Since there was still an hour or more of daylight remaining when they finished their tea, the trio went up the hill to the Old Sackville Place that same afternoon. Sam was reluctant to go, but Thimula was eager to have a look at her haunted house, and Frodo wouldn't dream of letting her go by herself; this was, after all, why he'd agreed to accompany her. And he had to admit that he was curious about the place too.
Thimula had brought a key with her, so there was no question of breaking in like burglars this time. They were there legitimately, and entered boldly through the front door. The hinges were rusty and creaked as the door swung open, and an odd, strong, and unpleasant smell of something rotted struck them as they stepped into the entrance hall. Frodo was grateful that he and Sam didn't have to conduct Thimula past the rubbish heap in the kitchens, where the smell must be unbearable if it carried so far. He was also a little surprised; he would have thought that the worst of the rubbish had rotted away or been eaten by rats and beetles after all these years.
"It's not so bad," Thimula said, determined to be optimistic as she looked into the rooms to the immediate right and left of the front hall. These rooms were covered with the grime of heavy dust settling over many years, blackening the sheets that had been placed over the furniture, and tree roots poked in here and there through the cracked plaster on the ceiling and walls. "But what is that awful smell?"
They traced the stink not to the kitchens, but to the dining room. There were mugs left on the table, as well as a dusty jug of beer and the withered and rotted remains of an apple and some moldy bread and cheese set on a large white handkerchief atop the table's grimy dust-cover. These objects had been obviously sitting there for some time, but not for the long years since Saruman's and Wormtongue's residence. Not more than a month or so, Frodo estimated. That odd smell was now very strong and seemed be emanating from a piece of folded canvas on the floor near the fireplace.
Cautiously, Frodo approached the canvas and bent down to throw back the top flap. He gasped at the uncovered source of the stench, and Thimula gave a soft cry as she covered her nose.
"Fish!" she said in disgust.
"Trout, by the look of 'em," Sam guessed as he looked down at the severed heads and tails of several fish that had been left within the canvas sheet.
"They must've been here for weeks," Frodo observed, "like the food and drink on the table. It all must've been left by the same people."
"Well, at least this mess will be easy to clean up," said Thimula. "Let's take that muck out-of-doors right now. Tomorrow, we can build a bonfire in the garden to toss the rubbish into. And open the windows, please! If this is the worst, then it isn't so bad as I feared. Shall we have a look at the rest of it?"
After the canvas containing the fish had been taken outside, they went from room to room, opening more windows to bring fresh air into the house and provide some light. In one of the back parlors on the side of the house overlooking Rushock Bog and not visible from the village, there were signs that a window had been forced open, then shut again but not barred. In the bedroom where he and his friends had confronted Saruman, the bed was unmade and the charred logs of a fire still sat in the grate, but otherwise it was just as Frodo had last seen it. There were the traces of a dark stain on the floorboards. Only the wizard's white robes had been removed.
"This house needs a good sweeping and scrubbing, and pots of fresh paint and plaster, but I think it can be made livable," Thimula decided after she'd seen all the rooms in the main part of the house.
"Then you don't believe in the haunting anymore?" Frodo asked her.
"No," she replied, "and neither do you. Someone has certainly been in here--living hobbits, not ghosts. I don't need the Shire's finest detective to tell me that ghosts have no use for bread nor beer, nor dressed trout. There's a mystery there--who they are, and why they chose to do such a thing here at the Old Place. You can look into that if you like, Frodo. But ghosts? No." She shook her head. "I can see that this was once a handsome smial, and it could be again. If there aren't any ghosts about, there's no reason why I can't make it so. It would be a pleasant place to bring up a large family."
"Rubar Chinhold has three children," Frodo said, playfully referring to a Bywater widower who had once paid tentative court to Thimula before he'd fallen afoul of Lobelia. Although Thimula had only spoken vaguely of restoring the Old Sackville Place to rent it out or perhaps live in, he now guessed at her true intentions. Lobelia's home in Hobbiton was a comfortable smial, suitable for a lady living alone, but it might be rather cramped with a number of young children in it.
Thimula smiled, seeing that he understood. "And he might yet have more," she answered coyly.
A change had come over Thimula these past months, one that Frodo was very pleased to see. When he'd first met her last autumn, she'd been a dour and dowdy young woman who looked older than her forty-some years. Frodo had only occasionally glimpsed hints of a wry sense of humor when he spoke to her. While Thimula was always patient and tolerant while taking care of her fractious old aunt, he and the rest of the Baggins family had pitied her and thought she deserved better. Since Lobelia's death, Thimula was no longer a poor and dependent relation, but mistress of a sizeable fortune and her own future, and it showed. There was a new light in her eyes, confidence in her bearing, and a sprightly tone to her voice; that wry sense of humor emerged more often. And though she would never be pretty, she was no longer dowdy. She was still somberly dressed in the colors of light mourning, but his cousin Angelica had introduced her to the best dressmaker in Michel Delving. Frodo thought that Mr. Chinhold would be a lucky hobbit indeed if Thimula consented to marry him, and not because of her wealth.
Thimula's marriage would also put an end to the gossip around Hobbiton that he would marry her. The rumors had begun when Lobelia had left Bag End to him--even though Bag End was never hers to give--on the condition that he become Thimula's husband.
As the sun fell low in the western sky, Sam grew anxious to get Frodo and Thimula away before nightfall, but the two were determined to go on exploring. They went into the scullery last of all, for the kitchens lay down a long and dark, brick-lined tunnel apart from the rest of the house. Here was the worst; for the first time, Thimula was daunted by the years-old piles of rubbish.
"I might let this part of the house fall into rubble," she declared. "I can hire some local hobbits to come fill it in and dig out a new kitchen for me. What a haven for rats!"
At the thought of rats, all three hobbits curled up their toes defensively, and decided that they'd seen enough.
As they retreated back down the brick-lined tunnel that connected the kitchens to the main part of the house, they heard the creak of rusty hinges on a door or window swinging in the breeze. "We ought to shut up the windows we left open, in case it rains in the night," said Thimula.
By the time they'd finished shutting the windows, the sun had set behind the westward hills and the light was fading fast. Sam looked even more nervous than before, and he kept behind Frodo and Thimula to act as a sort of rear guard and to shepherd them safely out the front door.
Perhaps it was an echo of their bare feet pattering on the wooden floor of the wide entry hall, but as he went out, Frodo thought he heard soft, slow footsteps somewhere behind them. Thimula, who had already gone outside into the overgrown garden, did not hear it, but Sam did.
"Let's get out of here," Sam said, and shut the door behind them. Thimula had left the key behind when they'd gone in, and he quickly turned it to lock the door.
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