Death By Darjeeling

Chapter 8

Teapots chirped and whistled and teacups clinked against saucers as Drayton bustled about the shop. Four tables were occupied, customers eager for morning tea and treats. Afterward, they would be picked up by one of the bright yellow jitneys that would whisk them away on their morning tour through Charleston’s historic district, the open air market, or the King Street antiques district.

“Where’s Haley?” Theodosia swooped through the doorway just as Drayton measured a final tablespoon of Irish breakfast tea into a Victorian teapot.

“Hasn’t shown up yet,” Drayton said as he arranged teapots, pitchers of milk, bowls of sugar cubes, and small plates of lemon slices on a silver tray, then deftly hoisted it to his shoulder.

“That’s not like her,” said Theodosia, pitching in. She was instantly concerned about Haley’s absence since she was ordinarily quite prompt, usually showing up at the Indigo Tea Shop by 7:00 A.M. That’s when Haley would heat up the oven and pour out batter she’d mixed up and refrigerated the day before. It was Haley’s shortcut to fresh-baked scones, croissants, and benne wafers without having to get up at four in the morning.

While Drayton poured tea, Theodosia mustered up a pan of scones from the freezer and warmed them quickly in the oven.

“It won’t matter that they’ve been frozen,” Drayton murmured under his breath. “Scones are so amazingly heavy anyway, I don’t think anyone will know the difference.”

And Drayton was right. Served piping hot to their guests along with plenty of Devonshire cream and strawberry jam, the scones were actually ooed and ahed over.

“Have you noticed anything odd?” asked Theodosia. She stood behind the counter surveying the collection of customers who lingered at the tables.

Drayton glanced up from the cash register. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not seeing any of our regulars,” said Theodosia.

Drayton gave her a sharp look. “You’re right.” His eyes searched out Theodosia’s. “You don’t suppose...”

“I’m sure they’ll be in later,” she said.

“Of course they will.”

Forty minutes later, the early customers had all departed, tables had been cleared, floors swept, and teapots readied for the next influx.

“Now that I’ve got a moment to breathe, I’m going to phone Haley,” said Theodosia. “I’m really getting worried.”

The bell over the door jingled merrily. “Here we go,” said Theodosia. “More customers.” She turned toward the door with a welcoming smile, but it was Haley who burst through the door, not another throng of customers.

“Haley!” said Theodosia. “What’s wrong?” Haley’s ordinarily placid face projected unhappiness, her peaches-and-cream complexion blotchy. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes were puffy, and she’d been crying. Hard.

“They fired her!” cried Haley.

Theodosia flew across the room to Haley, put an arm around her shoulder. “Come, dear. Sit down.” She led Haley to the closest table and got her seated. “Drayton,” Theodosia called, “we’re going to need some tea. Strong tea.”

Tears trickled down Haley’s cheeks as she turned sad eyes on Theodosia. “They fired Bethany. From the Heritage Society.”

“Oh, no,” said Theodosia. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, they called her a little while ago and told her not to bother coming in.”

“Who called her?” asked Theodosia.

“Mr. Neville,” said Haley.

“Timothy?”

“Yes, Timothy Neville,” said Haley in a choked voice.

“What happened?” Drayton set a pot of tea and three mugs on the bare table.

“Timothy Neville fired Bethany,” said Theodosia.

He sat down, instantly concerned. “Oh, no.”

“Can he do that, Drayton?” asked Theodosia.

Drayton nodded his head slowly, as if still comprehending Haley’s words. “I suppose so. He’s the president. As such, Timothy Neville wields an incredible amount of power. If he were firing someone from an executive position, he’d probably have to call a formal board meeting. At least it would be polite protocol to do so. But for an intern...Yes, I’m afraid Timothy Neville is empowered to hire or fire at will.”

“Because she’s not important enough,” Haley said with a sniff.

“I didn’t say that,” said Drayton.

“What you all don’t realize,” cried Haley, “is that Bethany was going to use her internship as a stepping stone to a better job. You can’t get hired by a good museum unless you have some kind of internship under your belt. And now Bethany’s credibility is completely ruined!” She put her face in her hands and sobbed.

Drayton gently patted her arm. “There, there, perhaps something can still be done.” He gazed sadly at Theodosia. His hangdog look implored her, Can’t you do something?

Theodosia arched her eyebrows back at him. What can I do?

“Can’t you at least talk to him?” Drayton finally asked out loud.

Haley’s tear-streaked face tipped up toward Theodosia and brightened. “Could you? Please? You’re so good at things like this. You’re brave, and you know lots of important people. Please, you’ve just got to help!”

The pleading looks on Drayton’s and Haley’s faces spoke volumes.

Theodosia sat back in her chair and took a sip of tea. She had spoken with Timothy Neville once or twice over the years. He had always been clipped and formal. She recalled him the other night at the Lamplighter Tour. Sitting at one of the tables, almost holding court as he lectured about the bronze bells that hung in the tower of Saint Michael’s and how they’d once been confiscated by British soldiers.

“Of course, I’ll talk to him,” she said with outward bravado, when what she really felt inside was Oh, dear.