Shades of Earl Grey

The Treasures Show, once the installation was finally complete, would be a stunning display of some of the choicer pieces the Heritage Society had amassed over the years. Established as a repository for historical paintings, maps, documents, furniture, and antiques, the Heritage Society had been collecting antiquities for nearly 160 years. More recently, under the careful guidance of its president, Timothy Neville, the Heritage Society had staged several “appeal” campaigns, with subtle requests going out to Charlestonians asking them to kindly donate some of their more important paintings and pieces.

And certain residents of Charleston, especially those with homes filled to the rafters with inherited treasures, had responded generously. Especially those who had a relatively high tax liability and wanted to get that all-important museum tax credit.

That tax deduction loophole was perhaps one of the reasons the Heritage Society now had in its possession a tasty mélange of French empire clocks, eighteenth-century Meissen figurines, Queen Anne “handkerchief” tables, old pewter, fine sterling silver, and Early American paintings.

A hand-picked assortment that included some of those very fine pieces would be installed during the coming week to make up the Heritage Society’s much-heralded Treasures Show.

But for now it was the traveling exhibition of exquisite European jewelry that had captured Theodosia’s eye. This collection of jewelry was pure ecstasy, the kinds of pieces a woman could truly dream over.

Here, on a mantle of black velvet, was a diamond brooch that had once nestled at the ample breast of Empress Josephine, Napoleon’s one true love. And in this next case was a strand of giant baroque pearls that had reputedly been worn by the Duchess Sophia, when Archduke Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated in 1914. And Theodosia was utterly entranced by the jeweled flamingo pin that had been commissioned by the Duke of Windsor and worn by Wallis, his life-long love and the Duchess of Windsor.

All thoughts of burglars and thieves creeping through the night vanished from Theodosia’s mind as she gazed in wonder at the radiant treasures that occupied the glass cases in the small, dark room. Lit from above with pinpoint spotlights to highlight the radiance of the gemstones, the jewelry simply dazzled the eye.

As Theodosia gazed in wonderment, she was suddenly aware of Timothy Neville, the venerable old president of the Heritage Society, standing at her side.

At age eighty-one, Timothy was not just the power behind the Heritage Society, but also a denizen of the historic district, first violin of the Charleston Symphony, collector of antique pistols, and proud possessor of a stunning mansion on Archdale Street that was furnished with equally stunning paintings, tapestries, and antiques. And interestingly enough, all that knowledge and power was contained in a small man, barely one hundred forty pounds, who had a bony, simian face, yet possessed the grace and poise of an elder statesman.

“This is an absolutely stunning show, Timothy,” said Theodosia.

Timothy Neville smiled, revealing a mouth full of small, pointed teeth. Any compliment directed at the Heritage Society was a personal triumph for Timothy. But it was not just ego that drove him, it was a sense of satisfaction that the Heritage Society had once again fulfilled its mission.

“The show will be even more spectacular once the complete installation is in place,” replied Timothy Neville. “As you can see, we’ve only just utilized this one room. The furniture, decorative arts, and paintings will be displayed in the back two galleries.”

Theodosia pointed to a necklace that featured an enormous pear-shaped sapphire accented by smaller sapphires. “This blue sapphire necklace is stunning,” she told him.

“And the provenance is absolutely fascinating,” replied Timothy.

Intrigued, Theodosia bent forward and read the description for what they were calling the Blue Kashmir necklace. “Originally worn by an Indian maharajah, then purchased in the twenties and made into a necklace by Marjorie Merriweather Post, the breakfast cereal heiress,” she read aloud. “Wow.”

“Most people take jewelry at face value,” said Timothy, smiling faintly at his small joke. “What they don’t realize it that jewelry is often an intrinsic part of history as well. Jewelry speaks to us, tells a story.”

Timothy pointed to a case that contained a stunning group of black and gold brooches and pins. “Take this mourning jewelry, for example. Belonged to Queen Victoria. After Prince Albert died of typhoid fever in 1861, the old girl was so distraught she went into mourning for the next three decades. In fact, her mourning policy was so strict that she allowed only black stones to be worn in the English court. Jet, onyx, bog oak, that type of thing, set in silver and gold.”

“I had no idea,” said Theodosia.

“Most people don’t,” replied Timothy.

Theodosia turned to face him. “I’m sorry if we alarmed you,” she said. “About the possibility of a jewel thief.”

Timothy grimaced, pulled his slight body to his full height. Dressed in his European-cut tuxedo, he looked like a martinet, but his eyes were kind. “Yes, Drayton was in a bit of a flap over the accident at the Lady Goodwood Inn the other night. Who knows what really happened, eh? The police are investigating, are they not?”

“Yes, they are,” said Theodosia. “At least I hope they are.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what their assessment of the situation really is,” replied Timothy. “And in the meantime, bolster our security around here. I actually like the idea of having electronic gizmos. We have security devices on our doors and windows, of course, but I never thought to use them in conjunction with our various exhibits. Of course, the Heritage Society doesn’t put on all that many blockbuster shows that are advertised widely to the public. Mostly we’re a quiet little place. People find their way to us in ones and twos.” Timothy hesitated. “Sad about young Buchanan, though. I never met the fellow, but I knew his grandfather. Fine family.” Timothy shook his head and the overhead spotlights made his bald pate gleam. “Hell of a thing,” he murmured quietly.

“Delaine,” gushed Theodosia, “have you seen the jewelry yet?” She gestured over her shoulder at the small gallery she’d just emerged from. “It’s absolutely fantastic!”

Delaine smiled wanly. “Not really. I’ve been gossiping with Hillary Retton and Marianne Petigru. You know, the two ladies who own Popple Hill Interior Design? Did you know they recently worked on the Lady Goodwood Inn? That superb tapestry in the foyer came all the way from France. I think it might have been hand-loomed by cloistered nuns or something.”

“Are you okay, Delaine?” asked Theodosia. Delaine was looking decidedly unhappy and her voice had taken on a shrill tone. She was undoubtedly still upset from the other night. The fact that she’d been discussing the decor at the Lady Goodwood probably didn’t help matters, either.

“I’m perfectly fine, Theodosia. I’ve just been trying to get another drink!” Delaine held up an empty glass and lifted her chin. “That fellow over there has been no help whatsoever. I’ve asked him twice now to bring me a Kir Royale and do you think I have yet to see my drink? Of course not!”

“Delaine,” said Theodosia, “the man’s a security guard, not a waiter.”

Delaine furrowed her brow and pulled her face into a petulant expression. “Well, he’s dressed like a waiter.”

“That’s part of the setup,” Theodosia explained patiently. “Remember, we told you the Heritage Society would have extra security on duty tonight?”

“Oh.” Delaine bit her lip as Drayton wandered up to join them, alone this time. “Yes, I guess you did mention that.”

But from the look on Delaine’s face, Theodosia knew she was still unhappy about not getting her drink. It was amazing that just yesterday morning Delaine had been worked up about possible thievery at tonight’s event and now she was consumed with trying to get a drink. Theodosia sighed. Delaine did tend to be a bit self-centered.

“Where’s Cooper?” Theodosia asked as Drayton joined them carrying a goblet half-filled with red wine.

Delaine shrugged helplessly. “Off somewhere. Mingling, I suppose.” She turned to Drayton and eyed the goblet in his hand. “What’s that?” she asked.

“A marvelous Bordeaux, Haute Emillion, ’ninety-two. Take it,” he offered generously. “It’s freshly poured and as yet untouched.”