Shades of Earl Grey

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.

Chapter 22

“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,” Dray-ton 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