please."
He escorted her to the best parlor, then excused himself to dart into the kitchen. Sam had left the kettle steaming on the hob in case Frodo wanted hot water while he was out; it was the work of a minute to make a pot of tea and put the sugar bowl, two cups, and a plateful of honey-cakes on a tray. When he returned to the parlor, Peony was standing by the fireplace. Frodo offered her some tea, and they sat down together on the settee and exchanged a few pleasantries. He waited until his guest was composed and comfortable, and ready to tell him why she had come.
"Milo tells me that you were asking him about Lotho," she said at last. "You're looking into the matter yourself."
"Yes, that's right," Frodo confirmed.
"I wish you wouldn't," Peony told him bluntly. "No good can come of it. This disappearance of his has been difficult for everyone in the family, with the shirriffs asking questions. We oughtn't poke and pry at each other as well, stirring up all sorts of ugly suspicions. I feel we should stand together during this crisis, don't you?"
"Yes," Frodo agreed, "but I also believe that we must try to get at the truth."
"The truth!" cried Peony. "The truth is that Lotho's run off with that farmlass, and rather than do it bravely and out in the open like any honest gentlehobbit, he must sneak away and hide and make a great mystery of it. He's upset his mother--and as little good as I have to say about Lobelia, I wouldn't wish anyone's son to behave that way--and he's made a lot of unnecessary trouble for the rest of us."
Milo had said nearly the same thing about Lotho's whereabouts, but Frodo wondered if Peony believed it any more than her husband did. Were they trying to convince themselves--or to convince him? Just as he had sensed yesterday that Milo was nervous, Frodo thought that Peony was frightened.
"The only crime here is inconsiderate behavior," Peony went on, speaking quickly, "but what can we expect from Lotho Sackville-Baggins? He never did any good where he could do harm instead. Mark my words, he'll show up when it suits him." Her hand shook so that her tea splashed about in its cup, and she set it down before it spilled. "So you see, Frodo, there's no point in prying into a matter that'll resolve itself as soon as Lotho decides to come home again. 'Til then, things are distressing enough for us all. You can only make it worse if you go around asking into other people's private affairs--especially your own family's!--and, well, I wish you wouldn't, that's all," she concluded her outburst rather weakly. "Please, promise me you won't."
"If you're referring to my questions to Milo, I only asked about your farm property in the north because I thought it might be where Lotho's gone into hiding," Frodo explained to try and soothe her. "I meant nothing more by it. I don't wish to pry into your private affairs, Peony. I only want to find Lotho before Lobelia makes more trouble. You know the sort of thing she's capable of."
"Yes..." Peony agreed reluctantly, then burst out again with the question, "You don't suspect Milo of doing anything to get rid of Lotho, do you?"
Frodo didn't know how to reply without causing her greater distress, for this was just what he did suspect. He had seen and heard too much: Milo's scraped knuckles. His talk about money troubles. His nervous responses to any questions about Lotho and their quarrel. It wasn't proof of guilt, but it was enough to worry him. He understood why Peony was so eager for him to stop his investigation: she was worried for her husband as well.
Peony saw his hesitation, and her eyes widened. "You do think so!"
"Peony-" He reached out to place a hand on her arm, but she drew back from the touch.
"You do, Frodo! It's why you've been poking around." Peony leapt up. "Oh, why can't you leave us be? Milo's done nothing wrong." She headed for the door.
"But you think so yourself," said Frodo.
At these words, she stopped with one hand on the curved frame of the door, but didn't turn back to face him. "I do not! How can you suggest such a thing?"
"Then why did you come here?" he asked, rising from the settee and crossing the room after her. "You're afraid that I'll find out something you don't want me to, something that tells against Milo. What is it? Peony, what do you know?"
"I don't know anything!" she insisted, shaking her head vehemently.
"What do you suspect then? What makes you frightened for Milo's sake?" He stood beside her now. "Peony, please believe that I only wish to know the truth. It's the only way to find an answer to this mystery. You know how fond I am of both of you and Milo.I wouldn't deliberately cause you harm. If Milo has nothing to do with Lotho, then you have nothing to fear."
When he put a hand on her arm this time, Peony did not throw it off. Her head was down against her raised arm, her brown curls falling over her face. "I shouldn't have come," she sobbed. "I wanted to protect him, and I've made matters worse." She lifted her head to regard Frodo with tearful eyes. "If Milo's arrested, it'll be your fault!"
With that, she fled the room and left Bag End. Frodo did not try to stop her.
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