Shades of Earl Grey (26 page)

“To the hunt,” said Drayton, raising his glass of wine in a toast.

Theodosia, Jory, and Haley raised their glasses to join him. “To the hunt,” they chorused loudly, startling Earl Grey from his bed and prompting a hearty
woof.

Haley giggled as their wine glasses came together in a mighty
clink.

Only Theodosia did not join in the laughter. To her, this was no laughing matter.

CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP.
Two great gray Belgian draft horses dipped their noble heads and shuddered to a halt on Meeting Street. Behind them, sitting in the brightly painted red and yellow carriage, visitors perked up and listened with rapt attention as their guide began a slightly theatrical narration about two of Charleston's so-called “haunted” houses.

Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve, was tomorrow night and the various carriage tours that plied the lanes and cobbled streets of the historic district were making the most of the spooky legends and ghostly sightings that were so much a part of Charleston folklore.

Theodosia was out with Earl Grey this Saturday morning. Together they were enjoying the fine cool weather and stretching their collective legs. Today, however, Theodosia had opted not to jog, but rather to stroll leisurely through the historic district as she pondered what events might possibly transpire tonight at the Heritage Society's public opening of the Treasures Show.

She was both dreading and looking forward to tonight.

Hoping they'd be able to smoke this cat burglar out of his lair, of course, but nervous about the possibility of putting anyone in harm's way.

Cutting through Gateway Walk back to Church Street, Theodosia passed by St. Phillips's Cemetery. Tomorrow night children would dare each other to run through here, she thought. As if these poor departed souls could cause anyone harm. No, she decided, it was the living that threw a wrench into things. It was the living you had to watch out for.

“You be a good boy and wait here,” Theodosia told Earl Grey as she clipped his leash to the wrought iron fence next to the building that housed Cotton Duck, Delaine Dish's clothing store. “I'll be back in a couple minutes.”

Earl Grey plopped himself down on the sunny sidewalk and gazed up at Theodosia as if to say,
No problem, I could use a break anyway.

“Well, lookie who's come to call,” sang out Delaine as Theodosia entered the store. “Miz Theodosia Browning.”

“Hi, Delaine,” said Theodosia as she gazed about at the funkiness and opulence that characterized Cotton Duck. Racks overflowed with casual cotton outfits as well as elegant silks. Antique cupboards, their doors flung open, were filled with a luxurious array of cashmere sweaters, silk scarves, beaded bags, and sparkling costume jewelry. Delaine might be a little over the top, Theodosia decided, but she was utterly brilliant when it came to fashion merchandising. On every buying trip that Delaine made, she focused on a specific palette of colors. Sometimes the clothes and accessories she brought back featured brilliant jewel colors such as emerald, purple, and hot pink. Sometimes they were more subdued shades such as persimmon and mulberry and loden green. But whenever you shopped in Delaine's store, you were guaranteed to find fabulous outfits and accessories that matched and blended beautifully. It was quite a talent, Theodosia had to admit.

“I was just reading the
Post & Courier,
” said Delaine. “Sheldon Tibbits gave tonight's Treasures Show another nice write-up.”

“Oh, did he?” said Theodosia with as much innocence as she could muster.

“I certainly had no idea Drayton's stamp collection was so . . . elaborate,” said Delaine.

Theodosia decided
elaborate
was Delaine's code word for
valuable.

“Drayton's been collecting for an awfully long time,” said Theodosia.

Delaine reached out and straightened a display of leather handbags. “A Z grill stamp. Now that's something you don't see every day. Nice of Drayton to allow it to be shown tonight.”

Theodosia turned her attention to a rack of skirts and grabbed a black skirt in an attempt to stifle a giggle. She was quite sure Delaine had never even
heard
of a Z grill stamp until this morning's article.

“Oh, no, not
that
one, dear,” Delaine suddenly protested. “A long black skirt is far too somber for someone like you.” She hurried to Theodosia's side, snatched the offending black skirt from Theodosia's hands, and pawed hastily through the rest of the rack.

“This is what you need,” she declared triumphantly as she held up a long, elegant silver skirt cut from thin crinkley cloth.
“Très elegant?”
she asked.

“It
is
gorgeous,” Theodosia admitted as she gazed at the shimmery skirt.

“Perfect for tonight,” declared Delaine. “If you pair it with . . .” Her eyes roamed across the stack of sweaters. “Ah, here's the perfect match,” she said as she pulled a sweater out. “A perfect pearl gray cashmere. Cool and understated, but still delivering a hearty dose of va-voom.”

Theodosia stood back and appraised the outfit. It was gorgeous. Silver and pearl gray. Very ice maidenish. Or Swarthmore 'sixty-two. She could accent the clothing with what? A colored gemstone pin? Maybe her garnet earrings?

Delaine held the clothes out enticingly. “Want to try them on?” Then, without waiting for an answer, Delaine spun on her heel. “Janine,” she shrilled loudly to her perpetually harried assistant. “Put Theodosia in the large dressing room, will you?”

Minutes later Theodosia was out of the dressing room and doing a pirouette in front of the three-way mirror.

“Lovely,” declared Delaine.

“Lovely,” parroted Janine, who was perennially red-faced from rushing around trying to follow Delaine's often contradictory directives.

Theodosia smiled at herself in the mirror. Never had she once heard poor Janine express an opinion of her own. Then again, Delaine was opinionated enough for an entire room full of people. Oh well. She peered in the mirror again. Hmm . . . the outfit
did
look good. The long silver skirt gave her a nice, lean silhouette and the pearl gray cashmere sweater, which was baby-bunny soft, made her auburn hair shine. Yes, she decided, she'd wear the garnet earrings Aunt Libby had given her. Definitely.

“You'll wear it tonight?” asked Delaine, vastly confident in her recommendation.

“Why not,” said Theodosia, throwing up her arms in mock defeat.

“Janine, be sure to let Theo take the skirt on a hanger,” Delaine told her. “Don't go folding it or anything,” she cautioned.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Janine.

“I imagine you're looking forward to tonight as well,” said Theodosia, catching Delaine's eyes in the mirror.

“A lot of us have worked very hard on this exhibition,” said Delaine who, Theodosia knew, had headed ticket sales. “So yes, I am. As long as there are no
unusual
surprises.”

“Coop will be there with you tonight?” asked Theodosia.

“Wouldn't miss it,” Delaine declared breezily.

“
I HOPE YOU
realize,” said Timothy Neville as he pulled Drayton aside, “that philatelists all over Charleston are positively drooling!”

Drayton wrung his hands nervously. “This wasn't actually my idea . . .” he began.

Timothy stared back at him with hooded eyes.

“This rare stamp display was Theodosia's brainstorm,” explained Drayton. “Honestly. The stamp isn't mine. The Z grill really belongs to her Aunt Libby,” he whispered.

Timothy gave a sharp nod, then gazed over at Theodosia, who was busily engaged in conversation with Delaine Dish and Cooper Hobcaw. Suddenly, an uncharacteristic grin split Timothy's ancient, sharp-boned face. “So that's the story, is it? Well good. Now let's just hope her little plan works!” he declared, giving Drayton a firm thump on the back.

“Isn't this fun,” drawled Delaine, giving a little shiver as she slid her wrap off her bare shoulders. “Can you believe how many folks have turned out? I knew ticket sales were going well, but this is absolutely splendiferous!”

Cooper Hobcaw gave her an approving grin. “That's my girl,” he told her. “Hits a home run every time.”

The first night of the Treasures Show looked very much like a rousing success as hundreds of people streamed into the Heritage Society's great stone building. The red-carpeted lobby was thronged with new arrivals making the requested fifteen-dollar donation, and a waiting line of previously ticketed guests had already formed in the hallway that led to the exhibition rooms.

“Theo,” said Drayton as he put a hand on her shoulder, “a moment of your time, please.”

“You're looking dapper tonight,” cooed Delaine as Theodosia turned her attention toward Drayton.

“And you, Miss Dish, are as ravishing as ever,” Drayton said to Delaine, favoring her with a genteel half-bow.

“Don't you ever get tired of being obsequious?” Theodosia asked him as they hurried down the corridor together.

“Me? Never,” declared Drayton with a sly grin. “Obsequious is my middle name. Drayton Obsequious Conneley. In fact, you can just call me Drayton O.”

At the end of the corridor, Drayton steered Theodosia around a corner, slipping past the purple velvet cord that kept visitors in line, and led her into the largest of the two galleries.

It was a sight to behold.

The large gallery, paneled in cypress wood, gleamed with a welcoming glow. Tables and glass cases displayed the finest treasures from the Heritage Society's sizable collection. A collection of antique pewter tankards rested on a Hepplewhite sideboard. Silver candlesticks and gleaming bowls adorned a revolving Sheraton drum table. On a French Empire card table reputed to have once belonged to Napoleon was an antique Japanese Imari bowl.

Entranced, Theodosia's eyes drank in the various displays. Here was a portrait by Alice Ravenel Huger Smith, an eighteenth-century painter who had immortalized many of the old Carolina rice plantations in her moody, sienna-tinged paintings. And here were a dozen original Audubon prints. And hung on the back wall, a half-dozen painted portraits from the mid-seventeen-hundreds done by Charleston artist Jeremiah Theus.

“Oh, my,” said Theodosia, “this is very impressive. You and Timothy and the rest of the crew have worked absolute wonders.”

“Tasty pickings, no?” said Drayton. “And look over here.” He guided Theodosia to a fall-front mahogany Chippendale desk that was lit from above by pinpoint spotlights. On it sat a collection of antique desk ware—a silver inkwell and matching pen, an ornate French clock of gilded bronze, a silver snuffbox. Propped in front of those accouterments was a bound leather stamp album and displayed on a tiny glass pedestal next to it was the one-cent Z grill stamp. In the dim room, with just the lights from above, the blue stamp with the somewhat stern portrait of founding father Benjamin Franklin did look rather tantalizing. Especially in light of the rather boastful write-up it had received.

Theodosia's mouth twitched in a grin. “It's perfect,” she declared.

“Does it look like bait?” asked Drayton under his breath.

Theodosia nodded. “I'm itching to grab it myself.”

Reaching into the pocket of his gray wool suit, Drayton pulled out an antique pocket watch. “Eight o'clock on the noggin,” he said. “So everything is in place for our little game?”

“Jory Davis is stationed outside Claire Kitridge's house even as we speak,” said Theodosia. “Jory's got his cell phone, so he'll call and let us know if anything's going on. We don't expect Claire to show up here tonight, but if she does leave her house and heads for the Heritage Society . . . or anywhere, for that matter . . . we'll be the first to know.”

“Outstanding,” said Drayton. He gazed about the room, let his gray eyes settle once again on the display case that held the rare postage stamp. “Well,” he said. “We know that Graham Carmody is here tonight—”

“You've seen him?” interrupted Theodosia. “You're
sure
he's here?”

Drayton nodded. “Last I peeked he was restocking crackers and tidbits of cheese at the buffet table.”

“And we know Cooper Hobcaw is here because we just saw him with Delaine.”

“Right,” said Drayton. “So . . . we've got all our bases covered.”

“We
hope
they're covered,” said Theodosia as her cell phone beeped from inside her beaded evening bag.

She fished the phone out and pushed the
receive
button. “Hello?”

“It's me,” said a voice on the other end of the line.

“It's Jory,” Theodosia whispered to Drayton. “You're still at Claire Kitridge's house?” she asked with a shiver of anticipation.

“Not exactly,” replied Jory. “Claire came out of her house about twenty minutes ago and jumped in her car.”

“She's headed here!” cried Theodosia.

“No,” said Jory, chuckling. “I tailed her for a couple miles until she pulled into some church parking lot. The Divine Redeemer, I think it was. Anyway, I think Claire's in there with some women's tatting group.”

“You're sure she didn't sneak out the back?” asked Theodosia.

“Her car's still here.”

Theodosia suddenly felt deflated. She'd been sure that if Claire was on the move, she'd be heading for the Heritage Society. “You're positive she's still inside?” she asked, disappointment in her voice.