Rosie was laughing and Mari was laughing and laughter was all the sweeter in these dark days, but they both paused to catch their breath, and in the silence they heard a footfall in the garden's rustling meant to be stealthy though it thudded in their ears.
Rosie stared at Mari, staring round-eyed at her, and knew they thought the same, their hearts beating panicked as rabbits' as another step thumped down, then another. But Bagshot Row's little dwellings didn't have the deep cellars of Rosie's farmhouse, the pantry would be a trap. Where might they hide?
Rosie thought, and stood and caught Mari's hand. Quietly as they might, they dashed down the hall, Rosie leading Mari towards the lads' room, now disused. Sam's old bed stood there, almost a year empty, walled around with parcels and boxes and bags and mathoms.
Just as Rosie nudged one sack of cloaks and scarves aside, a heavy blow resounded from the door. Barely daring to breathe as a few specks of dust floated up, shaking with each bang at the door, Rosie and Mari silently tugged the bag aside, and Rosie pushed Mari before her, squirmed after and began pulling the bag back.
The Ruffian outside wasn't even calling for entrance. His only goal was to break the door and loot the house. Mari squirmed round, flat on her belly in the bed's dusty underfloor, and jerked the bag to so it fell across their hiding place, blocking all but a chink of afternoon light.
The door-latch gave, and the Man ducked in, cursing at the lintel, stomping through the house. "Little coneys," he crooned, voice deep and growling like a beast from a tale, "Little coneys, where be you? I heard you, here's your grub you've left, now where are you?" Mari lay shaking against Rosie's side, and Rosie clutched her hand; dust tickled her nose, so she breathed soft as she could through her mouth.
The Ruffian stomped the halls, pushing doors open, treading into every room. Rosie watched through the chink as his dirty boots paced past the open doorway of the lads' room, once up the hall, once back again. Her heart bounced against her ribs with his every call, Mari shaking till Rosie feared her teeth should chatter, as they clutched hand around hand and listened to him roam the Gamgees' smial.
At length they heard him snuffling and gorging in the kitchen, smashing crocks and cursing again, and banging the door as he left. Mari made to crawl forward but Rosie held her back, thinking the slowest song she knew as she waited, lest he stood just by the door waiting for them.
After that Rosie dared to whisper, "D'ye think he's gone?"
Mari drew breath to answer, and immediately sneezed.
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Date: 2010-03-24 05:13 pm (UTC)Rosie was laughing and Mari was laughing and laughter was all the sweeter in these dark days, but they both paused to catch their breath, and in the silence they heard a footfall in the garden's rustling meant to be stealthy though it thudded in their ears.
Rosie stared at Mari, staring round-eyed at her, and knew they thought the same, their hearts beating panicked as rabbits' as another step thumped down, then another. But Bagshot Row's little dwellings didn't have the deep cellars of Rosie's farmhouse, the pantry would be a trap. Where might they hide?
Rosie thought, and stood and caught Mari's hand. Quietly as they might, they dashed down the hall, Rosie leading Mari towards the lads' room, now disused. Sam's old bed stood there, almost a year empty, walled around with parcels and boxes and bags and mathoms.
Just as Rosie nudged one sack of cloaks and scarves aside, a heavy blow resounded from the door. Barely daring to breathe as a few specks of dust floated up, shaking with each bang at the door, Rosie and Mari silently tugged the bag aside, and Rosie pushed Mari before her, squirmed after and began pulling the bag back.
The Ruffian outside wasn't even calling for entrance. His only goal was to break the door and loot the house. Mari squirmed round, flat on her belly in the bed's dusty underfloor, and jerked the bag to so it fell across their hiding place, blocking all but a chink of afternoon light.
The door-latch gave, and the Man ducked in, cursing at the lintel, stomping through the house. "Little coneys," he crooned, voice deep and growling like a beast from a tale, "Little coneys, where be you? I heard you, here's your grub you've left, now where are you?" Mari lay shaking against Rosie's side, and Rosie clutched her hand; dust tickled her nose, so she breathed soft as she could through her mouth.
The Ruffian stomped the halls, pushing doors open, treading into every room. Rosie watched through the chink as his dirty boots paced past the open doorway of the lads' room, once up the hall, once back again. Her heart bounced against her ribs with his every call, Mari shaking till Rosie feared her teeth should chatter, as they clutched hand around hand and listened to him roam the Gamgees' smial.
At length they heard him snuffling and gorging in the kitchen, smashing crocks and cursing again, and banging the door as he left. Mari made to crawl forward but Rosie held her back, thinking the slowest song she knew as she waited, lest he stood just by the door waiting for them.
After that Rosie dared to whisper, "D'ye think he's gone?"
Mari drew breath to answer, and immediately sneezed.