The Cooking Conspiracy

by Eretria & Murron

 

Chapter 2

Frodo rushed down the lawn towards the fence gate, hoping to prevent the worst. But as Sam Gamgee suddenly appeared behind the hedge wearing a thoroughly distressed expression, Frodo knew he had come too late.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried as he surveyed his master. The gardener’s ears were as red as shiny apples and he was desperately wringing his handkerchief. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, I’m so sorry!"

Mentally cursing the day he had first heard the name Sackville-Baggins, Frodo stopped in front of Sam.

"Lobelia?" he asked, already knowing the answer he would get. Sam nodded, unhappily.

"She came up the hill like a storm cloud," Sam said and shuddered. "And then -- really, sir, I didn’t know how to stop her. . . . She . . . she was very resolute, sir . . ."

Frodo heaved a heavy sigh and wiped his hands over his still-floury face. "All right, Sam, what did she do?"

"She came over here, where I had prepared these flower beds," Sam told him, pointing to a thatch of newly raked earth. "I wanted to plant that potted rose I’ve tended since early summer, you know, the purple one." A spark lit up in the gardener’s eyes as he told of the flower the way fathers spoke of their children. "It was the best rose I’ve ever grown. Very rare, indeed, and beautiful." Sam looked down at the empty earth at his side and his face was the very picture of woe. Frodo followed the other’s gaze and, seeing no flower there, he knew what had happened even before Sam continued. "Mistress Lobelia found the rose quite fair, too," Sam said, downhearted. "She looked at it and before I could say a word, she had snatched it up, pot and all." He avoided looking at his master and concentrated very, very hard on his handkerchief. "I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo. Really, I am. She said they’d be your present to her. You know, for your birthday and all…"

"How dare she!" Frodo cried out and clenched his fists. Lobelia had always been a nuisance, but this latest act of brazen thievery absolutely did it. "Oh no," Frodo fumed, "not this time. She won’t get away with this, or there'll be no stopping her." With flaming eyes he turned to his gardener. "Where did she go, Sam?"

"Down the hill, yonder," Sam pointed the direction, "only a few moments ago."

With a determined stride, Frodo pushed the gate open and went to pursue his burden of a relation and her prize. Sam waited until his master was out of sight, then breathed a sigh of relief and walked up to the hole’s door.

***

Pippin stepped back from the window with a grin that almost swallowed his pointed ears. It worked so well, it was almost too easy. With a delighted giggle he turned around as Sam entered the kitchen. The gardener’s cheeks still gleamed with his effort to pull off this little conspiracy.

"It worked," Pippin stated gleefully, contented with the results so far.

"Yes. Good job, Master Pippin," Sam said with a nod.

"Thank you," Pippin replied with a broad smile and a little bow, and then added with a wink: "But you’re not the worst actor, either. I was watching the whole time, Sam, and you were almost as convincing as I was."

Sam lowered his eyes, his ear tips once more reddening. "I hate to lie to Mr. Frodo, though."

"Oh, don’t bother yourself that way, Sam. It wasn't really a lie, just make-believe," Pippin said loftily with a shrug. "If you were a little more into the mischief business you would be perfectly used to it. Besides, it’s for his own good." Rubbing his hands, he went over to the kitchen hearth. "Now let’s see what we have so far," he said, lifting the lid of a pot and dipping out a spoonful of soup. The moment the concoction touched his lips, Pippin grimaced and turned away in disgust.

"Eoww," Pippin squeaked, trying to get the taste from his tongue, "that’s awful." Shaking his head, he laid the spoon aside. "I never thought anyone could mess up a meal like this."

"He never learned it," Sam said from behind Pippin. The gardener had picked up Frodo’s abandoned apron and tied it around himself. With experienced eyes he looked around the kitchen, then began to collect the tools and ingredients he would need. "Mr. Bilbo did all the cooking," he explained to Pippin meanwhile. "Mr. Frodo seldom came near the kitchen, except for a simple bite that didn't need no cooking."

"Well," Pippin said with a dubious frown towards the soup, "I’m beginning to think this plan was quite a good idea. It's lucky Merry and I were nearby, Sam, that's all I can say . . ."

***

Behind a bush near the road, Merry huddled low, peering intently through the leaves and twigs. So far the road lay empty, but soon the seething figure of Frodo would appear, stomping on in search of Lobelia like a dwarf to a battle. Merry had to suppress a chuckle. Considering that they were doing this only for Frodo’s benefit, the whole prank was incredible fun.

Except for the skirt.

Frowning, Merry looked down to where layers of thick fabric billowed around his knees. How could lasses wear this every day and not go mad? He shook his head, once again deciding that he didn’t understand the minds of females, and really didn't want to. Merry sat back on his heels, careful not to tip over the flowerpot Sam had given him. All in all, their plan was quite simple and yet it was perfect. First they had needed something to lure Frodo out of the hole. And what better bait than Frodo’s all-time bane, Lobelia?

Merry grinned broadly. For the first time, the old dragon was actually good for something. To make it look real and to occupy Frodo for a good while, they had decided to set up a credible masquerade. They ‘borrowed’ some ladies’ garments from a nearby clothesline and fitted them on Merry. Sam gave him his precious rose along with several words of warning about its safe return, and off he went. Pippin and Sam would send Frodo after Lobelia/Merry and then Sam would get the chance to rescue the birthday meal. It all went well -- Frodo came storming down the Hill and Merry showed himself quickly in the distance before disappearing from Frodo’s sight. Merry had continued the play until he had led his cousin a good deal away from Bag End, then he had gone into hiding at the side of the road. Now he was waiting. He had been waiting quite a long time. The sun warmed his neck and slowly but surely his new robes were getting seriously uncomfortable. Still Frodo did not appear.

‘Come on, cousin,’ Merry thought. If he actually were Lobelia, the stolen flowers would be long since gone for good. Merry huffed impatiently and leaned back on his elbows. A sudden rustling in the high grass behind him made him turn his head quickly, startled.

Before him stood a little hobbit-lass, who had probably just seen her seventh summer. "Hullo," she said.

"Hullo," Merry returned with a smile. The lass chewed on a straw and looked down at him with serious eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I’m hiding," Merry said and conspiratorially laid one finger to his lips. The lass let go of her straw and sat down beside Merry, regarding him from head to toe.

"Why are you dressed so funny?" she asked, pointing to the white bonnet on Merry’s unruly curls. Merry’s eyes widened and for a moment all he could think of to utter was a most undignified ‘uhm.’ What should he say? He had actually forgotten about his rather curious state of appearance.

"I’m in disguise," he answered finally, silently hoping the lass belonged to no one he knew. The little thing nodded earnestly as if she understood the whole importance of Merry hiding behind a bush in woman’s gear. A grin spread over Merry’s features. Children certainly were the better hobbits. And suddenly, as he looked at his newfound companion, another idea came to his mind. ‘Merry Brandybuck, you are quite brilliant,’ he congratulated himself silently, then peeped out from between the leaves once more.

In the far distance he finally beheld his cousin – Frodo – who by now looked a little worse for the wear and apparently very much out of breath.

Merry hid back behind the bush and waved for the lass to come closer. "Tell me, lassie – what do you think of a wee adventure?"

The lass eyed him for a few moments, clearly doubting this strangely dressed elder’s state of mind, but curiosity soon won over and she nodded, a delighted gleam in her eyes reminding Merry remarkably of a certain young Took. He grinned, and began to whisper his plan.

 

***

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