Shades of Earl Grey

Chapter 1

Scurrying across the Italian marble floor of the Lady Goodwood Inn, Theodosia Browning glanced up at the gleaming painting of the inn’s venerable founder and matriarch. Harriet Beecher Goodwood gazed down at her guests from her lofty perch. With her glowing porcelain skin, heavy necklace of blue topaz, and pale peach organza gown cinched tightly about her waist, she was the very picture of Southern femininity. A woman with a properly demure manner who also conveyed a fine aristocratic bearing. Yet her watchful eyes seemed to betray a certain wistfulness, as though Lady Goodwood would prefer to step out of her formal portrait and mingle with the carefree throng that milled about below.

In her black satin slacks and figure-skimming smoking jacket, Theodosia breathed a silent prayer of relief that modern-day Charleston women were no longer bound by strict social constraints or uncomfortable, tightly corseted gowns. How on earth would she ever be able to fly about the Indigo Tea Shop, greeting guests and brewing tea, if she were costumed in ankle-length skirts, pantalets, high button boots, and a whale bone corset? Better yet, how would she even draw breath in an outfit like that? Especially when summer’s heat and humidity crept in from the low-country and turned the city into a real cooker!

“Theodosia! Over here!” Drayton Conneley, Theodosia’s dear friend and right-hand man at the Indigo Tea Shop, gave a casual wave to her from the spot he’d staked out near the potted palms. Sixty-two years old, with a head of grizzled gray hair, Drayton was dashingly attired in a cream-colored cashmere jacket, dove gray slacks, and trademark bow tie. Theodosia noted that, for this late autumn party, Drayton had chosen a muted paisley bow tie. Plu-perfect, of course, and the signature touch that always made Drayton the picture of elegance and charm.

Theodosia grinned at Drayton as she pushed her way through the crowd. What a sport he was to accompany her here tonight in lieu of her usual boyfriend, Jory Davis. Especially when Drayton didn’t even know the bride-to-be! But then, Drayton was always a gentleman and a good sport. Intrigued by her vision of starting Charleston’s first authentic tea shop in the historic district, Drayton hadn’t hesitated to resign his rather lofty position at one of Charleston’s major hotels and leap at the opportunity to become her master tea blender and majordomo.

Theodosia had a great admiration for risk takers. Of course, she’d been one herself. Just three years ago, she’d bid a hearty arrivederci to job security at one of Charleston’s major advertising agencies when she’d resigned her job as vice president of client services.

A long-abandoned, dusty little tea shop on Church Street had quietly beckoned. Along with a yearning for a far more independent lifestyle and a desire to chart her own course, make her own business decisions. Theodosia knew she would get out of the tea shop exactly what she put into it, and she was fine with that. More than fine, in fact.

And Drayton and Haley Parker, dear friends and willing accomplices, had been there with her from the very beginning.

Drawing upon his years spent in Amsterdam as a master tea blender, Drayton had immediately set about stocking the Indigo Tea Shop with an enviable selection of loose teas. Pungent, orange-red Assams. Smoky, slightly sweet Ceylon teas. Fragrant Darjeelings from the steep slopes of the Himalayas. There were also sparkling emerald green teas from Japan, gyokos and senchas, that were a touch puckery and a bit of an acquired taste. Plus a robust assortment of Indonesian, Malaysian, Turkish, and African teas, as well as the enticing black tea grown at the Charleston Tea Plantation located some twenty-five miles south of Charleston on Wadmalaw Island in the low-country.

Haley, Theodosia’s young pastry chef, was a sometime student who was still trying to determine her way in the world. How lucky for the Indigo Tea Shop, however, that Haley delighted in baking her infamous blackberry scones, cream muffins, gingerbread cakes, and shortbread in the tiny little aromatic kitchen at the back of the tea shop. Lately, Haley had even come up with her own recipe for marvels, those deep-fried cookies so peculiar to South Carolina.

And all the elements had come together. Beautifully. The Indigo Tea Shop had fast become a charming little gem of a shop, one stitch in the elegant tapestry of restaurants, shops, museums, and historic homes that made up Charleston’s famed historic district.

The tea shop’s interior, stripped of its former cork ceiling panels and indoor/outdoor carpet, now gleamed richly with original pegged wooden floors, exposed beams and red brick walls. Antique hickory tables and chairs, some Theodosia had salvaged from the out-buildings of her Aunt Libby’s farm, contributed to an atmosphere that was authentically cozy and inviting. Shelves that weren’t laden with copper canisters and sparkling jars filled with tea, were crowded with Yi-Hsing tea pots, tea presses, jars of DuBose Bees Honey and Devonshire cream, and their own house brands of packaged teas such as Cooper River Cranberry and Britannia Breakfast Blend. The Indigo Tea Shop was a setting filled with authenticity and grace, and it tantalized guests. And luckily for Theodosia, those guests descended upon her tea shop in droves. The shopkeepers from up and down Church Street, residents of the historic district who had been anxious to adopt a charming little tea shop as their own, visitors to Charleston who strolled the nearby walkways and hidden cobblestone paths.

Theodosia hurried over to Drayton and grabbed his arm. “So good of you to come,” she told him.

He smiled down at her. “You’re looking lovely,” he told her.

“To be perfectly honest,” she said, turning her blue eyes upon him and patting her auburn hair self-consciously, “I feel rather tossed together. Delaine called at the last minute to ask if she could borrow my baroque silver card receiver to use as a stand so she could display Camille’s wedding ring. So, of course, I had to scoot over here, where I immediately got roped into helping with a few more last-minute details. Then I had to make a mad dash home, give Earl Grey a quick run around the block, and get myself all fixed up. And then it started to pour buckets,” Theodosia added breathlessly.

The Delaine that Theodosia was referring to was Delaine Dish, a friend of Theodosia’s and Drayton’s who owned the clothing boutique, Cotton Duck, just a few doors down from the Indigo Tea Shop. Earl Grey was Theodosia’s dog, a mixed breed she’d found cowering in the alley behind the tea shop one rainy night. Theodosia had promptly adopted the bedraggled pup and dubbed him a purebred dalbrador. The very grateful and loving Earl Grey had been Theodosia’s constant companion ever since. He had taken to obedience and agility training like a duck to water and had also earned his Therapy Dog International certificate, which gave both of them the privilege of making regular visits to nursing homes and children’s hospital wards.

Tonight’s soiree was an engagement party for Delaine’s niece, Camille Cantroux. Camille was engaged to marry a young Marine captain, Corey Buchanan from Savannah, Georgia. In fact, the wedding was just a few weeks away, set to take place the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

“Here’s Haley,” said Drayton as a young woman in a swirl of black crepe hurried to join them.

“Hey, you guys,” said Haley in a breathless rush, “tell me if this dress looks okay.” As she executed a self-conscious little twirl, her long straight hair swirled out in a wedge around her. “I borrowed it from my cousin, Rowena.”

“Terrific,” piped up Drayton immediately, without so much as a look in her direction.

Haley rolled her eyes.

Theodosia, however, took Haley very seriously and studied her little black cocktail dress with an appraising eye. In her short, fun dress she looked like an updated Audrey Hepburn. Coltish, very much the gamin. Except, of course, for her long, straight hair and slightly impudent nature. That was pure Haley.

“You look adorable,” Theodosia reassured her. “Youthful, very fresh. I’m confident every young man here tonight will have his eye on you.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Haley. She glanced around quickly at the crowd of young people. “There are lots of good-looking guys here, aren’t there? Do you think they’re all Marines?”

“I’d say there are more than a few good men,” said Drayton, who never failed to delight in teasing Haley.

Haley, on the other hand, simply ignored his jibes. “How come Delaine is throwing an engagement party here in Charleston when her niece and her fiancé are getting married in Savannah?” she asked.

“Besides the fact that Delaine lives here, Camille also attended school here at Charleston College,” explained Theodosia. “So Camille has loads of friends in the area. You know, she graduated this past summer with a B.A. in English literature.”

“Cool,” nodded Haley. “I was an English lit major once.”

“Haley,” said Drayton, “you were also a studio arts major, women’s studies major, and... let’s see... what was your most recent foray? Business?”

“Hey, smarty,” Haley shot back, “I’m still taking classes in business administration. This time I will get my degree.”

“Of course you will,” Theodosia assured her.

“Thanks, Theo,” said Haley. “Hey, your hair looks great tonight,” she exclaimed as an afterthought.

“No, not really,” said Theodosia, nervously patting her hair again.

“Batten down the hatches,” said Drayton under his breath. “Here comes Delaine.”

Delaine Dish, proud aunt and planner extraordinaire of tonight’s engagement party, came plowing through the throng of guests like an ocean liner entering New York Harbor. Delaine’s long, dark hair was swept into an up-do and she wore a midnight blue chiffon dress with a beaded camisole bodice and frothy skirt. With her slightly upturned eyes, Delaine looked tall, dark, and elegant.

“Delaine, darling,” said Drayton, greeting her. “You’re looking lovely.”

Delaine rubbed a bare shoulder against Drayton. “Such a way with women you have, Mr. Conneley.”

Theodosia sighed. Delaine was a sweet soul. No one could touch her fiery zeal when it came to raising money for the Heritage Society, campaigning for the Charleston Humane Society, or selling tickets for the Lamplighter Tour. But Delaine did have a certain fondness for men.

Delaine finally turned her gaze toward Theodosia and Haley. “Having a good time, you two?”

“Everything is lovely,” replied Theodosia. “The Lady Goodwood Inn was a perfect choice.”

“So was the string quartet,” added Drayton, nodding toward the group of musicians tucked off in the corner.

Theodosia let her gaze wander, taking in the small, elegant ballroom with its color palette of cream and pale blue, the multitude of vases overflowing with fresh flowers, the tuxedo-clad waiters who bore silver trays with crystal flutes of champagne. “It’s nice to be a guest for once and not the caterer,” she told Delaine.

In the past year, the Indigo Tea Shop had catered a multitude of engagement teas, garden teas, and wedding receptions. So being a guest here tonight really was a luxury for Theodosia.

“Tell us about Captain Corey Buchanan,” Haley urged Delaine. “I love the idea that he’s a captain in the Marines. Just the thought of it is so dashing and romantic.”

“Well, I don’t know him all that well,” replied Delaine. “In fact I’ve really only met the dear fellow twice. But I can tell you he’s a graduate of Annapolis and the Basic School in Quantico, and that Captain Corey Buchanan is one of the Buchanans from Savannah.” Delaine’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “They’re a very old family. Terribly well-to-do.”

“I’m sure he’s a fine young man,” said Theodosia, choosing to ignore Delaine’s somewhat tactless implication of wealth and riches. “And that he and Camille are very much in love.”

Haley nodded in agreement. “In the scheme of things, that’s what really counts.”

“Have you seen Camille’s ring?” asked Delaine, still in a twitter.

“Gorgeous,” replied Drayton.

“Oh, no,” Delaine was quick to protest. “Not the engagement ring. Of course, that’s beautiful. Stunning, really. But wait until you-all get a gander at Camille’s wedding ring. I just put it on display in the Garden Room a few minutes ago. It’s what you’d call a killer ring. Estate jewelry, don’t you know?”

“Estate jewelry,” repeated Haley. “What exactly does that mean?”

Delaine looked pleased at Haley’s question. “Honey,” she said in a hushed tone, “it means the ring has been in Captain Buchanan’s family for decades!” She took a quick sip of champagne to fortify herself, then continued. “The ring is an emerald-cut diamond flanked by six smaller round diamonds. The center stone came from a distant relative, Angelique Delacroix, who was a French noblewoman married to a minor Austrian archduke back in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The archduke reputedly purchased the diamond when one of Marie Antoinette’s crowns was sold off!”

“Wow!” said Haley, impressed now. “Sounds like the kind of ring a girl could lose her head over.”

“Oh yes,” Delaine bubbled on. “Wait until you see it.” She glanced around. “Captain Buchanan and the rest of the boys should be here any moment. A couple of the groomsmen had tuxedo fittings this afternoon.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how young men are. They probably stopped at Slidell’s Oyster Bar for a celebratory drink. I certainly hope they won’t be indiscreet.”

“Or delayed,” added Theodosia. All the guests had been sipping cocktails for the better part of an hour now and there seemed to be a restless hum in the tightly packed room. Probably, Theodosia decided, most of the guests were as ready as she was for dinner in the more spacious Garden Room, which had once been the inn’s greenhouse. Delaine had been huddling with the Lady Goodwood’s head chef for weeks and had finally decided upon an appetizer of she-crab soup, a salad of baby field greens, and an entrée of smoked duck breast, cranberry relish, and fried squash blossoms.

“So when do we get a peek at this show-stopper of a ring?” asked Haley, looking around in great anticipation.

Delaine glanced nervously at her watch again, a jewel-encrusted Chopard. “Hopefully we’ll be going in for dinner any minute now. We’re really just waiting for Captain Buchanan.” Delaine drained the last of her champagne. “Until this afternoon,” she explained, “Brooke had been storing the ring in her vault at Heart’s Desire. For safekeeping, of course.”

Located on Water Street in the historic district, Heart’s Desire was one of Charleston’s premier estate jewelry shops. It was owned and lovingly operated by Brooke Carter Crockett, a woman who could trace her ancestry all the way back to the famous frontiersman, Davy Crockett.

Over the years, Heart’s Desire had become the premier jeweler for buying and selling estate jewelry. So much fine jewelry was still available in Charleston, owing to the many French and English families who had settled in and around the area during the seventeen- and eighteen-hundreds. And over the years, their rice, indigo, and cotton plantations had yielded enormous wealth and all the trappings that came with it.

“Camille and Captain Buchanan have even agreed to allow the wedding ring to be displayed in the Heritage Society’s Treasures Show,” Delaine prattled on.

“That starts this weekend?” asked Haley.

“The members-only part is this Saturday evening,” explained Drayton, who currently served on the board of directors of the Heritage Society as parliamentarian. “Then the grand opening for the public will be the following weekend.”

“Of course,” said Delaine, “the wedding ring is not quite as showy as some of the pieces in the European Jewel Collection, but it’s a quality piece, just the same.” The European Jewel Collection was a special traveling show that was being brought in to augment the Heritage Society’s own pieces.

“It was a lovely and generous gesture on the part of Camille and Captain Buchanan to allow their ring to be displayed,” said Drayton.

“Oh, Coop, over here!” chirped Delaine. She waved at a tall, lanky man, beckoning him to come join their foursome. “You-all know Cooper Hobcaw, don’t you?” she asked.

“Hello, Mr. Hobcaw,” said Theodosia, shaking hands with the silver-haired, hawk-nosed Hobcaw.

“Coop. Just Coop,” he told her. Glancing at Drayton and Haley, Cooper Hobcaw nodded hello.

Cooper Hobcaw was a senior partner at Hobcaw McCormick and one of Charleston’s premier criminal attorneys. He was smart and tough and wily and had a reputation for playing hardball. Last year he’d defended an accused murderer and had succeeded in getting him acquitted. That had made Cooper Hobcaw slightly unpopular among Charleston’s more politically correct set and had greatly rankled Burt Tidwell, the homicide detective who was an on-again off-again friend of Theodosia’s.

But a person shouldn’t be defined by what they do, decided Theodosia. Cooper Hobcaw had been squiring Delaine around for quite a few months now, and Delaine seemed completely and utterly charmed by him.

“Would you like another drink, honey?” Cooper Hob-caw asked Delaine solicitously.

“Please,” she said, handing over her empty glass. “But this time . . . maybe a cosmopolitan?”

“Ladies?” Hobcaw threw a questioning glance at Theodosia and Haley, who both shook their heads. Their champagne glasses were still half-full.

“I’ll come with you,” offered Drayton.

“No, no, please. Allow me,” said Cooper Hobcaw. “You stay with the ladies and keep them amused. I’ll bring you a... what is it you’ve got there? Bourbon?”

“Right,” nodded Drayton.

“Good man,” said Hobcaw with a crooked grin. “I can’t stand that bubbly stuff either.”

“Okay,” said Haley after Cooper Hobcaw had moved off, “tell me which one is Camille Cantroux. There are so many pretty girls here, I don’t know one from the other.”

“Over there,” said Theodosia. “Standing by the baby grand piano. With the short blond hair.” She indicated a young woman in a champagne-colored slip dress whose tones just happened to perfectly match her short-cropped and ever-so-slightly-spiked hair.

“The one who’s about a size two?” said Haley. “My, she is pretty, isn’t she.”

“Camille’s adorable,” gushed Delaine, who was fairly ga-ga over her young niece.

“Did you help pick out her wedding gown?” asked Drayton, who had finally assumed an if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em attitude about the wedding discussion.

“Of course,” said Delaine. “But being that Camille is so tiny, I suggested breaking from traditional style. Instead of her being overpowered by a big flouncy dress and flowing veil that would make her look like a human wedding cake, I found the most adorable little French creation. It has a bodice with just the tiniest bit of rouching, and a tulle ballerina skirt. Très elegant—but, of course, not in white.”

“Not in white?” said Drayton. “Then what...?”

“Ivory,” said Delaine, as though she’d single-handedly invented the color. “Ivory is so much more elegant than white. White has become awfully” she paused, searching for the word “passé.”

“I’m particularly fond of ecru myself,” said Haley. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t entirely rule out alabaster . . .” Haley suddenly stopped short as a deafening crash echoed through the room. At the exact same moment, a flash of lightning strobed in the tall, cathedral-style windows that lined one end of the ballroom, illuminating the night sky.

Startled, Theodosia took a step backward and turned toward the nearest waiter, fully expecting to see an entire tray of champagne glasses dumped on the floor. But no, the waiter was still clutching his tray, looking around in alarm.

The string quartet had stopped mid-note and the musicians were also glancing about with nervous looks. A strange hush had fallen over the room as the guests milled about, mumbling quietly and looking profoundly unsettled.

As if on cue, a second crash suddenly rocked the room. This time, the noise was louder still. And there was no mistaking the direction from which it came.

Camille Cantroux broke from the crowd and ran to the double doors that led to the Garden Room, where the sit-down dinner was supposed to take place. Grabbing the ornate door handles, Camille tugged at the doors, struggling to pull them open. The heavy doors seemed to resist for a moment, then they suddenly flew open, revealing the interior of the Garden Room.

But instead of elegant linen-draped tables alight with blazing candles, the Garden Room was a disaster! Half of the roof had seemingly collapsed. Rain poured in from above, drenching tablecloths, place settings, floral arrangements, and gifts. Sheets of glass mingled with smaller, dangerously pointed shards. Twisted metal struts, once part of the roof, poked up from the rubble.

And underneath it all lay Captain Corey Buchanan.

Camille’s voice rose in a shrill scream. “Corey! Corey!” she cried as she ran to him and threw herself down on the floor, ignoring the shattered glass and jagged metal.

Facedown, arms flung out to his sides like a rag doll, poor Corey Buchanan lay motionless. Camille plucked frantically at the back of his damp uniform as blood gushed from Captain Buchanan’s head and rain poured down from above. Desperate, needing to do something, Camille struggled to work her arms under and around Captain Buchanan, ignoring the debris that tore at her, wanting only to cradle her fiancé’s bloody head in her arms.

Following directly on Camille’s heels, Theodosia had raced across the room, covering the short distance in a heartbeat. She’d hesitated in the doorway for a split second, taking in the roof with its gaping hole, the wreckage of glass strewn everywhere, and the one enormous shard of glass that had imbedded itself deep in the back of Captain Buchanan’s neck, right near the top of his spine.

And Theodosia knew in her heart there was no hope.

Kneeling gingerly to avoid the needle-like slivers of glass and pointed metal, Theodosia gently placed her index and middle fingers against Corey Buchanan’s neck. Hoping against hope, she held her breath and prayed. But there was no pulse, no sign of life in this poor boy.

Captain Corey Buchanan, eldest son and proud warrior of the Savannah, Georgia Buchanans, would never again serve his country as a United States Marine, would never walk with pride down the church aisle in his dress white uniform. Now the only service poor Captain Buchanan would take part in would be his own funeral.

Wailing in helpless despair, Camille rocked her dead fiancé back and forth in her arms. “Now who’ll place the wedding ring on my finger?” she sobbed.

Theodosia turned her gaze to the black velvet ring box that was perched atop the silver card receiver she’d brought over earlier. Captain Buchanan had obviously slipped in the back door with the intention of putting the ring on display. But the velvet box sat empty. There was no ring to be seen.