Shades of Earl Grey

The first six blocks they kept it down to a fast walk. Theodosia wanted to stretch her legs, ease out the kinks. She loved to run, had been a runner for some ten years now. But she also knew the cardinal sin in running was to skip the warm-up and zoom right into high gear. That was the absolute wrong way to do it. That’s how muscles got pulled, tendons sprained.

But by the time she and Earl Grey hit Battery Park at the very tip of the peninsula, they were warmed up and ready to blow out the carbon.

Theodosia gave a fast look around, didn’t see anyone who remotely resembled the pooch police. Excellent, she thought with a tiny stab of guilt as she unclipped Earl Grey’s lead. And with that, the two of them bounded down the pathway that snugged the shoreline.

A salty wind whipped Theodosia’s hair out in streaming tendrils, oyster shells crunched beneath her feet. They pounded past a trio of Civil War cannons, past a huge stack of old cannon balls, past the bandstand where so many weddings and wedding party photos had taken place. To their left was the surging harbor with its marker buoys and flickering lights, to their right loomed the dark city of Charleston, the Kingdom by the Sea that Edgar Allan Poe had immortalized in his poem Annabelle Lee.

Theodosia took a right where Legare Street intersected and Earl Grey bounded along beside her. They flew down the block, the dog maintaining his easy, loping stride in order to stay even with his beloved owner. Now they were deep in the heart of the historic district again. Streets were canopied over with trees, cobblestones paved a warren of narrow walkways and secret alleys, and large, elegant homes butted up against each other. Theodosia cut to the right, down Atlantic, and whistled softly for Earl Grey to follow. He did.

They skimmed past the tiny brick Library Society building with its ornate wrought iron fence, then turned down a narrow, hidden pathway that ran behind the building. Theodosia slowed her pace, then pulled to a stop just outside the Library Society’s lush courtyard garden. In the dim light, she could make out the three-tiered fountain, columns of lush oleander, and large camellia bushes.

Time to reel her dog in, she decided. Time to start the cool-down. Theodosia knelt down, clipped the leash back onto Earl Grey’s leather collar, and gave him a reassuring pat.

And in the moment of silence that followed, heard footsteps coming up behind her.

Had someone been following her?

She remained kneeling in the back alleyway, her breath coming faster now, her heart pounding.

If someone had been following her, she reasoned, they probably hadn’t realized she’d stopped. Which meant they’d be coming around that corner any second. Hastily, she unclipped Earl Grey’s leash and wound it around her right fist. The leather and metal snap would make a dandy weapon and Earl Grey would be far more effective as a guard dog if he were free to move about on his own.

Earl Grey stood expectantly now, as did Theodosia, listening to rapidly approaching footsteps.

Suddenly, the nighttime runner was upon them. Startled, obviously not expecting to see someone blocking the pathway, the man, a tall man, skidded to a stop and gaped at Theodosia, his breath coming in hard gasps.

“Theodosia?” he said.

Theodosia stared back, relief suddenly flooding her. The mysterious runner was none other than Cooper Hob-caw.

She put a hand to her heart. “Oh my goodness,” she laughed, “you startled me.”

Cooper Hobcaw looked equally rattled. “Yeah . . . sorry. Are you okay?” he asked.

Theodosia knew he was probably wondering just what she was doing here, standing in this dark pathway, looking like an idiot.

“I was just putting the leash back on Earl Grey,” she explained, “and heard someone coming.” When she’d realized who it was, she had quickly loosened the leather leash from around her hand. There was no reason to let Cooper Hobcaw know she’d been prepared to launch an all-out assault on him.

Now Theodosia bent down and clipped the leash onto Earl Grey’s collar. “There,” she said as it made a satisfying snap. “Sorry we startled you.”

“Hey,” he breathed, “same here. You can’t be too careful after what happened last night.”

“Exactly my thought,” replied Theodosia.

“Strange goings-on,” said Cooper Hobcaw. “Have you heard . . . is the fellow who got knocked on the head, the security guard, going to be okay?”

“I think so.”

“Good,” he said. Cooper Hobcaw peered at her in the darkness. “I thought I was the only nutcase who went running through the historic district at night.”

“No,” she said. “There are actually quite a few of us.”

Cooper Hobcaw nodded. “The professional’s dilemma, right? Work all day, exercise at night.”

She nodded back. “ ’Fraid so.”

“I like your buddy here.” He reached out and rubbed Earl Grey behind the ears. Earl Grey responded by tossing his elegant head and inviting a scratch under the chin. “Nice dog,” said Cooper Hobcaw. “Friendly, too. I like that.”

It was only after Cooper Hobcaw had jogged off that Theodosia remembered he lived over on the other side of Calhoun and not in the historic district at all.

Chapter 7

“Once you taste this Formosan Oolong,” promised Drayton as he poured a steaming brownish-amber liquid into celadon green ceramic teacups for the three women seated at his table, “I think you’ll understand why it’s been dubbed the champagne of teas.”

Heads bobbed forward, and here and there a delicate slurp was emitted.

“Delicious!” declared one of the women.

A second woman held up the small teacup. “Why no handles?” she asked.

“It’s simply the convention for Chinese teacups, or tea bowls as they are often called,” replied Drayton. “Same for Japanese teacups. Now if we were drinking a nice strong tea in Morocco or Russia, we’d probably be using a glass. And the English teacup, usually slightly fluted and with a delicate handle, is a derivation of the ale tankard which was often used for imbibing the proverbial hot toddy.”

The ladies nodded happily, delighted with their tea tasting and with Drayton’s fascinating bits of tea lore.

“This oolong does have a slightly sweet flavor,” declared one of his tasters.

“Can you pick up a hint of peaches or honey?” he asked.

The three ladies tasted again, then nodded.

“And chestnuts,” he added. “Very often an oolong will offer up a delicate nutty taste. That’s a result of the shortened withering period. Freshly picked leaves are dried for only about four or five hours, then allowed to partially ferment. Once the outside of the leaves begin to turn greenish-brown, the tea is fired. Remember,” he told them, “tea is one thing that never improves with age. Freshness does count.”

“I’ll never go back to orange pekoe again,” declared one woman happily.

“Which, as you all know, is really a grade of tea, not a flavor at all,” said Drayton as a quick aside. “Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he stood up from the table, “I shall check to see if a certain batch of croissants are out of the oven yet.”

The ladies beamed, caught up as they were in the fascinating world of tea. But then, whenever Drayton conducted one of his tea tastings, he was highly instinctive as well as delightfully entertaining. He was sometimes booked weeks in advance, and often, bed-and-breakfasts such as the Featherbed House or the Allister Beene Home would recommend to their guests that tea with Drayton was a “not to be missed” event.

Drayton hustled over to where Theodosia stood at the counter. “Are the croissants ready yet?” he asked.

“Should be just coming out of the oven,” she told him.

Drayton stood for a moment and fidgeted.