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Prim had come awake with the dowsing. Fully awake . . . and was loudly protesting Will’s extreme measures at bringing her round. She spluttered to her feet, smoothing down her nightgown, and glared at him.
‘Oh, Granny!’ Rowan waved at the elder Hobbit to come on in. ‘So sorry you had to come at such a time!’ She led Granny to the table and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. ‘We’re all in a big pickle this morning, as you can see.’ She pointed round to the cold stove, the fireless grate, the skillets empty of eggs, bacon, sausage, ham. No thick slices of bread toasting on forks by the coals. No kettle singing on the hob by the fire.
‘Cook’s gone missing.’ She stated it as a plain fact, trying to keep the rising panic she was feeling from her voice. ‘We don’t know what happened.’ Rowan put her hand on Granny’s arm. ‘You wouldn’t know where she’s gone, do you Granny?’
A face peeked through the door from the Common Room just as Rowan finished speaking. ‘Begging your pardon, Miz Rowan, but will there be breakfast coming . . . or second breakfast . . . or elevenses . . .?
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