[piosenniel]

Cook remembers to answer the door

‘Never rains but it pours,’ muttered Cook as she served up bowls of stewed coney and taters for the servers to take out to the guests in the Common Room. There’d been a faint knock at the kitchen door and then the rather dramatic entry of Gil and friends along with Derufin carrying in the limp body of a man. Ranger, it had turned out to be. And none too clean by the looks of the table where his clothes had left dirty marks on the freshly scrubbed surface.

Well, he’d left . . . before she could clean and dress his wound; his rescuers trailing out the door behind him. Leaving her to clean the table after him. And now there was Buttercup fretting and fuming over her cider soaked apron and clothes. She was sponging away at them, quite ineffectively when Cook ordered her up to her room to change into clean, dry ones. ‘Be faster,’ she called after the grumbling Hobbit. ‘And change that look on your face while you’re up there, Miss! I’m sure Master Gil apologized. He’s a well mannered lad at heart. I don’t want you scaring the customers off with a soured frown.’

She’d almost forgotten that someone had knocked at the door earlier. Balancing the stirring spoon on the stew pot, she wiped her hands on her apron and reached up to tuck her errant grey curls behind her ears. ‘Goodness gracious! I hope the poor dear left standing there has not gone off in a huff.’ As quick as her legs could carry her she came to the door and opened it.

There was no one there. The step was empty. She was just about to shut the door, when she heard the faint rustle of someone’s cloak. And then a tall figure stepped up onto the little porch, looming over her.

Cook stifled a gasp and put her hand to her heart to keep it from leaping out her chest. ‘Land sakes, Master Lithmirë. You scared me half to death! Come in! Come in! You’ve not missed supper. And I’ve put together some of your tea herbs for you.’ She motioned him to follow her to the table the Ranger had recently vacated and bade him sit down. ‘Just let me brew some up in a little pot, then we’ll have a bite to eat together.’

She poured the hot water in the pot and set it in front of him, along with a cup. ‘I’ve spoken with Granny Oldbuck,’ she said, keeping a steady patter of conversation going. The Elf was a quiet one, and rather skittish. Best to keep a stream of calm words going. ‘She says it’s fine if you come up to her place and poke about in the woods round her house. I told her we might come up tomorrow . . . that is if you’d like to . . .’