After they'd seen Thimula to the Hodberry farm, Sam and Frodo returned to the inn for their own dinner, then retired to their room. They'd refrained from discussing the case while in Thimula's company, or when other patrons of the inn were present, but once they were alone, Frodo began to lay out his plans for exploring the Sackville property more closely the next day.
"You aren't going back inside that house again, are you?" asked Sam.
"Perhaps not tomorrow," Frodo assured him. "I'm more interested in the land around it." Having changed into his nightshirt, he snuggled down into the narrow bed in the inn's single room for travelers. A fire had been lit for them and a down comforter provided, but the room was chilly. When Sam climbed in beside him, Frodo moved over a little, but he welcomed the warmth of the arm thrown over him and the solid body against his back. The size of the bed meant that they had to lie close against each other; if Sam was pressing more closely than was absolutely necessary, Frodo didn't mind. "I'm certain there must be a stream on the other side of the hill, just below the house. It's the only reason I can think of why someone would use the empty house to clean their trout in secret. They were stealing it from Aunt Lobelia. Not that she'd care about the trout for herself, but she'd hate to have anyone make use of something that belonged to her."
"D'you think that Sully Bogwater knows what was going on up there?"
"The trout-poachers? Yes, I imagine so. I think that's why he's so eager to keep Thimula out of the place. I find it difficult to believe that two sets of intruders have broken into the Old Place in recent years, and he didn't notice either. That was very lax of Mr. Bogwater, but given Lobelia's attitude toward the house, I can't blame him for not being more diligent about protecting her property."
"Then you're sure it's living hobbits behind this all?" Sam asked him.
"I think we've found the source of the haunting at the Old Place, and it's no ghost." Frodo lay silent for awhile before he repeated what he'd begun to say on their walk back from the Old Place, "All the same, it's rather odd."
"Hm?"
"Well, whoever they were, they left in a hurry the last time they were there," Frodo explained. "According to the stories we've heard, the lights and odd sounds at the Old Place have been going on for months. If our trespassing trout-poachers have been behind it all this time, they've troubled to clean up after themselves before. Why not this last time? And, by the look of it, that last time was several weeks ago. They haven't been inside the house since."
"So there might be a ghost after all?" Sam pursued. "And you think it frightened them away?"
"I don't know," Frodo admitted. "There could be any number of other reasons why they fled that night and haven't returned that have nothing to do with ghosts. Old Mr. Bogwater may have come to investigate the lights at night after all. Or perhaps the poachers quarreled amongst themselves and gave the business up."
Sam had no immediate response to these speculations, but Frodo could feel blasts of warm breath blowing on his hair to tickle the nape of his neck. After a minute or two, Sam said, "There was footsteps behind us, just as we were leaving. You heard them too."
"That was probably nothing more than an echo of our own feet, Sam," he said, as much to convince himself as Sam.
"It didn't sound like no hobbit-feet to me. These was heavier, like one o' the Bigs. Or else it was Him... you know who I mean. You believe in ghosts, Frodo. I know you do."
"I do," Frodo conceded, "but I'm not so eager to believe in them that I can ignore a more rational explanation when it sits before me. We were both expecting to find a ghost when we went into that empty old house. It was spooky once it began to grow dark, and our imaginations made the most of it."
Sam remained unconvinced by Frodo's rational explanations, but he didn't continue to argue. He lay quietly for some time, breathing against Frodo's shoulders. Then, after awhile, he stole one arm around Frodo's waist and pulled him back, close against his own body as possible. Frodo, who'd expected his friend to sulk himself to sleep, was pleasantly surprised, and more so when Sam's breath blew hot into his ear before he began nibbling the pointed tip.
Frodo chuckled and writhed at this intensely erotic sensation. "I'm glad you're not in a sour mood after all."
"Why would I be?" Sam asked back between nips. "Only, we're not going into that house again so close to dark, ghost or no ghost."
"No, Sam."
"And we're not going to go on talking about it when we got a room to ourselves and better things to do."
Frodo agreed to this as well, thinking of some of the 'better things' they might do before they went to sleep. "Confess now, Sam. This is why you always come out with me on these investigations, isn't it?"
Sam stopped nibbling. "What d'you mean?"
"It isn't to help me investigate, nor for the adventure of it," Frodo teased. "It's not even to protect me from danger, but so that we can spend the night in an inn somewhere, together in peace?" He turned over to wind his arms around Sam's neck. "Goodness knows we have little chance of a quiet night at home."
"It's not the only reason--you do want looking after," Sam replied. "But being alone with you's gotten to be more welcome these days." He began to nuzzle the hollow of Frodo's throat. "We don't hardly have the time for it anymore, with me 'n' Rosie getting up at all hours o' the night to look after one baby or the other, or else it's little Frodo making a fuss, or Nel wants a drink of water. At least, we can go running off detecting when we want to. It's Rosie I feel sorry for. She never gets a day away from the little uns."
"She ought to have a holiday," Frodo decided. "Both of you. You haven't had an opportunity to be by yourselves since your honeymoon. When the twins are a bit older and Rosie feels she can leave them, why don't the two of you take a few days and go anywhere you like for a rest. Michel Delving? That old cottage of Mrs. Broombindle's where you spent your honeymoon? Any inn anywhere in the Shire that takes your fancy. My treat."
"And you'd look after the little uns while we're away?" Sam lifted his head to regard Frodo skeptically.
"I shall hire a nursery-maid. I've been wanting to since the twins were born, to take some of the burden off of you and Rosie--not to mention Mrs. Cotton and Marigold, who has her own baby to look after and shouldn't have to spend half her days at Bag End helping out. We need one badly. I've said so to Rose, only she won't hear of it."
"Of course she wouldn't."
"I don't see why not," replied Frodo. "We always had plenty of nursery-maids to look after us at Brandy Hall, three or four at once."
"That's different. Folk like you and the Brandybucks always have servants to do your washing-up and sweeping and such. Looking after the children's just one more job to hire somebody for," Sam explained. "Farm folk like the Cottons're used to looking after their own."
"But you and Rose are gentry now, Sam." Frodo smiled. "Didn't Mr. Bogwater call you a 'gent' just this evening? There you are! A proper gent has servants, and therefore has a bit more time free to indulge himself in diversions... like this." He pulled Sam down for a kiss.
Later on in the night, those soft, slow footsteps echoed through Frodo's sleep. They weren't the sounds of bare hobbit feet. Whatever walked in the Old Sackville Place was wearing boots.
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