MB: A Monogrammed Mystery by Kathryn Ramage

"It can't be Milo, Sam, and I doubt it's Mrs. Broombindle," Frodo told his friend when they met again. "They haven't left their ponies all morning, and there are plenty of hobbits to swear to it if need be."

When he'd left Milo, Frodo went to talk to the sturdy young no-nonsense hobbit who stood at the entrance to the pony-pen to keep an eye out for rowdies and mischief-makers; this youth was also an auxiliary shirriff at Budgeford and had been involved in two of Frodo's more exciting investigations in that small town--as he never tired of telling his friends. Before Frodo could ask his own questions, he too had to hear the young hobbit's reminisces about the search for poor Mrs. Stillwaters and the hunt for that fellow who'd poisoned his Took lady-friend, only it turned out he hadn't. When Frodo could ask, he learned that Milo Burrows, who was well-known in Budgeford, hadn't gone out past the gate since he'd first come in. The young hobbit didn't know Mrs. Broombindle, but there were only few women who managed their own ponies and he was sure that none of them had gone out either.

"The children?" Frodo considered them next. "Mosco and Myrtle are possible, since they've been wandering about, but it seems unlikely. As you've pointed out, Sam, a neatly laundered and folded handkerchief can hardly belong to a boy under twenty. Besides, Myrtle and Milo's sons have much better opportunities to look over the other ponies closely from here inside the yard than they would from a precarious perch in a tree outside it."

As they headed out of the pony-pen, Frodo caught sight of the two youngsters, who were shyly conversing with another pony's owner. The owner, a local farmer, was pleased at their interest but didn't seem to realize that the young boy and girl were experienced riders themselves. The two children were holding hands.

"On the other hand, this notion of Mosco and Myrtle running around together has put another possibility into my mind, Sam. The two of them might've been up to some mischief that has nothing to do with the races. If they were just a little older, I might even wonder if they'd gone to the dell for the same reason you and I did..."

"Mrs. Broombindle doesn't think there's anything to it," Sam answered. "Sweet they might be, but they're too young for that sort o' mischief! Besides, the Burrowses are friendly with the Broombindles, but all the same Milo'd keep an eye on his lad. He'd naturally want a better match for Mosco than a farm-lass. If it was those two, mind you, it was just fun and games. It can't be Mrs. Broombindle, I'm sure of that! While we was talking, I asked her if she dropped her hanky. She said she hadn't, and showed me the one she kept in her dress pocket. `Twas plain, with not a trace of embroidery to be seen--not like this un at all." He returned the MB handkerchief to Frodo.

"Yes, and Milo's handkerchief is embroidered in quite a different style from the one we found--which I ought to have realized sooner. Peony sews his." Frodo examined the initials on the handkerchief Sam had just returned to him. "This one is done in a more professional style. There's less of a personal touch to the lettering. A tailor's work, I'd swear to it. Mr. Threadnibble does just the same sort of sewing on all my linen. Therefore, Sam, we ought to be looking for an unmarried hobbit, who doesn't have a loving wife to do his sewing for him, or one of expensive tastes. Or both."

As they passed outside the pony-pen, Frodo's eyes were still on the handkerchief in his hand and he would have bumped into a pair of well-dressed hobbits who were just on their way in, if Sam hadn't taken his arm. Frodo looked up to find himself facing Ludovic Binglebottom, a feckless dandy from Whitfurrows, and another dandified youth whom he didn't know. The meeting was a little awkward.

"Ah- Mr. Binglebottom, hello," he said. "I didn't expect to run into you here. Are your friends Darco Underhaye and Setwale Biggs-Wither with you?" Frodo had last encountered the trio at the Buckshead Inn, when he'd been hiding in disguise as a widow. Setwale had in fact tried to court the widow, under the impression that she was wealthy. Fortunately, Mr. Binglebottom didn't recognize him as the mysterious Mrs. Underhill.

"Oh, they're about somewhere," Ludovic answered. "They wouldn't miss the last racing day of this season. I didn't know you knew Setty, Mr. Baggins."

"Yes, we met once," Frodo said quickly, to cover his mistake.

"He never mentioned it. Was it during one of your investigations? I would've thought that any hobbit who's met you while you're asking your questions has a tale to tell! I know I do. But never mind the unpleasant past now, not when it's such a pleasant day. I was just showing my cousin around. Mr. Baggins, may I introduce Medovic Binglebottom?" Ludovic gestured toward his companion. "Meddy, this is the famous detective, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo exchanged a quick glance with Sam. Here was another MB, one whose clothing declared a taste for expensive tailoring!

"Your servant, Mr. Baggins," said Medovic with a graceful little bow, then bowed to Sam even though he hadn't been introduced. "`Tis a vast honor to meet you! Luddy's often told me how he once assisted you with one of your cases--his poor friend Val Stillwaters, and poor, poor Mrs. Stillwaters. But I'm afraid I know little about it, beyond the common tales and how distressing it all was for Luddy."

"You're not from Whitfurrows then, are you?" answered Frodo. "Are you visiting this part of the Shire?"

"That's right. My home is up around Scary, but I'm here at Luddy's invitation to spend a few weeks. He's talked so much about the big races they have here--but I must say I wasn't expecting anything so big as this!" Medovic gazed with wondering eyes at the hobbits and ponies that went past them on the way to the racing field. "I would never have believed it! And I've heard that they hold even larger ones at Michel Delving."

"Indeed they do. Do you take a great interest in racing ponies, Mr. Binglebottom?"

"Well, I've never had such a grand opportunity to experience them before this, only the local farms. I'm not used to casting my money after ponies as Luddy tells me he and his friends do, but I'm keen to learn--if only I don't get in over my head. Mother wouldn't approve if I came home again with my pockets empty."

"I'm certain your cousin will help you to pick the right ponies to place wagers on," said Frodo. "Have the two of you been making your choice among the possibilities in the pen?" He hadn't noticed either Binglebottom there, but the crowd had been thick.

"No," said Ludovic. "We've been- ah- wandering about the place, seeing the sights."

This struck Frodo as a strange statement to make; there was nothing of interest to be seen in the immediately vicinity of the Bridgefields. What could the two cousins have been up to? Medovic didn't look a hobbit to be climbing trees, but he was exactly the sort who would have a handkerchief like the one that dropped down from the oak.

While these thoughts were in his mind, Frodo had been staring at his new acquaintance. Medovic began to look puzzled. "I beg your pardon." Frodo apologized, and quickly thought of a ruse. "It's only that you have a smudge on your face."

"Smudge?" echoed Ludovic. "Where?" I don't see anything."

"It's just this side of his nose," said Sam, catching on. "A bit of mud, looks like."

"Oh, blast!" cried Medovic. "I must've been walking about with it half the morning too! I fancied people were looking at me oddly, particularly when we met those charming- Luddy, why didn't you tell me?"

"I tell you, I didn't see it! I still don't." Ludovic had moved around to the other side of his cousin to peer at the supposedly mud-smudged cheek.

"Have you a handkerchief?" asked Frodo. "I'll be happy to get it off for you."

"Here, take mine." Ludovic offered, and reached for his waistcoat pocket.

"No, no--if I'm going to dirty a hanky, I'd rather it be my own. Here you are, Mr. Baggins." And Medovic produced a clean white linen square with an elaborate gold-threaded monogram in the corner.
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