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Widow Rosebank rinsed her face and hands, taking pleasure in the feel of the clean warm water on her skin. The roads in the Shire were not nearly as dusty as the Great Road from Bree to the Brandywine Bridge, and she had traveled only a short distance that morning, but she had discovered that she did like to freshen up after traveling. Normally she would have cleaned up right after breakfast, but she had been sidetracked by the friendly hobbit, Miz Bella. Drying her face and hands, the widow thought of her ‘sale’ of threads to Miz Bella and shook her head. She had certainly done her purse no favor!
‘Ah well,’ she thought, ‘there’s other profit besides gold and silver.’ The teacher seemed to be a person of some importance at the Green Dragon; besides, Ebba Rosebank had a high regard for teachers. Ebba hoped Miz Bella might put in a good word for her if she could fine someone to talk to about selling her goods at this fair she’d heard about.
Having finally cornered one of the serving girls and paid for a room at the Green Dragon for a few days, Ebba needed to unpack her things. The two large leather saddlebags had been tossed on the wooden chair near the large bed (at least large by hobbit standards; even though she was a small Woman, Ebba would have been cramped in hobbit-sized furniture). Placing them on the bed, Ebba took out a change of clothes and neatly arranged her personal belongings in the clothes press cleverly built into one corner of the room. Her remaining merchandise was a bit of a problem, though. There wasn’t a lot, as she had had to fit it into one of her bags, but Ebba didn’t care to have her goods out for the taking. The Green Dragon was clearly a decent respectable house, but thieves could visit even the nicest places. After changing, she looked around the small room to see if there was a secure place for her merchandise.
The door opened to show a small washstand with a pitcher and bowl along the right-hand wall, with a mirror above it. Directly opposite the door was a window with a chair in front of it, inviting a guest to sit down and enjoy the bright midday sun shining in. The bed, covered with a pretty blue and green quilt, was next to the chair and window, with a night stand beyond it in the corner. The clothes press was a medium-sized cupboard at the angle of the walls closest to the foot of the bed. Between the clothes press and the doorway, opposite the foot of the bed, a row of pegs held Widow Rosebank’s now-empty saddlebags, the breeches and the blouse she’d traveled in, and the woolen cloak she’d brought in case of bad weather.
Ebba shut the door and pondered the small, plain room. “I don’t think you could hide a mouse’s whisker in here,” she said to herself. Suddenly a thought struck her. “Aha,” she exclaimed. After rearranging a few things, she stood by door and looked around the room once more. It wasn’t perfectly safe, but at least now there was no sign of the things she’d brought with her to sell.
As long as the whereabouts of the innkeeper continued to be a mystery, Ebba would see if she could coax some information out of the cook. The hobbit that had shown her up to the room (Ruby, was it?) Had shown a lively fear of the ruler of the Green Dragons kitchen, but had stammered out a name: Vinca Bunce.
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