Who Is Killing the Brandybucks? by Kathryn Ramage

Frodo went to the Newbury guardhouse the next morning to tell Chief Muggeredge about the inquiries he'd made yesterday and to ask if the deputized sherriffs had found anything.

"My lads were up and down by the Hedge for more'n a mile either way, Mr. Baggins, and here's what we found." With a broad grin on his already broad face, Muggeredge picked up a burlap sack that was lying on the floor and dumped its contents onto the same table where Merimas had lain, displaying a collection of rocks for Frodo to look over. The smallest was the size of a hen's egg, and the largest the size of a hobbit's head. "Not one has a drop o' blood on it, but we picked up every one that might've done it."

Frodo turned each of the rocks over to examine them on all sides. True, there were no stains beyond a little caked and dried mud, but that didn't necessarily mean that the weapon used to kill Merimas wasn't here. It could be any of these rocks, or none. He remembered a piece of wizard-lore Gandalf had once told him: no two patterns of whorls and ridges on the tips of people's fingers were the same. Such marks were clearly visible on smooth, clean glass, but Frodo doubted there was a way to find them on rough stone. If there was, how would he compare them with the fingermarks of an unknown person?

He thanked the Chief Sherriff for his efforts and asked that the rocks be kept for the time being, then returned to Crickhollow in frustration. Tomorrow afternoon, he would meet some of his principal suspects, but what was he to do until then?

As he went down the lane toward the Hall, wondering what he was going to tell Merry and the rest of the Brandybuck family, he saw that a pony-cart stood before the gate of Celie's cottage. Bags and boxes were piled in the back. The front door of the cottage was open, and a young-lady hobbit emerged, dragging a large carpet-bag. She wasn't Celie nor any of his other female relatives, but a striking-looking woman with long, dark-red curls. Frodo had seen her a few times before, although he didn't know her name.

"Hello," he said when they met at the cart. "Is Celie here? I'm her cousin, Frodo."

"She's packing the children's things," the young lady answered, and flung the bag up into the cart before Frodo could offer to help. "Come inside."

They went into the cottage, where there were boxes and bags piled in the front hall, indicating that Celie was packing up more than a few things. The young lady led Frodo into the small bedroom at the back, where Celie was putting baby clothes and clean diapers into another carpet-bag. Her face was pale and her eyelids pinkish and puffy with too many tears, but she looked more composed than she'd been when Frodo had seen her last.

When she saw him, she even smiled. "Oh, Frodo, hello."

"You're going back to the Hall?" he asked, although it was obvious.

"Yes, I've decided to shut the cottage up. I don't know how long we'll be away. Since Merimas-" she paused and swallowed hard; her large, dark-brown eyes swam with tears. "I don't know yet if I want to live here without him." Her voice rose in pitch at this last sentence and Frodo thought that she was about to cry, but she pulled herself together with an effort. "Everybody said I should wait and do this after... the funeral, and they wanted to come and help me pack, but I wanted to do it by myself. And then Rilla came by to say how sorry she was-Oh, have you met each other before? Frodo, this is my dear friend, Miss Amarilla Underhaye. She used to be Mentha's friend too. Rilla, this is my cousin, Frodo Baggins. You've heard about him. He lives in the cottage at the very end of the lane."

Rilla? Frodo recalled that this was the name Merimas had shouted at his wife during their last quarrel, the one he thought Celie was spending too much time with. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Underhaye," he said politely. "I wish it were under happier circumstances."

"I'm pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Baggins," the red-haired young lady replied. "I have heard a lot about you. Everyone in Bucklebury's been talking since you've come to live in Buckland. I've been hoping to meet you for some time, but you're such a recluse. They say you're writing a book." When Frodo admitted that this was so, she asked, "Is it about the mysteries you've solved?"

"No, actually, it's about my travels and adventures in the Big world beyond the Shire," Frodo replied, referring obliquely to his quest, as he always did when he spoke of it to other hobbits, "but I have written about one or two of my investigations--historical mysteries, you might call them. About the Elves and Men of Gondor long ago."

"Elves?" Amarilla's expression brightened with increased interest. "How intriguing. Do you read Elvish?"

"A little," Frodo said modestly. "I'm not the scholar my Uncle Bilbo was."

"Frodo's very clever. He's going to find out who killed Merimas," Celie said confidently, as if finding a murderer were a simple task. She shut the carpet-bag and buckled the two straps that held it shut. "Rilla, will you please take this out to the cart for me? There are only a few more things I want to take right now. I'll come back for the rest."

Amarilla nodded in understanding and carried the carpet-bag outside, leaving Frodo and Celie to talk together privately.

"Celie, I wanted to say I'm sorry," Frodo told her once they were alone. "When we spoke yesterday, I told you something that upset you. The rest of the family didn't want you to know about the ugly gossip that's begun again since Merimas died, and perhaps I was wrong to tell you, at least so soon. You weren't ready to hear such things."

"No, I had to know what people were saying, about me and Berry. You want to know if what they're saying was true, don't you?" Celie asked.

"It's not my business, unless it has something to do with Merimas," Frodo answered. "Does it?"

"It might." Celie sat up rather primly, back straight and hands folded in the black folds of her skirt in her lap as she looked up at him. "I've thought it over, Frodo, and I'm going to tell you. There wasn't anything wrong between me and Berry, not really. When I began to grow up, he started to pay attention to me, and I liked it. We went boating on the river sometimes--you know about that. We played about, a little, but we didn't go as far as that. I wasn't as naughty as Mama was afraid I was. But Merimas... he didn't believe it was true when I told him. He never forgot about it, even after Berry was dead, not just because of what happened with Mentha and Melly. Before that." Her voice was very low, barely above a whisper. "He didn't think Mungo was his."

"Oh, Celie..." Frodo did some quick calculations: Mungo had been born in October of 1420, almost a full year after Celie had married Merimas; it was impossible for her to have been pregnant at the time of her wedding. However, Berilac had died in April, only six months before Mungo's birth. What Merimas had accused his wife of was not merely carrying on with their mutual cousin before their marriage, but afterwards as well. Frodo knew, as everyone did, that Merimas had always reproached Celie for her conduct, but he'd never imagined that it was as terrible as that.

"I've never told anybody about it before," Celie said in the same soft voice. "It's too shameful. I couldn't tell Mama--it would shock her so, and my brothers would never forgive Merimas if they knew what he was saying. And if anybody else heard it, they might wonder if it was true."

"Is that what your last quarrel was about?" Frodo had only heard a few fragments regarding Celie's choice of friends, but if Merimas had been shouting at her for several hours, there must have been more.

"It was always the same quarrel," said Celie. "If it wasn't about Berry, it was somebody else. Merimas didn't think it was proper for a respectable married lady to have gentlemen-friends, but he didn't approve of my girl-friends either. Rilla," she waved toward the door to indicate the young lady who had just gone out. "He said she wasn't suitable for me to associate with. He thought she was fast and a bad influence because she's forty years old, but doesn't want a husband, and she lives by herself in Bucklebury even though she has relations she could live with. But she's wonderful and clever and artistic, like Mentha was." In her indignation and eagerness to defend herself and her friends, Celie was beginning to forget her grief. "You'll see that for yourself when you know her better, Frodo. All our friends will be at Dodi's tomorrow, and I'll see that Rilla comes too. You know about the reception Dodi's having after the funeral, don't you? You'll come?" she asked. Then, with a sudden flash of comprehension and suspicion, "Did you ask him to do that, Frodo?"

"I told him and Ilbie that I wanted to meet some of your friends," Frodo answered carefully. "Dodi agreed to arrange it."

"You think one of them had something to do with Merimas dying?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I have to find out. It's what I've been asked to do. I told you--an investigation is like that."

"Yes, you said, but that's nonsense, Frodo. They're my friends," Celie insisted, as if this were proof enough of their innocence. "They thought Merimas was an awful old stick who never liked to have fun. They used to laugh at him, but nobody'd want to hurt him. You'll meet them and see how wrong you are."

"What about your old suitors?" asked Frodo. "Could one them have resented your marriage to him?"

Celie turned pink at the question. "Most of the boys I used to go around with are married to other girls now."

"Marledoc isn't."

To his surprise, Celie laughed. "Oh, Frodo! Now you are being ridiculous! Marly's like you and Merry. Ask Merry if you don't believe me."

This was a direct contradiction to what Dodi had told him, and Frodo didn't know Marledoc well enough to know which was true. After Ilbie's joke about him and Merry at the pub last night, he wasn't even startled to hear that Celie knew about them as well. As he had guessed, their relationship was no secret within the family.

Frodo carried a couple of the boxes left at the door out for her, and put them into the cart. Celie took down the last thing she wanted, the oval wedding portrait of herself and Merimas, which Mentha had painted and which hung over the parlor fireplace. It was small enough to carry in her arms, and Celie did so, holding it carefully before her, the painted side to her chest. Amarilla was waiting outside.

"Are you coming to the Hall with us?" Celie asked her friend.

"Not today, thank you. I've paid you my call, and that's all I meant to do. I was glad to find you here and alone, rather than at the Hall."

"Will you come to Dodi's tomorrow, afterwards?"

"Yes, of course," said Amarilla. "Dodi's invited me. I'll see you there."

Frodo helped his cousin up onto the seat at the front of the cart, then climbed up beside her and took the pony's reigns. As they rode to the Hall, Amarilla remained in the lane before the cottage gate, watching them go, then turned to cross the fields toward Bucklebury.
You must login (register) to review.