Since Mr. Leekey had also brought the key to the vault with him, Frodo requested to see the unknown corpse next. The trio walked up the lane together and Leekey unlocked the vault door, but he demurred at accompanying Frodo inside.
"I don't think I could bear it, looking on her again, Mr. Baggins," he said apologetically. "Nor on poor Mrs. Scuttle neither. It don't seem right, disturbing them that's been laid to rest."
"I shan't disturb Mrs. Scuttle," Frodo promised him. "And I will do little to disarrange the other body. I assume that this is to be her final resting place as well?"
"That's right," Leekey confirmed. "Unless somebody turns up to claim her and wants her buried somewhere else. There's no other place for her to go, and nobody to mind at her lying here among a family that's died out."
Sam thought that his great-aunt might've objected to a stranger intruding into her family vault if she'd still been in a position to complain about it, but he didn't say so aloud. When Frodo drew out a handkerchief and placed it firmly over his mouth and nose before entering the vault, Sam did the same and followed him in. He'd brought a torch with him, and lit it so that Frodo could see the body more clearly. The smoke in the air also helped to diminish the smell within the tomb.
Frodo approached reluctantly. Although he'd examined dead bodies before, at least one in a worse state of decomposition, he still felt slightly sickened at this part of his work. But it must be done. The other bodies in the vault had been placed in the traditional funerary pose: flat upon their backs with their arms folded across their breasts. This one, however, lay on its side, the left arm curled against the breast with the hand nearly beneath the head, the other arm loosely across the waist with the right hand tucked beneath the body, legs slightly drawn up and knees bent--almost as if the woman had lain herself down to sleep in this unlikely bed. Her face was turned toward the open vault door. Her features were beginning to fall in; the closed eyes and cheeks were deep hollows even when Sam brought the torch as close as he dared. Frodo noted that the hair on the head was fair with a great deal of grey in it. It had been arranged into a bun, but must have been loosened around the time of her death, for many loose strands trailed over her neck and lay upon the flat surface beneath her head. The hand near her head lay palm upward and he could see that it was calloused; the three middle fingernails were broken short. She wore an old blue calico dress. Frodo gingerly took the hem between his fingertips to feel the weave of the cloth, then lifted it slightly to observe that the hem of her petticoat had a single line of lace and the legs of the pantalets were untrimmed. He knew something about women's undergarments; ladies who could afford such finery liked rows of lace or ruffles.
"I doubt that anyone would be able to recognize her by looking at her now," he said, "but we can produce a fairly adequate description to be sent about the Shire. Her hair is graying, so she was probably between sixty and eighty years old. By her clothing, I would say that she was a working woman and not a lady of means. Her dress is homespun. The style and worn look of it suggest to me that she worked on a farm rather than in a shop or in service. Her hands also tell me that she's done rough work."
Mr. Leekey, standing at the open door, clucked his tongue in amazement as he listened to these deductions.
"I can't yet say how she died," Frodo went on. "She doesn't appear to have been stabbed or strangled. There's no wound or blood I can see, and her throat is unmarked." He spoke this last part with some care, recalling all too vividly the last time Sam had seen a strangled woman.
But Sam received this information with equanimity. "I looked at her neck too," he said in a quiet voice. "I didn't see any marks, nor any blood. Was it poison, d'you think?"
"Possibly, though we've no way to tell. We can't even be sure that she was murdered, Sam. For all we know, she came to this place of her own will and died in her sleep. She might've been a wanderer who was heading toward Gamwich in search of work, and took shelter for the night. Only-"
"Only, why'd she do that?" Sam finished Frodo's sentence. "Who'd pick a tomb for a good night's rest?" He turned to Leekey. "There wasn't a bad storm here the night you left the door unlocked, was there?"
Leekey shook his head.
"She might've been hiding from someone," Frodo mused, "but that only leads us back to the notion that she was in danger." He'd kept his eyes chiefly upon the woman's face and upturned hand during this conversation. It was difficult to be sure in the dancing torchlight, but the skin around the lips appeared mottled and discolored. This could be part of the natural process of decomposition, but it might also be the remnants of a bruise. Those broken fingernails also troubled him. His own nails were habitually bitten to the quick, but he had noticed how easily other hobbits broke their nails in course of ordinary activities. A woman who did farmwork might expect to have her fingernails frequently broken short, and yet. . . "Sam, will you help me turn her? I want to see her other hand."
Sam summoned the services of Mr. Leekey to hold the torch while he helped Frodo to turn the body to lie on its back. The right hand was revealed. Two nails were broken, one torn partially away and still half-connected to the finger. This must have happened mere minutes before the woman's death, for she would otherwise have bitten or cut it off rather than leave it dangling to catch painfully. Something else also lay beneath the body: a wadded-up handkerchief.
Frodo picked this up to examine it more closely. It was a plain square of cambric with no initials sewn on it, and it looked as if it had been crushed tightly in someone's hand. He could see the impress of the fingers on one side. Had the woman done this herself? As he stepped closer to the open door for better light, he also observed that the cloth showed several miniature furrows across the surface of the fabric. One furrow was deep enough become a tear, and a tiny crescent-shaped object gleamed at the end of this torn place--a fingernail.
The handkerchief Frodo had been holding over his own face throughout his examination of the body suddenly felt oppressive. He had to step quickly outside the vault to take a deep breath.
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
