Poetry Penelope stood on the roots of a large oak and looked upwards. A sunbeam, filtered through the leaves and branches, warmed her face. She closed her eyes and sighed with content. Something poked the tip of her nose. Her eyes flew open and there was her brother, Dickie, holding a small tree branch out to her face. "Penny, you're going to make your freckles that much worse if you stand out in the sun." She pushed the branch away, but he pretended to fence with it. "Don't scratch me with that thing. And there is nothing wrong with my freckles." Penelope could list more than a few physical flaws - her need for reading glasses at a young age, the attention-provoking color of her hair, the overly large heft of her bosom and hips - but she didn't consider a light smattering of freckles a serious one. "But it's not fashionable. Fashionable women stay out of the sun to protect their delicate faces. Wouldn't you rather be seen as delicate and fashionable, as opposed to -" "As opposed to what?" Her eyes narrowed and her tone chilled, but Dickie opened his mouth to plunge in obliviously. As he often did. "As opposed to the iconoclastic, enigmatic creature that you so obviously are meant to be." Jasper walked up and inserted himself between brother and sister. "And your freckles are just so - never change them." Dickie instantly forgot antagonizing his sister and grabbed Jasper's hand, pumping it fervently. "Hey, old man! I wondered were you were. Rowena and Caroline are amenable to a row across the lake, eh? Which would you like to curry favor with?" "Give me some time, I just got here and I'm rather famished. This picnic does have food? Palatable, even?" "Sure, sure, just don't dally too long! Someone else might beat us to ..." Jasper coughed and Dickie took a quick look at Penelope. "Oh, right! Uh, might beat us to the boats. Wouldn't want that. Nope. Go eat, old man, I'll catch up with you later." Jasper smiled. "Of course. Now, if I may ask the lady to lead me to the comestibles?" He turned to Penelope and smiled, full of guile and smarm. It took effort for Penelope not to snort, but she took his arm and led him to the blankets where the day's open-air feast was spread. "Good thing you came when you did. One of us would have lost an eye." "Dickie would look rakish with an eyepatch, but you would make the better corsair. If only because you're far more ruthless than he could ever be." "Jasper! That is not a fitting compliment for a lady!" He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "But we both know it is quite a fitting compliment for YOU. And when I get Dickie alone, I plan to find out what you're both up to." She blushed and removed her hand from his arm in front of the spread. He squatted down and looked for a plate. "Where is everyone?" "Walking off lunch. You are 2 hours late." "Pfft. You mean to tell me that I'm the only straggler?" "Yes. I'm sure people will be wandering back soon, so you will not lack for company. I will go for a walk." "Suit yourself. Don't twist your ankle." "Hmph." She was actually happy for some solitude. The trouble affecting Dickie, while not seeming to burden him, weighed acutely on her mind, as well as her other obligations and duties. Time alone, fresh air and a different environment, even though they weren't far from the heart of London, all helped to clear her head. The Wolcott family was comfortably ensconced in the gentry class, with enough standing that its members could mix socially with the peerage without shame. As such, Penelope had an active social calendar, in addition to assisting her widowed mother with the household, charity and advocacy work she promoted, and the intellectual assignments she sometimes took on, sometimes for pay but more often for the challenge of stretching her analytical skills. Now, Dickie's troubles were piled on top of that and had led to some dangerous moments. She felt weary, older than her twenty-two years, and at a remove from most of the people in her social circle. She had acquaintances and friends, but no bosom companions she could trust with secrets, not with her younger sister Esme off on the Continent in finishing school. Could she trust Jasper? She'd known him for years, since Dickie met him at Eton and brought him home one holiday. He could be vain, irritating and illogical, but he wasn't nearly as empty-headed as Dickie was at times. He could prove to be a help. Penelope shook herself to dispel the thoughts that threatened to weigh her down once more. 'One afternoon,' she told herself. 'I deserve one afternoon free of worry, and I will not waste it.' She circled back and found many of the picnic's attendees had re-formed. Standing against a tree, sun at his back, thinning salt & pepper hair whipped by the wind, was the poet from Baroness Von Ostberg's soiree. "You lovely youth!" he cried. "Thank you for giving me admittance to your assembly! I have a new poem to share with you all, inspired by my new muse!" Penelope stopped dead in her tracks. The man coughed, then took out a scrap of paper and held his arm up. "This shan't be long." In a loud, clear voice, he read: Erato My muse, a phoenix, bird of fire Doeth bewitch, entice and inspire My mind is wrought, my heart's aflame Her incendiary temper I dare to tame With hair ablaze, raging red A conflagration across the bed Lush and eager, outside her nest She stands naked, with proud full chest A mighty bird, flared to life My breast is filled with passions rife For this dear bird, with her bright wings Brings lust anew and my loins sing. There was stunned silence, followed by light applause, with many covering their face to hide smirks and agog looks. Someone piped up, “Mr. Fallowes, who is this muse that inspired such wordplay?” Someone spluttered. The older man wagged his finger. “That’s only a first draft, mind you, but I feel this is the start of a creative rebirth! But I must secure her fealty from a less artiste before I can proclaim her publicly. But I hope to unveil her soon.” There was chortling from several young men. Penelope wondered if throwing herself into the river would be a viable alternative to returning to the picnic and facing her new admirer. Even if everyone else could not guess who the poem was for, there was no way that he would be discreet enough to not fawn over her. She hoped that he would leave immediately, but instead he fell upon the remaining food with a relish and appeared to have no desire to depart. “Good Lord, that was truly foul.” Penelope turned to find Jasper behind her. “Where did you come from?” He shrugged. “I tried to catch up with you. Isn’t that the sot you ran into at the Baroness’ party?” She hung her head and exhaled. “That doggerel … it’s not about YOU?” He tilted his head in confusion. She gave a very tiny nod. “You lure him to the riverbank, I can shove him in, we’ll drown that piece of,” he paused, shuddering, “art. If we’re lucky, he’ll catch pneumonia and will be too weak to lift a pen again.” A smile quirked at a corner of her mouth. “Mr. Fallowes appears to be a harmless … talentless … lecherous man. Who’s harmless. And dear heavens, did you hear all of that poem?” “Good woman, do not insult the fine arts by describing his work as poetry.” Jasper pulled a grotesque face. “Are you a connoisseur of the form?” “Not enough to pollute the world with my pitiful scribblings. My last tutor agreed I could stop writing in good conscience. But a great poem has an effect on the soul that cannot be discounted, even by a logical, scientific mind such as yours.” Penelope raised an eyebrow, happy for the distraction but thinking on how to avoid a confrontation. “Listen and learn, Miss Wolcott.” Jasper caught her gaze and held it with an intense stare as he softly recited: “I loved you first: but afterwards your love Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. Which owes the other most? my love was long, And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; I loved and guessed at you, you construed me And loved me for what might or might not be – Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine;’ With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done, For one is both and both are one in love: Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’ Both have the strength and both the length thereof, Both of us, of the love which makes us one.It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; If only now I could recall that touch, First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!” Penelope found herself following the rhythm of his cadence, letting the words wash over her. She murmured, “Well done, sir.” He bowed. “I have lots of practice. Starting in my shaving mirror every morning.” “Of course you do. Is that part of your repertoire for wooing your cadre of femmes?” His voice, low, soft and deep, was altogether too soothing. She re-considered whether she could truly trust him. It’s one thing to be empty-headed, another to be … calculating. She frowned. “I hope you enjoyed that. Christina Rossetti is one of my favorite poets.” “Yes, I did, thank you. You amply demonstrated your point.” He sighed. “Most women would swoon.” She snapped, “And how am I most women?” “My point exactly.” Penelope stepped forward, ready to stalk away and wait out the gluttonous Mr. Fallowes from a safe distance. He touched her arm. “Stop! Pax? May I bring your things and escort you home?” “What about Dickie?” “He’s strong enough to row his own boat and Rowena and Caroline aren’t that heavy.” He grinned cheekily. Penelope nodded with a slight smile. “I would appreciate being able to leave sooner rather than later.” “I will be right back. Do not move … or I’ll tell Mr. Fallowes where you live.” He dashed away before she could hit him.

Tiny Penelope knelt under the escritoire, right hand wedged into the small gap between the long middle drawer and the back of the desk. Curving her hand, her fingers cleared a second space; the rear wall of the drawer was not of a height to meet the bottom of the desk's surface. Her fingers wiggled, but could not move beyond 3-4 inches. She felt a couple of smooth cylinders, pens most likely, and a wet, slightly tacky spot. She whispered to herself, "Damn and blast!” A shrill voice unexpectedly answered, "Young lady, such language! And invading my inner sanctum as well!” Penelope started, then cracked her head on the desk. “Ooww!” She withdrew her hand and crawled out, prepared to face her livid hostess. But instead of fashionable pumps and a voluminous skirt, she saw long men's loafers, perfectly tailored suit slacks, and on up until her eyes met those of Jasper. He smirked. "My dear girl, what do you think you’re doing?” he said in a high-pitched tone. She slapped his right shoulder hard, then pulled him into a small alcove in the corner of the room farthest from the door. “What DO you think you are DOING, you feather brained popinjay??” She hissed at him, wishing she could give him the sock in the jaw he deserved without compromising herself or her mission. “Are you sure no one saw you enter this room?” He sniffed. “Of course, I -” “And no one would think to look for you?” “Why no, I -” “And no one is looking for me?” “Other than me? No.” Jasper looked down his nose at her, eyes narrowed and lips thinned. Penelope put her hand over his mouth and pinched the inside of his left elbow. “Then why did you interrupt me!?” It was as quiet a screech as She could manage, but it was nonetheless a screech. He said nothing but dropped his eyes, as if gesturing at her hand. She lifted her hand. “Well?” He drew himself to his full height, a good head & a half taller than her, and drawled, “You disappeared and I was overtaken by a vision of you committing a felony somewhere. I had to see if my vision came true, and lo, the oracle did not fail me.” “You could stand to be a little quieter, if you don't want us to get caught!” Penelope continued to hiss. It fit her mood and her anger at Jasper that she could imagine hissing at him for hours. Days, even. In a soft whisper, he countered, “So says the woman I caught trespassing in private rooms, breaking into locked desks, no doubt planning to steal personal items ...” “Never mind me, you're supposed to be out there, beguiling and distracting Baroness Von Ostberg.” “Why would I want to do that? Besides, the Bloomsbury set in attendance has her quite beguiled. Wait ... you invited me to come with you to be a distraction? You planned this all along!” “Shhhh! Keep your voice down! I thought you would enjoy a lovely soirée with Bohemians and a ... mature woman to flirt with.” “You're using me as a decoy. While you take something that belongs to her.” Jasper's tone was dangerously flat. Warning bells chimed in her mind that perhaps she had pushed hi too far, taken him took much for granted. “I am sorry. I -- I should not have dragged you into this. But I assure you that I would not go to such lengths if the circumstances weren't dire and the Baroness wasn't a villainess of the highest order.” “You speak nonsense. Is the Baroness caught up in this great mystery of yours?” Penelope nodded. “Please believe me. This isn't a lark.” Jasper looked at her skeptically. “A great mystery you haven't told me a thing about.” Her head dropped. “Dickie made me promise not to tell a soul.” He snorted lightly. “I have a fondness for your brother, but he can be a bloody idiot. Is this one of his scraps?” “I wish. He's in a real jam. Terrible things could happen, to him and the family, unless he can get out of it. And you know how well Dickie can get himself out of scraps.” “You mean not at all?” He brought his hand to her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “This does seem to be a level of mischief beyond your usual inclinations. And I intend to get the full story for either you or him. But for now,” he sighed in resignation, “just what do you need from this room?” “A small ledger. It will furnish proof of Dickie’s innocence.” Penelope felt such relief that she wanted to lean against the wall, close her eyes, and take a few deep breaths. But there was no time. She and Jasper had to take the ledger and get out before people noticed they missed much of the party. “And the ledger is in a locked drawer in that desk?” Jasper walked out of the alcove and stood behind the desk. “Yes.” “Well, let me just force the lock -” “No! She can't know it's missing right away. It would give away that someone is acting against her, and she'll move more quickly against Dickie.” Jasper rubbed his jaw. “You know the ledger is there?” “Dickie confirmed it.” “And you don't want to break the desk to get at it. Just what were you doing down there when I came in?” “There is a tiny gap in the back of the drawer. I could slide my fingers through, but they weren't long enough to retrieve the book.” Jasper held up one hand and placed one of Penelope’s up to the palm. His hand was bigger, but his fingers were very slim and quite long. “Just how tiny is that space?” Her eyes gleamed with hope. “Your hand could fit.” He looked at her with a dubious expression, but removed his jacket, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the desk. “Found the gap?” “Yes, now be patient ... ouch!” “What is it?” “I think I got a splinter on the back of my hand.” “T'is but a scrape. Do hurry.” He muttered dark imprecations against larcenous females, but he quieted soon after. She heard scraping and rattling from with the desk. “I found something. There's something bookish in here, soft leather cover. Um, Pen?” “What?” “What if the book is too thick to remove?” “It can't be!” Penelope groaned. “I don't bloody well see why it couldn't be. Maybe if I can get it open ...” Time slowed. The scraping of Jasper’s fingers sounded inescapably loud in Penelope’s ears. The fear grew that the door could open at any moment, exposing her and Jasper to all sorts of embarassment, censure, even legal action. “Eureka! Got it.” Penelope lowered herself, then stretched out under the desk next to her partner in crime. The book had opened and flipped face down. She brought it out and flipped through it. The writing was neat, tiny and consisted of many codes. It could not be deciphered in a night. But at least she had it. “Pen, my hand is stuck.” Jasper's voice had risen in volume and pitch. “Don’t be silly, you managed to get your hand in, you can get it out. Just relax.” “I’m trying and it’s not working.” She heard him yanking against the drawer. “Think of something, Penny, please. I’ll break the desk if I have to.” “Stay calm. Let me think.” She crawled back under the desk and sat up. Jasper looked at her, his nostrils flaring. She took his wrist with both hands and yanked. “Ow! Damn!” “Quiet! Are you relaxing your hand?” “As much as I can, under the circumstances,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I have an idea! I’ll be right back!” She crawled out, scrambled quickly to her feet and slipped out the door with barely a whisper. Pausing to make sure she had not been seen, she crept down the hallway, making her way back to the dining room. She passed some bon vivants, who did not acknowledge her. Once in the dining room, she went to the sideboard, still set up with food for people to be served as they wished. Spying the butter dish on the end, she grabbed it and dashed out of the room, only to run directly into a large older man: grey-haired, bearded and dressed in a multicolored robe. “Well, now, who are you? Where have you been hiding all night with that brilliant hair?” He plucked a strand and stroked it with his thumb. “Your tresses blaze the the dying sun. What a muse you’d make!” Penelope tried to back away, but he grasped her shoulder. “Nay, do not leave me, bright angel, now that I have found you. I can write odes to your hair, sonnets to your eyes, an epic poem to your lips …” “Sir, I’m already occupied as …” He leaned close, pungent wine breath washing over her and making her eyes water. “No, no, let me liberate you from your life of drudgery.” “No, no, I am … I am already someone’s muse. He had me swear fealty to him.” “Some pup! One who relies more on looks and charm than actual talent. I can make you famous!” He took his hand off her shoulder to strike a dramatic pose. “My apologies! I’m sure you’re correct and I will be anonymous and unfeted. And it will serve me right! Good evening, sir!” She skittered away and sought the shadows as she fled back down the hall to the study. Jasper was still trapped, curses and rattling noises emanating from under the desk. Penelope ran over and ducked under the desk to join him, then uncovered the dish. “Is that … butter?” “Yes. My aunt Zelda once got her hand stuck in a vase, and Grandmother used butter to squeeze her hand back out.” Penelope took a good-sized dollop, spread it between her palms, then rubbed it onto Jasper’s wrist. She extended her fingers into the drawer and awkwardly applied the butter to his hand. “I’m not so sure this will work, Penny, but it does feel nice. Albeit, er, slick.” “Now, relax your hand and I will try to pull it out.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled, pinching his skin slightly and twisting his palm. “This is ludicrous. And my back hurts.” “But we’re making process. Slow, steady progress.” He groaned. She pressed against the mound of his palm with one hand, then tugged hard with the other — and he was free! He sighed. “Oh, thank God. Can we leave before this night gets worse?” She climbed out and got up, brushing her skirts, then offered her hand to him. He took it, only for their grip to slip. Jasper held up his greased hand. “Maybe I’ll do better on my own.” Penelope tried not to giggle as he got up, carefully pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped down his hand. He handed it to her with upraised brows and she accepted it, removing much of the butter from her hands. “Will the book fit in your bag?” “Easily.” And she popped the ledger into her reticule. “Wait. Don’t forget the butter dish.” Jasper was frowning at a deep yellow stain on his formerly spotless cuff. “Ah, yes.” Penelope took the dish and crept to the door, easing it open to peer out. “The way is clear.” Jasper nodded and turned down the lamps in the room, then followed her out in the hall. Together, they moved quietly and nonchalantly down the hall. Penelope stopped at the dining room and placed the butter dish back onto the side board. Before she cleared the door, the older poet from earlier arose from the darkened corner, pointing at Jasper. “You are the runt, the cur, that holds back this angel from greater glory. Your art cannot contain her beauty!” The man staggered forward a couple of steps, then fell backwards, thankfully onto a chair. The younger man stood gobsmacked at him for a moment, then looked at Penelope. “You have such interesting friends for being a nice girl,” he murmured. Penelope grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the front door. The footman had retrieved their coats and they were on the threshold when their hostess waylaid them. “Mr. Meredith! Miss Wolcott! It seems I have hardly shared your company this evening. And already you’re leaving! Making a short night of it?” Jasper took the Baroness’ hand and brought it to his lips. “Alas, my lady, I cannot stay due to pressing business, and as I escorted Miss Wolcott, I cannot in good conscience leave her behind with such … sophisticated company.” Jasper gave the woman a wolfish smile, and she grinned back with glittering eyes. Penelope opened her mouth to protest, but the Baroness turned to her and shook her head in pity. “But of course. Innocence must be protected. It is so rare, so precious, so easily lost.” Penelope dropped her gaze and dipped into a curtsy, registering the warning held in the older woman’s words. “Both of you are welcome to return. I love to host parties with a mix of personalities.” Von Ostberg rubbed her fingers together, then looked at them confusedly, noticing they were unusually greasy. Jasper pulled Penelope to him. “Right. Yes. Thank you kindly. We must be going. Can’t keep you from your other guests. Goodnight!” He practically ran down the front stairs, and Penelope struggled to keep up with him. 2 blocks away, he finally slowed, and she stopped to catch her breath. “Do you think she’s on to us?” Jasper rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know. But I felt like a fly buzzing too close to a spider web.” Penelope nodded. “Penny.” “Yes?” “I will find out the whole story. In the meantime — try not to do anything felonious without me. And stay away from the Baroness.” Penelope bit her lip, gnawing with worry. There were too balls in the air, too much danger. But she promised to see Dickie out of this mess. But maybe she needed some help.

Steam Penelope slipped into the last Turkish bath room in the spa, attempting to keep her heels from clicking loudly on the tiled floor. It was not the place she would have chosen for a rendezvous, but her contact insisted upon this place, sending along a key to a side entrance as well as instructions. A sky window let in bright moonlight, enough to admire the mosaic of a eucalyptus tree on the floor. But after a cursory notice, Penelope gave in to fretful pacing, lost in thought about the evidence she came to retrieve from the contact, evidence that would clear her brother, Freddy, from the charge of wanton murder. The click of a lock roused her attention. She ran to the door of the bath, but it was locked. She tugged on the knob, but it would not yield. She called out, “There’s been a mistake! Let me out, please!” When steam began pouring into the room from the side and floor vents, she shook the doorknob harder. A scrap of paper fluttered under the door and she bent to pick it up, then held it up to the skylight. It had only two words, in a formal, flowing script: ‘My apologies’. Curling her fists, Penelope banged on the door, crying out, “Help me! Please, anyone!” Wisps of steam swirled around her ankles and legs. The heat of the room rose steadily, causing her skirt and petticoats to wilt and her hair to curl. The mists continued to rise, filling the room. Her skin pinkened with warmth and exertion, she quickly found herself exhausted and overheated. The air was thickly humid and she couldn’t stop sweating. ‘I could die in here! I must get out!’ she thought. There was a table, holding towels and rods for back-scratch. She grabbed the table and crashed it into the door. Unfortunately, the door was much heavier than the table, and did not give way. The table, unfortunately, was smashed to bits. Bits she couldn’t see much of a use for in getting out. She looked up again. The skylight had a latch! But it was too far up for her to reach, more than 6 feet over her head. None of the back sticks were particularly long, but maybe if she could climb the ledges built in for lounging. But they were steep and her skirts were heavy. She pulled off her gown and untied her petticoats, kicking them aside. Her undergarments clung to her, and a thin sheen of steam and sweat covered her exposed skin. Without the heavy layers of clothing, she felt more agile, but the steam made it harder to see. Penelope’s breath grew labored and her head swam. ‘Must open the latch …’ The stick hit the window several times, not hard enough to break the window. Finally, the latch shifted. Trouble was, she couldn’t lift the window - the stick wasn’t long enough. The urge to lay down and cry overcame her, so that’s what she did. After a bit, she heard something on the roof. Penelope called out, despite the hoarseness of her voice, “Please, let me out!” She got up and stood tiptoe at the highest ledge, tapping the end of the back-scratching road against the window pane. Her limbs shook with fatigue and strain. She had to stop before falling off the ledge. When a face appeared in the skylight, she shouted hoarsely, “Push up on the window!” The person did so and rush of steam streamed out of the window. A man yelled, “Penny? You down there?” “Yes! Jasper??” “Penny, the hell you’re doing?” The man poked his head in the open skylight. “Gads, Penny, I can hardly see you.” “The door’s been locked from the outside! Can you find a key?” “I couldn’t even get in the building! It’s why I ended up climbing on the roof. I heard tapping.” “How did you even know I was here? Can you get me out?” “Not till morning! Are you better without all of that steam? And I was following you a discreet distance, you silly wigeon. Too discreet, apparently.” The last was muttered, but due to the acoustics of the room amplified his sotto voce. “Yes … no …” She was feeling better … better enough to feel panic over being caught in this place alive. “You have to get me out now!” Jasper’s dark locks hung damply over his forehead, his face screwed up in thought. “Shame we’re not acrobats …” “What?” “If we were acrobats, I could hang down and you could jump and catch my arms and I’d pull you out.” “Jasper Eversleigh, that is the stupidest plan I’ve heard out of your mouth … and we have no choice. Brace yourself.” “Pen, no … No! You could hurt yourself. You could hurt me!!” “Desperate times, Jasper! Please!” “Alright,” he growled. “Are you going to put your clothes back on?” Penelope looked at the pile in the corner. “No! Added weight.” “Penny, are you sure …” At that moment, Penny threw her right shoe at him, which narrowly missed his head. “Hey, watch that!” She followed up with her left shoe, which he caught and tossed aside. “Lean down … as low as you can without falling in!” “Damn ye curious, meddling, troublesome redheads with pert noses.” Jasper left the window for a bit. When he re-appeared, his coat was off and his shirt sleeves rolled up. Penelope spread a towel on the highest ledge and squatted to make a leap. She stood up straight, questioning the right stance. Then she pumped her arms back and forth, considering whether she should try for a short run. Back up a couple of steps, the only space she had, she then took a running leap. Her hands caught Jaspers’ forearms, and he attempted to grab her. “Lord, Penny, you’re as slippery as an eel. And have you put on weight?” She tried pulling herself up and reached for his shoulder, grabbing a handful of shirt. The cloth ripped, but did not tear completely. “Jasper, hurry, pull me out!” “I will if you don’t pull my arms out of their sockets … and don’t twist so!” Jasper’s fingers dug into her skin as he inched backwards out of the window, pulling her out by inches. “Alright, hold onto the edge!” She did so and he grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her out of the room entirely. They lay on the slanted roof on their backs, gasping for breath for several minutes. She was the first to speak. “Thank you for saving my life.” He nodded. “You’re welcome. But I haven’t saved your life yet. How will we get you home without clothes and without your mother noticing?” “First things first - how will we get off this roof?” “Oh, that’s easy. There’s a nice sturdy shed I used to climb up here. Should get us down in a pinch.” Penelope shivered violently. The cool night air was a blessing at first, but now her body temperature was dropping rapidly. “Take my coat.” Jasper pulled Penelope into a sitting position and put his coat over her. She slid her arms into the sleeves and wrapped it tightly around her front. “Where are my shoes?” “There, but you’re better off without them until we’re on the ground. Women’s shoes are abhorrent for slippery surfaces.” She crawled forward and retrieved her shoes, then put them in the outer pockets of the coat. “No point in delaying the inevitable, and I need a … er, not-too-warm bed tonight.” He saluted her sardonically. “At your command, Taskmistress.” Standing up, he held his hand out to her and pulled her to her feet, then slowly made his way down to the edge of the roof. She held his hand and followed gingerly in her stocking feet. He let go of her hand, jumped down onto the flat roof of the small shed, then leaped onto the ground. Penelope looked down. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but she still felt wobbly. “Come on! I’ll catch you!” Jasper held his arms up. She nodded and hopped down onto the shed, then flung herself into Jasper’s arms with enough momentum to knock him to the ground. “Oh Lord, Pen, couldn’t you give some warning?” He groaned. “Are you hurt, Jasper?” She was on top of him, and put her hands over him to feel for breaks. “Just get up and stop handling me, please.” She got up, blushing, and put her shoes on as he rose from the ground and brushed dirt and grass from his clothes. Next thing she knew, Penelope found herself in Jasper’s arms, being embraced roughly. “Penelope, don’t you dare scare me like that again.” His voice was raspy and deep; it was rare that she heard him sound so somber. Penelope hugged him back. “But Jasper, I …” He squeezed harder, and she squeaked. “I know. You have a mystery to uncover.” His grip eased but he didn’t let go entirely. “I do. Please don’t try to stop me.” Her chest tightened and tears welled up in her eyes; the emotional impact of her ordeal started to hit her all at once and she feared she would collapse soon. “As if anyone could stop you. Just have a care for yourself. Or I’ll have to do it for you, and neither of us want that. Now, homeward.” Penelope pushed all thoughts aside and just focused on Jasper’s warmth as they walked to her home in the shadows, looking all the world like an affectionate couple arm-in-arm.