Chapter Text
Penelope could count on one hand the number of times something legitimately exciting had happened at the library where she worked.
There was the time Mr. Fitzsimmons had forgotten to engage his parking brake, and his car rolled through the glass reading room while the ladies’ book club squawked and screamed in horror.
There had been the man who stumbled in after being stabbed in the stomach during some sort of disagreement in the car park, asking for an ambulance as his face slowly turned paper white.
And, of course, there was the time Penelope’s boss had been fired and went stomping up and down the aisles in the reference area, shouting and tearing down the flyers for the children’s reading group and the tutoring adverts. Then he had started tipping over the shelves, and someone called for a constable to remove him.
Penelope rather preferred the unexciting days. There were small moments of joy and hilarity sprinkled throughout, and it was those stories that made her kick off her kitten heels at the end of the day, heave a satisfied sigh, and fall asleep with a smile on her face.
Like the time she spent nearly all day helping an elderly woman comb through their poetry collections, looking for one in particular so she could read it at her fortieth wedding anniversary. The poem itself was a beautiful tribute to everlasting love, and when the woman confirmed it was the one she had been searching for, her eyes had started sparkling with tears, and Penelope had laughed but started tearing up, too.
And there were the local university boys who had shown up with a special assignment from their professor—what they called a literary scavenger hunt. It consisted mostly of following a series of references all the way to back to Lucretius and keeping track of the winding path to the ancient sciences. Penelope had found it fascinating and actually lost sleep thinking up her own version of the game, but her boss (now ex-boss) had scoffed and told her to stick to her usual duties of reshelving returns and collecting fines for overdue books.
Today, she was the opening clerk for the reference department, which was decidedly a mixed bag of possible experiences. Anyone who turned up early at the library with research to do almost assuredly had some sort of urgent business to conduct, or they planned to stay all day toiling away at one of the desks by the window overlooking the brown garden.
Penelope dressed as smartly as she could, hearing her mother’s voice in her head as she removed the pins from her hair and smoothed away her frizz. The worst was when her mother’s advice was good, but cruelly delivered, and her advice to always dress her best was unequivocally good.
Because one never did know who one was going to run into at the reference desk.
When Penelope arrived at the staff entrance and slid her key into the lock, she noted there were already several cars parked out front. Bustling up the staircase to the second floor with the big picture windows overlooking the garden, she kept her chin up and put on a cheery smile, thinking of the lipstick she triple-checked wasn’t on her teeth. The bus hadn’t been overly crowded that particular morning, and the news she’d overheard on the radio hadn’t been particularly bleak. Well, no bleaker than usual, what with the daily reports of casualties and bombings peppered all over Europe.
Tucking her purse beneath the reference desk and shedding her jacket, Penelope walked to the bank of light switches and flipped them one at a time, glancing up to see if any were flickering or otherwise misbehaving, then smoothed her skirt and took a moment to look out the window.
Outside the double doors with the fogged glass, someone knocked. From the knock alone, Penelope could tell whoever it was felt somewhat chagrined to have to knock, though she wagered he or she was probably in a bit of a hurry. So, steeling herself with a deep breath, she clicked on her kitten heels straight to the doors, turned the deadbolt, and twisted the knobs, pulling them open.
Good morning! had been on the tip of her tongue, but the moment she spotted who had been knocking, her mouth went dry.
She couldn’t help but notice his uniform first—the olive green jacket with the gold buttons and belted waist, plus the cap he’d balanced on his head at just the right angle to give him a slightly roguish air. It covered his dark, pomaded hair and made his eyes—navy blue and unfairly stunning—pop as his eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Good morning,” Penelope said, putting accidental emphasis on the latter half of her breathless greeting, helplessly looking him up and down once more.
The man’s face immediately spread into a crooked grin. “We’ll see about that. I don’t suppose you have any books on word puzzles or cryptograms?”
Despite wanting to spend the next twenty or so minutes drooling over this handsome specimen (in a uniform no less!), Penelope straightened and looked over her shoulder at the rows upon rows of shelves. “There are crossword puzzle collections, of course, and some volumes with mind teasers. Is there something specific you’re looking for?”
A cloud of reluctant caginess descended at once. “No, unfortunately, nothing specific. I’ve just been trying to—it’s more like I’m trying to find some inspiration, or a pattern that I might extrapolate.”
Penelope nodded, some niggling part of her brain starting to buzz already. “Something to help knock the Krauts on their behinds, I presume?”
Barking out a laugh, the man swept his hat off and wrinkled his nose. “Not quite, although I suppose it may help. You never can tell what’s going to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, can you?” He cleared his throat carefully. “The, erm, books?”
Penelope tilted her head, feeling her cheeks heat. “Of course. Follow me.”
She showed him two slim shelves loaded with books that were filled with word puzzles of all types—word searches, crosswords, and puns that were both clever and groan-worthy, pulling out the ones she thought were most likely to discuss the actual crafting of said puzzles rather than simply collections of the puzzles themselves. There were a handful of philosophy texts she found while he pored over the few volumes she’d already pulled for him, writings on the philosophy of language and theories about communication.
After only half an hour, the man removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, standing so he could spread several of the books out at once, walking briskly in circles around the table and holding up a sheet of paper that he had extracted from his jacket pocket.
Penelope had always been too curious for her own good. She had never been able to resist putting her ear to a door when there was juicy gossip to be had, and an army officer striding into her reference department poring over books about cryptograms and hidden messages? It screamed something juicy.
Not to mention he was possibly the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever seen. The fact she’d managed to string together more than a few words in his presence was a miracle in itself.
She whisked herself into the staff-only area to start percolating some coffee, double-checking the schedule so she knew how risky it would be buttering up the officer with coffee he should not be drinking when there were precious books to spill on. Chewing her lip, Penelope waited just long enough the sludge turned into something drinkable, then poured it into a paper cup and pulled her shoulders back.
The man glanced up when she set the cup in the center of the table, watching as she put her hands on her hips.
“Are you one of them?” she asked, trying to thread the needle between accusation and awe.
He flattened his hands to the table, looking up through his lashes at her with another crooked grin. “I doubt it, but I’ll bite—one of what, exactly?”
She looked at the desk, half expecting her partner in crime, Genevieve, to show up any second now, even though it would be nearly an hour before her shift began.
“You know,” she whispered, gesturing vaguely at the table and the books. “A code breaker.”
His smile thinned as he rolled his lips in. “Well, I’m trying to be. But while we’re toiling away translating what little we’ve been able to intercept this past week, my older brother handed me this charming bit of nonsense. He said if I was worth my salt, I’d have no trouble at all with it. I’m convinced it’s a prank.”
Penelope tilted her head as he straightened and grabbed the piece of paper he’d brought with him, frowning when he slid it across the desk to her and picked up the coffee she’d put on the table. As he sipped, she lifted the paper and looked at the spirited bit of gobbledygook printed on the page.
“It was apparently on a sign hung in a fishing lodge my father used to frequent before he died. My brother wrote it from memory, said it was a perfect example of something lying in plain sight. So, I’m probably overthinking it, as I’m prone to do.”
Casting him a tentative smile, Penelope did her best to read what was on the page.
THE CLUB'S INVITATION
Here's to Pa'Nds PenDas'
OCIalh OUR inhaRMLes,
Smirt-ha! N D-Fun,
leTFRIE'Nds-HIPREi'gn Beju-
STan-DKIN-dan-Devils
PEAK of None.
“I thought the capital letters might be the first letters of each word, and maybe they’re in order of how I should rearrange the other letters, but it almost reads as it is, except for some of the contractions’ odd placements, and I can’t figure out why the hyphens—“
It clicked into place while he yammered in her ear. Even though he stepped closer and Penelope could catch a slight whiff of his cologne, she registered almost nothing aside from the way the meaning of the words simply snapped into place.
“It’s not a code at all,” she interrupted, unable to help the little tremor of excitement that made her voice wobble. “Here, look.” She turned so he could read over her shoulder, tracing her finger beneath the letters as she read it aloud.
The CLUB’S INVITATION
Here stop and spend a social hour
in harmless mirth and fun!
Let friendship reign, be just and kind
and evil speak of none.
When she turned her head to grin at him, his mouth was open, a hard look of irritation mixed with amusement in his eyes.
“Damnit, I hate when Anthony is right,” he mumbled, snatching the paper from her. “It’s just—the spaces between the words, with nonsense punctuation sprinkled in? And here I’ve been making smoke come out my ears trying to figure out what on earth here’s to pands pendas bloody means.”
Giggling, Penelope bit her lip, sitting back to watch him scrape his eyes over the words again and again, seemingly confused how he had missed such a simple and convoluted thing.
“How did you do it?” he asked suddenly, looking at her with a blend of curiosity and suspicion, as well as a little bit of awe. “Have you seen it before? Something like it?”
For some reason, her stomach tightened with nerves, thinking she had to be very careful about her answer even though she didn’t have anything to hide. It wasn’t every day an actual officer wandered into the library, and she couldn’t help but think there was more to his appearance than trying to solve some silly rhyming puzzle that had apparently bedecked his late father’s fishing lodge.
“I’ve never seen it, and I don’t think I’ve seen anything precisely like it, but sometimes when I look at puzzles they just...they pop out to me. This one clicked. All at once. There’s no process to it.” She tried on a grin. “You can tell your brother the same when he asks how you figured it out.”
He laughed, looking at the books spread all over the table, swiping a hand suddenly through his hair. “Well, there goes my morning. I was hoping for a distraction while we wait for—actually, I’ve probably said entirely too much already. It’s just a nice breather from hunching over my desk. Except I feel sort of guilty not honing my craft, so to speak.” He let out a rush of air, looking suddenly into her eyes as if he was certain she would understand, which Penelope sort of felt she did, in a way. “I think he got sick of me pacing the floor and sighing dramatically at the tea kettle, so he gave me something to get me out of his hair for a bit.”
She hummed, looking around the quiet of the reference section. “Could do a lot worse. There’s good company in books, and you even got a cup of mediocre coffee for your trouble.”
His eyes slitted as he threw a wide, knowing grin at her. “Got to chat up a pretty girl, too.”
Penelope ducked her chin at once, knowing she would erupt into a furious blush. Fidgeting with one of the books on the table, she did her best not to squirm too much, convinced he was simply playing nice.
“I’m Colin, by the way,” he said softly, leaning down with his head tilted to catch her eye.
She looked up through her lashes. “Just Colin?”
He smiled, the warmth of it utterly disarming. “Colin Bridgerton. Technically a lieutenant, but it’s mostly ceremonial. My brother flatly refused to let me go anywhere to command any troops myself.”
His tone was light like she might find the confession endearing, or at the very least amusing, but she detected the barest note of derision buried under the humor.
“Out of love or jealousy?” she asked, helplessly curious.
He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Fear. My brother Benedict is stationed in eastern France right now. Our mum sits by the postbox every day waiting for his letters.”
Her heart panged at once. She had no brothers to fret over, and her father had passed years ago, but she could imagine how horrible it must be knowing a loved one was somewhere far away, with the enemy actively plotting a way to sneak past their defenses to shell their base until nothing but rubble remained.
“Still, I can be useful,” Colin said abruptly, his voice overly bright and cheery. “I’ve always liked reading, and I used to make these silly little codes so my sisters and I could slip notes under each other’s doors and no one else could read them.”
Raising her eyebrows, Penelope shot him an impressed look. “So, is it true, then? You’ve started making headway deciphering the messages coming from the front?”
His smile tightened. “Well, even if we did, we couldn’t just react to each and every one, or else they would know we’d figured it out and they’d change it. They already change the cipher every day—again, I’m saying entirely too much.”
She laughed, propping her hip on the edge of the table and folding her arms. “Well, lucky for you, I barely talk to anyone, so the risk of me blabbing is really quite low. Practically zero, in fact.”
“But not zero,” he replied, quirking an eyebrow.
“I do have a cat, and I admit—I tell him almost everything. He’s an incredibly good listener, so long as there’s tuna involved.”
Colin grinned, standing up suddenly and shooting her a mischievous grin. He walked to the chair where he’d draped his jacket and reached into the inside breast pocket, extracting a few loose pages that had been folded in thirds, looking at them briefly before walking over to her and moving enough books out of the way so that he could open the pages, revealing a very blocky, dense crossword puzzle.
“They’re publishing this in the Telegraph this Sunday,” he murmured. “Looking for people to help with the code-breaking efforts. If you have a mind for word puzzles, you might like to give it a go. It pays well enough, and you’d be helping put an end to the war. If you’re able to complete it in ten minutes or less, send it in. Those who send it in and have the correct answers will receive an invitation for an exam. My brother, the major, will be offering jobs to those who do well on the exam.”
Immediately, Penelope looked at the upper left corner of the puzzle, seeing how few black spaces there were, how most of the answers were at least five letters long, and how certain words were already jumping out to her from the clue list.
“We could use a mind like yours,” he insisted softly, his smile going crooked.
Penelope scoffed, mortified how readily it spilled out of her.
He frowned. “I mean it. The way that charming little poem leapt out at you? The fact you spend all day in here helping everyone and their nan track down the books they’re looking for—I’ll bet you know a fair bit about just about everything.”
The door to the reference department creaked as a woman with thick glasses, white hair, and a knobby cane peered around the jamb.
Straightening up and scooping up the paper coffee cup to hide behind her back, Penelope cleared her throat. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Taking a crack at it.”
Colin beamed at her. “That’s the spirit.” Abruptly, his eyes widened, his smile falling away. “I’ve completely forgotten to ask your name.”
Her face warmed again, the sound of a knobby cane clicking on the hardwood floor. “Oh! I’m, erm, well—Penelope Featherington. Librarian extraordinaire.”
Her cheeks burning, she cast a nervous glance at the woman making a beeline for their table, her head tilted back so she could see through the glasses slipping down to the end of her nose with every fumbling step.
Colin started stacking the books, grinning at her with all his teeth. “I’ll be keeping an eye on my postbox for your submission, Penelope. My brother’s convinced most people won’t get half of it filled in, but I’ll wager you finish with time to spare.”
Penelope had never been particularly good at receiving compliments, usually hearing them as veiled mockery, but Colin seemed earnest in a way that made her believe him.
She stuck her chin up a little. “Then I suppose I better get to work.”
He beamed, bending a little so he was once more almost level with her. “The people of England will thank you for sharing your brilliance. And I’ll relish the opportunity to get to know you a little better, too.”
Fighting a titter, Penelope let her cheeks glow hot and pretended not to notice, blurting, “Well, then here’s to pands pendas, I suppose.”
After a half a beat, Colin laughed, tossing his head back and reaching for his jacket before pausing, arms outstretched over the table still scattered with books.
“I’ll take care of them,” she rushed to assure him. “I know where they all go, and it is sort of my job.”
His smile curiously flustered, Colin scooped up his jacket and tugged it on, bending for his hat resting on the seat and setting it at the same jaunty angle atop his mop of brown, slightly curled hair. “Right. I hope to see you again soon, Pen. When you get to Bletchley, ask for me.”
“With pleasure,” she replied, immediately mortified at how forward and outwardly flirtatious she’d sounded.
It could have been her imagination, but Penelope could have sworn his cheeks had gone an entirely unexpected shade of pink as he buttoned up his jacket and tucked the paper with The Club’s Invitation back into one of the chest pockets.
“Excuse me,” the old woman asked in a scratchy, slightly wheedling tone, coming to a rest beside the table Penelope still leaned against. “I need information about Yorkshire estate laws in the mid-1800s.”
Closing her eyes, Penelope pasted on an amiable smile and pushed a breath out through her nose. “Of course. I think I know just the section to start our search.”
“I’m not doing no searching,” the woman replied indignantly. “You fetch the books. I’ll wait here!”
Colin moved towards the door, his forehead pinching in sympathy as he mouthed a quick sorry and disappeared. Her heart giving a pathetic little lurch in her chest, Penelope pushed off from the desk and stacked the last of the puzzle books to one end, pulling out a chair for the old crone expecting her to wait on her hand and foot.
As she assured the woman she would bring her a few volumes to start, she glanced at the crossword Colin had left on the table for her. The very first clue, five letters long, taunted her.
Shake, as one’s tail
Halfway to the shelves with the boring, dusty volumes concerning estate forfeiture and inheritance law, she stopped with a gasp.
“Elude!” she cried, darting to the desk for a pen to scribble in the answer before she forgot, setting down Colin’s coffee cup in a hurry.
Triumphant, Penelope returned to the table and jotted down the answer, looking urgently at her wristwatch to make note of her start time. Bouncing in her seat with excitement, she looked up with a wide, pleased grin only to find the woman with thick glasses scowling at her, roundly unimpressed.