Unhooded
by Alexandra Spears
Disclaimer: Penelope Pitstop and related characters belong to Hanna-Barbera. I'm just borrowing them!
It was summer, and at the back of the Pitstop estate, Penelope Pitstop was lounging next to the pool, wearing a pink one-piece swimswuit that went to mid-thigh, reading a book. The young woman was unaware that she was being watched.
Sylvester Sneekly was the one watching her as he stood near one of the back doors on the terrace. Amazing how she could be put through all those Goldbergian traps and yet not seem to be concerned, he thought. It was as if she was able to brush off those experiences as easily as she might swat away a fly. Then again, her father had been the type to encourage his daughter to just put bad things out of her mind.
Penelope's parents had died a few years ago in a train accident, when Penelope was a teenager. Mr. Pitstop had been a good friend of Sylvester's and had specifically stated in his will that if something were to happen to Penelope, Sylvester would inherit the Pitstop fortune, since there were no other close relatives.
Sylvester, upon seeing just how much Penelope was worth, had decided to try to hasten things along there. To that end, he'd come up with a disguise and an alter ego-the Hooded Claw. The problem was, even though Penelope seemed like a typical dumb blonde, she really wasn't that stupid; in fact, she was very resourceful. On top of that, she was friends with a group of seven midgets calling themselves the Ant Hill Mob, and they tended to interfere.
It was amazing that law enforcement hadn't caught up with him by now, given the number of times he'd messed up-and badly. Granted, they had no idea who he really was. Still, it was only a matter of time. How much jail time did attempted murder get someone, anyway? And multiple counts, at that!
It was rather hot out here. Sylvester took his pince-nez glasses off his long nose, feeling slight relief. Of course, wearing a three-piece suit out here didn't help.
Penelope turned her head at that moment and saw him standing there. "Sylvester, why don't you come have a swim?" she called in that Southern accent of hers.
He wondered if she knew how long he'd been standing there watching her. "I think I might," he said after a beat.
He went across the grounds to the cabana, where swimwear was stored. He swiftly changed to swimwear, then went over to the pool, sat down at the edge, and dunked his feet. It felt so much better out here.
From where he sat, he studied his charge. She did not treat him like a servant, but as a trusted friend, almost like an uncle. Like always, he pushed that from his thoughts-or tried to. He had to view her as an obstacle between him and vast wealth. The problem was, every so often what conscience he had would stab at him and remind him that he at least had a home at the Pitstop estate. He had been orphaned at a young age himself, raised in an orphanage, and not treated very well. He'd managed to put himself through school. He had been determined to succeed and become fabulously wealthy, and for him that meant no romantic entanglements and very few friends. Penelope's father had been a very friendly type, and Sylvester had been genuinely sad at his passing.
Penelope had matured greatly over the past few years, he had to admit. She'd been a typical spoiled rich girl and Sylvester had felt that she didn't deserve all that wealth, especially since she hadn't worked for it. But in the past couple of years, she'd taken on different charitable causes and had become a pillar in the community.
Her long blond hair was down. Sylvester couldn't help but admire it. She was the epitome of a Southern belle-cute, fun, and gracious. As far as he knew, she had never seriously dated anyone, as she was too busy with her charities and the like, and she couldn't seem to find a man that suited her. Since men were just about beating down the door for a chance at one date with her, she could easily afford to take her time and choose.
Sylvester had never dated anyone himself, as he'd been too busy trying to pull himself out of poverty. While he found women attractive as any average man would, he'd forced himself to shut down any of those thoughts. Somehow, though, Penelope, whether she was aware of it or not, had been penetrating that wall he'd put up. It might be her close proximity; they did live in the same home, but at opposite ends of the mansion, so that it might well be different addresses.
Penelope got up, put her book down, and sat beside him at the edge of the pool. She dunked her small feet into the water. "Nice and refreshing, isn't it, Sylvester?" she asked.
"Yes, it is, my dear," he said in a neutral tone. Inwardly, though, he thought he felt a kind of heat building up. Their relationship had always been platonic (at least to her, at any rate), and he wondered if she had any idea at all what effect she had been having on him lately.
As Sylvester-when he was not in Hooded Claw mode-he was always kind to Penelope, thoughtful, and generous. To him it was all an act. Or at least it had been until recently. He found himself wondering if it had all been just an act this entire time.
Which was his real self-Sylvester the loyal guardian, or the criminal known as the Hooded Claw?
"You look like you're miles away, Sylvester," Penelope said.
Sylvester blinked. "Just lost in thought, my dear," he said. A thought came to him. "So, Penelope...why did you turn down that date with Joseph?"
"I want a man who's mature," she replied. She turned her head and looked him in the eyes as she said it. Sylvester fought to keep his composure. What was it about this girl that made it difficult, if not impossible?
"I see," he said, keeping his tone even.
Penelope stood up. "I need to check my calendar, there are so many things to do tomorrow," she sighed.
Sylvester watched as she strode into the mansion. He was attracted to her, blast it! An idea came to his mind, one he'd never thought of.
What if he married Penelope himself? As her husband, he would have access to her fortune. Why was he sticking his neck out, risking some serious legal consequences (not to mention potential injury), instead of doing this in a perfectly legal way?
He'd never considered marriage to her before; it went back to the wall he'd put up. Certainly there was nothing forbidding such a union. Thinking back, he'd always felt relieved whenever Penelope turned down a suitor.
It was time the Hooded Claw went into retirement. At least for now.
That evening, Penelope was sitting at a desk in the spacious den, writing a letter. She was dressed in a modest long-sleeved dress that went to just below the knee; she was more or less an old-fashioned girl who wasn't into the current flapper fashion. Penelope was the kind of girl who could make wearing a flour sack look like the latest trend.
Sylvester entered the room and sat down in an armchair. "So, Penelope-is your schedule busy tomorrow?" he asked.
Penelope turned and looked at him with those bright blue eyes. "Actually, Sylvester, I have nothing going on tomorrow," she said. "Did you have something in mind?"
She seemed to be able to read him like a book; yet she seemed to have no inkling that he was not only her guardian, but her arch-nemesis as well. Perhaps she only saw what she wanted to see. "Well...I was thinking about a picnic, down by the river tomorrow afternoon," he suggested.
"That would be lovely!" she exclaimed. "Will there be others joining us?"
"Um...no," Sylvester admitted.
He thought she seemed pleased at that. "Well, it should be all right, since you're a gentleman," she said.
Sylvester certainly wasn't feeling gentlemanly at that point. "It's a public place," he added.
"I'm sure we'll have a lovely time," said Penelope.
He nodded. "Well, I am going to turn in, and I'll see you in the morning," he said.
"Good night, Sylvester." She went back to her writing.
Sylvester walked down the halls of the enormous Pitstop mansion until he came to his own suite. Going into the dressing room, he gazed at his reflection in the vanity. Much to his surprise, a wave of guilt washed over him. "I've tried to kill her how many times, and here I want to marry her," he muttered. "She must never know who the Hooded Claw really is."
He was seeing Penelope as a person, a girl he was falling in love with, instead of an obstacle between him and money. At the same time, she was a means to him being enormously wealthy.
He had absolutely no experience with women, so powerful had his drive to become wealthy been. Not even loose women. No entanglements, nothing to stand in his way. Penelope was digging up that part of him he'd buried a long time ago.
Sylvester changed into pajamas and got into bed. His dreams that night were about Penelope-and then he had a nightmare about the Hooded Claw coming between him and Penelope.