Cecil always knew that Frolic was "special". He remembered the interviewing process for getting his current job.
"Thalutations, Mr. Brodderick."
"Frolic, please. Mr.--?"
"Thethil Gardener."
"You're hired!"
And all because of his last name. Normal people don't do that. Cecil killed all plants except cacti, but here he was, the top (and only) employee of a florist shop.
However, ever since Frolic had woken up from that nap, he had been acting weirder than usual. He had been made to make tea, sew a button on a vest, and was asked to "Pop 'round" to the bakery for a scone.
So, a sigh of relief greeted Frolic's announcement of "I'm off to my Club, Gardener. Don't bother to wait up, I'm dining there."
Cecil tried not to stare at Frolic as he exited the store, dressed in coat tails, white gloves, top hat, monocle and everything else that the words "Victorian Gentlemen" brought to mind as an image.
But Frolic was no longer paying attention to Cecil, or anyone else of the outside world. For he was Frolic no longer. For it was time for the next installment of:
The Merry Misadventures of Lord Algernon Wimble-Womble Pickadilly
(Book 4, chapter 43 A-3D)
Lord Pickadilly wrapped his traveling cloak about him tighter as the wind blustered about. He hailed a passing carriage and deposited himself into the cushions. "My good man, to the Club!" The driver turned around to get a look at his passenger. And continued to keep looking so long that the indomitable Lord Pickadilly came to the conclusion that the man must be an idiot. He gave the directions to his Club, and the driver took so long to start up his horses that Lord Algernon was almost made to repeat himself.
However, the journey itself was traversed without incident. Lord Pickadilly counted out the fare very carefully for the idiot, so as not to confuse him. Looking up at the old stone building covered in ivy of his Club (the Black Kettle Club, over 500 years old), Lord Pickadilly suddenly remembered his friend Lady Chantrey must have returned from her tour of France and that he would go and see if she was receiving visitors today. He twirled he moustache satisfactorily and set off with a good pace down the street.
(Let us take this tome to clarify a few things to the dear reader: Lord Algernon Wimble-Womble Pickadilly, impoverished son of a nobleman, is in reality Frolic Brodderick, AKA Goemon Ishikawa XIV, son of an impoverished samurai. The 'Club', Lady Chantrey and all other aspects of the town are part of a re-enactment village that Frolic's theatre group participates in. They all have different personas that 'live' in the village and run the shops. Frolic is the most popular one of the group, with people reserving months in advance to sup with him at the Club or drink tea at the cafe. Being the cash cow that he is, none of Frolic's friends ever thought about how much Frolic believed in the role he created. We now continue with our story.)
Lord Wimble-Womble Pickadilly wrapped at the door of Lady Chantrey with his the gold top of his cane. The maid answered him, and admitted him into the foyer.
"Why, Lord Pickadilly!" exclaimed Lady Chantrey. "What a nice surprise. Do come in. I'm afraid we just washed up the tea things. Could I offer you a brandy?"
Lord Pickailly accepted the drink gladly and poured Lady Chantrey a glass of sherry.
They moved into the sitting room.
"How was your trip, Lady Chantrey? I pray it went well?"
"It is always amusing to visit other lands, Lord Pickadilly, but it is so nice to return to one's home, don't you agree?"
"Rather." Lord Algernon said in a very British fashion. "How are you faring now, Lady Chantrey?"
Lady Chantrey sank rather dramatically into a divan. "I am vexed, Lord Pickadilly."
Lord Pickadilly clasped Lady Chantrey's hand in a worried manner. "Whatever is the problem, Lady Chantrey? Problems are meant to be solved and that is a man's job. I shall do in my power to aid you."
"I fear it is impossible. Yesterday, I hired some boys to clean the windows and the chimney, and I'm afraid my jewelry box has been rifled through. My ruby earring and pendant is gone!"
Lord Wimble-Womble Pickadilly, the ever tireless, stood up and smoothed his moustache (which was fake, but Frolic thought it added an aura of mystery. Also, that was what 'Algernon' meant, and stuff like that influences him.) "Please do not bother yourself any longer about it, dear Lady! With your humble servant on the case, it is as good as found!"
And with an air of purpose, he strode out of the house.
The tourists who watched the drama clapped and continued on their tour. Lady Chantrey (actually Jessica Alberts, actress, someone who has never been in this story and never will be again, hoped that Frolic didn't really believe in the story they had written for the day as much as it seemed he did. And that he followed the script this time...)
As in all his cases Lord Pickadilly, the amateur detective extraordinaire, went to consult with his friend Maxime Poni, proprietor of the local haberdashery shop. (Maxime Poni is actually...well, nobody knows who he is. He lives in the village, and does actually own and operate the gift shop. Why he was such good friends with Frolic, nobody knew and nobody asked. Not even when they spent hours together. They just didn't think about it.)
Today he was dressed in a lavender suit and cravat, with his long, light hair perfectly coiffed into soft waves around his face.
Maxime greeted him with gusto and took him to the back of the shop, where more brandy was poured and light buttery biscuits were eaten.
"Tell me, Algernon," Maxime said with a very French wave of his hands. "What brings you to my humble shop today?"
"Oh, this and that Maxime. I shall come to that presently. I haven't seen you in ages! Whatever happened?"
Maxime bit daintily into a cracker. "I'm afraid the last party I had was fussed about to pieces. I had to go abroad for until it quieted down."
"Ah, yes! I remember that. I wasn't able to attend that day, but it was made into a to-do, wasn't it?"
"Ra-ther." Maxime tried to say in a British way, but instead came out as an over effeminate tinkle. "But really, the people in this country are so stiff, Algernon. Yourself excluded, of course."
Lord Pickadilly bowed to the compliment and twirled his moustache.
"The Beaver Dance is a standard ice-breaker at all the fashionable parties where I come from. And who would have thought that such uproar would be made of such a small thing as my dancing boys!"
"The dancing boys you hired from the circus?"
"Yes."
"The ones who were all 14?"
"The looked like dancing angels..."
Lord Pickadilly huffed. "I bet it was just a bunch of church grannies. Don't let it bother you, Maxie my friend."
Lord Pickadilly's eyes suddenly lit up with purpose. "But now, for the reason I am here."
He quickly explained the situation to Maxime. "What kind of jewelry does Lady Chantrey own, and when did this happen?"
"Yesterday and some rubies were stolen."
Maxime Poni closed his eyes and "hmm"ed in very serious manner. Lord Algernon thought he looked like a statue chiseled out of fine alabaster and turned to flesh.
Maxime brought out a notebook and flipped open to a page. "That sounds like Enrique...he likes rubies, and he was in that area yesterday. Leave it to me, my good man. They are as good as returned."
Lord Pickadilly smiled at his good luck. For reasons unknown to him, Maxime had taken it upon himself to take care of all the young urchins who hung about in the streets. He kept tabs on all of them, and would try to dress them in large flowing shirts and find them work in people's homes as pages. Sometimes he would even take them in himself, though they never stayed long. Maxime was a difficult man to work for, but he also cared enough for his charges that as they grew older, he would find them work suited for men.
"Now, darling, I must simply show you what I picked up while I was away. I found a new cloth that would make the most smashing suit for you! And a divine hat with pheasant feathers."
And so, Lord Pickadilly spent the rest of the day ignoring the script that his group had written and played dress up with Maxime. The next day, Lady Chantrey was given her jewelry back, with the message that Maxime Poni was always at her service. The young messenger who returned the items said he was sorry and that he would steal no more, for Monsieur Maxime had promised to find him work if he was a "good child."
Lady Chantrey couldn't help but wonder at what those words meant...But in Lord Pickadilly's book, he had solved another case.
He flagged another carriage and gave directions to his home.
He took off his gloves, coat, vest and other garments; he thought about the new clothes that Maxime had measured him for (oh, what fun that was!).
He settled into his bed and started telling Rosalie-Josephine (the geranium) all about his day. Then he realized something: Frolic Brodderick was now bored. And when that happens, something bad usually follows.