They did not go out riding the next day. Rain began to fall that night, and was pouring down heavily by the morning with no sign of stopping. Frodo gave up hope of going beyond the city gates in such muddy weather. But, since he couldn't think of sitting idle all day, he decided on an alternate line of inquiry.
After an early breakfast, he and Merry ventured out, braving the water that coursed down through the streets of the city like a fast-flowing stream and washed around their ankles whenever they had to cross it. They made their way down to the Steward's Arms, becoming completely soaked before they reached it.
They went into the back alley behind the tavern, past the stacks of enormous, empty ale kegs, and Merry knocked on the door. At this hour of the morning, the keeper and his daughter were sure to be in the back rooms, where they lived.
The Man opened the door and stared down at the wet hobbits in wonderment. "What're you lads doing out on a day like this? Come in, please, come in. You're like as not to be washed away down the street and out the city gate if you stand in this rain much longer."
The hobbits entered the kitchen, which was warm and welcoming after their walk. "Thank you," said Merry. "We were on our way down to the Old Guesthouse on an errand, but this was as far as we got, and had to stop before we drowned." The excuse for their unusual visit sounded plausible coming from his lips in a chatty, easy-going way; Frodo and Merry had agreed that the tavern-keeper should not guess that they'd come here deliberately. "We hoped you'd take pity for us and give us shelter."
"I hope we haven't interrupted your breakfast," Frodo added apologetically. It looked as if they had just finished the meal; Ilsethe was clearing the dirty plates from the table even as he spoke.
"Not at all!" Ilsethe's father replied. "But if you'd like a bite to eat or drop of something warming, the kitchen fire's still hot."
"A hot toddy would be nice," said Merry.
"'Toddy'?" the tavern-keeper laughed. "What odd words you halflings have! What do you mean, Master Meriadoc?"
"Don't you know what a toddy is?" Merry replied. "Why, every inn-keeper and alehouse keeper in the Shire can make toddies easy as pull an ale. It's just the thing to ward off a chill on a miserable, wet day like this."
As Merry intended, the tavern-keeper was intrigued by this mention of a drink he wasn't familiar with. "Well, I've never heard of such a thing. Hot, you say? You must show me how to make it, Master Meriadoc!"
"Gladly! Have you got any rumbullion?"
"There're six jugs of it under the bar."
"Wonderful! We'll need butter, spices, hot water, and some honey or sugar."
"The butter's right on the table. Ilsethe, my love, put a pot of water on the stove and find the sugar and spices," her father directed her, and he and Merry went into the bar-room in quest of the rum, leaving Frodo alone with Ilsethe in the kitchen.
"I was hoping to have a word with you, Miss," he said as she set about gathering the items for the toddy.
"Miss?" She looked confused; apparently, the honorific 'Miss' was not used for unmarried women here.
"Ilsethe," Frodo began again. "I wanted to ask you about that bracelet you're wearing. I noticed it when I was here yesterday, but didn't like to ask you about it when your father and Captain Beregond were near."
"'Tis kind of you, little master," the girl answered in a mumble.
"May I ask where you got it?" Frodo asked.
She wrapped her opposite hand over the bracelet, as if to hide it, and answered softly, "He gave it me." A glimmer of tears appeared in her eyes, and she turned away from Frodo quickly and put the a pot of water on the stove.
"He? Caradan?"
She nodded. Frodo offered her a clean, if somewhat damp, handkerchief, but this article of linen was also unknown in Minas Tirith; he returned it to his waistcoat pocket while Ilsethe blotted her tears with the hem of her apron.
"Your father doesn't know?" he asked.
"No." She shook her head briskly. "No one does. Father'd be angry if he knew. He wouldn't let me wait tables if he thought I was up to anything with a guardsman, let alone a nobleman's son--he keeps such an eye on me when the city Guard are about. But I managed to meet with Caradan once in awhile. We could never say a word about it while he was living, and I can't speak of it now. I can't even weep as I'd like to, else Father would see and ask questions."
"What did you tell him about that?" Frodo indicated the silver bracelet around her wrist.
"I said it was a gift from my granny. She has a few pretty things that my grandfather gave her, and I sat beside her when she was ill abed last winter. He'd never ask her about it."
Frodo found himself wondering. The tavern-keeper seemed entirely unaware of his daughter's love-affair, but what if he did know? And what about Ilsethe herself? She spoke of her love for Caradan, but had he felt the same about her? What if it was only dalliance for him before his intended marriage to Tharya?
"Did you know that he was betrothed to a lady of the court?" he asked.
To Frodo's surprise, she nodded. "He told me he was pledged to a lady, but he didn't love her. He said he ought to by rights give this bracelet to her, but he wanted me to have it. He meant for me to be his true wife. He was going to tell his father so, but then his lordship died." Fresh tears appeared in her eyes. "Then he died, and it's all I've got left to remember him by. You'll find who killed him, won't you?"
"I-" Frodo began to reply, when Merry and the tavern-keeper returned, bearing a large and dusty jug of rum. When the water was hot, they made their toddies. Frodo had no chance to say more to Ilsethe before he and Merry went on their way.
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