Blood Orange Brewing Read online

  Tea Shop Mysteries 7

  Blood Orange Brewing

  Laura Childs

  Copyright © 2006 by Gerry Schmitt & Associates, Inc.

  This book is dedicated to Jennie and Elmo.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to some very special people: my agent, Sam Pinkus; my editor, Samantha Mandor; my husband, Bob; my sister, Jennie; and Lillian in North Charleston for all her help. My heartfelt thanks also goes to all the "tea ladies," those hard-working tea shop owners, tea retailers, and tea publishers-entrepreneurs all-who continue to help foster the gentle art of tea.

  The poem "Tea," from which Drayton freely quotes, was written by Robert Ford and appears in the book Tea Poetry, a compilation of tea poems by Pearl Dexter, Olde English Tea Company, Inc.

  1

  "Fascinating,” declared Theodosia Browning as her quizzical blue eyes roved about the hexagon-shaped room. Packed with antique medical instruments, colorful jars, and old anatomical charts, the tucked-away alcove must have been the old surgical suite back when this Victorian-style Charleston home had been a hospital almost a century and a half ago, Theodosia decided. Its builder and owner had made a fortune in early pharmaceuticals and patent drugs. Because, lord, have mercy, she told herself, this is what medical facilities were like in the 1860s.

  "This place totally gives me the creeps," whispered Haley Parker. She was awed by the strange surroundings and strobelike effect of the candles and somewhat freaked out by the cloudy specimen jars in which floated bits and fragments of unrecognizable objects.

  "Think about it, Haley," said Theodosia, studying a long, tubelike stethoscope carved from elephant ivory. "If you had a serious medical problem like a ruptured appendix or a broken leg, you'd be grateful for whatever medical knowhow was available. Even if it was the 1860s variety."

  Haley gave a resolute shake of her head. "Not me," she said. "I'd rather rely on herbs and natural remedies. Things you could find in the forest to knock back inflammation or infection."

  Theodosia nodded and her lush auburn hair casually brushed her shoulders. Thick, bordering on bountiful, it framed her oval face and gave her a pre-Raphaelite look. Theodosia's hair was inherited from a grandmother who'd bragged about breaking combs, and her fair skin was also a by-product of her English-Irish ancestors.

  Theodosia understood where Haley was coming from. Ever since she'd opened the Indigo Tea Shop in Charleston's historic district, she, too, had been fascinated by the curative powers of various teas, tisanes, and herbs. For example, a simple brew of chamomile tea went a long way to alleviate anxiety and insomnia. While meadowsweet tea was often the perfect antidote to a nasty headache.

  "We'd better get back," suggested Haley. "Here we are, playing explorer in this old house just as Delaine's fancy Candlelight Concert is about to get under way. Can't you just hear Drayton fussing and muttering because we're not there to help him?"

  "You're probably right," agreed Theodosia. "Although Drayton always does a masterful job even if we're not around to chatter at him." She cast a final inquiring glance at a surgical set that glinted hypnotically from its purple velvet case on a narrow sideboard. "But this room with its antique medical instruments really is quite remarkable."

  Negotiating their way through the library, dining room, and center hallway where throngs of well-heeled guests mingled and chatted, Theodosia and Haley finally made their way to the small side parlor near the front of the old house. There, Drayton Conneley, professional tea taster and Indigo Tea Shop right-hand man, was fretting away in his own inimitable style. Bone china cups were getting a final fastidious wipe, candles were being carefully positioned in silver candelabras, and floral bouquets were being arranged just so. Drayton had even discovered a narrow back passageway to the old kitchen. So most of the food and tea that would be served here tonight had been stashed back there where it could be prepped and staged.

  "Theodosia," came Drayton's pleading tone as he noted her approach. "Where have you been? Your presence is needed." He glanced at Haley. "Yours, too, Miss Parker. If you don't mind."

  "Pop a chill pill, Drayton," joked Haley as she shook back her long mane of stick-straight hair and subtly repositioned a sugar bowl on his elegantly set table. "We're not going to be serving guests for at least another hour. Besides, we're supposed to have a little fun tonight."

  Drayton lifted his grizzled head and leveled a steady gaze at Haley. In his mid-sixties, clad in a tweed jacket and omnipresent bow tie, Drayton was the picture of discombobulated decorum. "Why do you taunt me like this?" he asked as one eyebrow pulled itself into a furry arc. "Have I wronged you in some way? Has my efficiency offended you?" Drayton slid the sugar bowl back into its original position and gave her a knowing smile.

  "It's just good sport, Drayton," said Haley. "Just sport." Even though they were the best of friends, Haley loved nothing better than to chide Drayton about his fastidiousness and over-the-top work ethic. But, truth be known, once Haley assumed dominion in her small but well-provisioned kitchen at the Indigo Tea Shop, she herself turned into a virtual martinet. Tasked with baking the lemon cream scones, cranberry muffins, almond trifle cakes, and all the other sumptuous goodies that the Indigo Tea Shop served up daily to its delighted customers, Haley herself was hard-working, sharply focused, and, some might even say, slightly dictatorial when it came to food preparation and service.

  Theodosia beamed as the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, arguing in their easy, bantering way. She was no stranger to this magical friction of personalities that added creativity, vigor, and chutzpah to the mix. A few years ago, when Theodosia's dream morphed into the reality of opening the Indigo Tea Shop on Charleston's historic Church Street, Drayton and Haley had both been at the top of her to hire" list.

  Drayton Conneley had been working as catering manager at one of Charleston's finer hotels, but Theodosia knew his courtly manners and eloquent bearing would appeal to her customers. Plus, Drayton had grown up on a tea plantation in China, worked in the tea industry, and attended the great tea auctions in Amsterdam. So his wealth of knowledge made him a natural for master-minding tea blends and conducting tea tastings.

  Haley Parker had been and still was attending college part-time, but her prodigious baking skills and youthful enthusiasm made her a prime candidate.

  Luckily for Theodosia, she never had to twist any arms to get them on board. And smart cookies that they were, Drayton and Haley had also seen the handwriting on the wall. They understood that the gentle art of tea was big and getting bigger, growing into a marvelous, daily ritual that was happily engulfing the country. Because whatever it was in today's society that drove people to distraction-the hustle-bustle 24/7 pace of modern life, stress-filled jobs, multiple responsibilities-women (and plenty of men, too) were finding respite and solace in tea rooms.

  A tea shop, especially Theodosia's Indigo Tea Shop, was a place that just naturally granted patrons the permission to slow down. To sit at one of the little wooden tables impeccably set with sterling silver and bone china. To appreciate the way the sunlight filtered through the old leaded-glass windows, breathe in the aroma of fresh tea and engage in relaxing conversation. And, of course, there was the major diversion of partaking in a languid three-course, four-course, or even six-course tea menu. A menu that began with fruit or cream scones accompanied by billowing poufs of Devonshire cream and strawberry jam. Then segued into threetiered trays laden with cucumber sandwiches, smoked salmon pinwheels, individual cheese and mushroom quiches, and other mouth-watering savories. Of course, an Indigo Tea Shop grand finale always included sinfully rich desserts such as chocolate truffles, raspberry cobbler, apricot tortes, or miniature almond cakes.

  "Delaine's going to be thr
illed," said Theodosia, gazing at Drayton's gleaming table. He'd brought along a large, formal sterling silver tea server that tilted on a fulcrum to pour out a steady stream of fresh-brewed tea. Positioned in the middle of a large table covered by a hand-embroidered linen tablecloth, the server was flanked by heroically tall bouquets of roses and lilies. And once candles were lit and crystal bowls and pitchers filled with sugar cubes, pouring cream, slices of lemon, and Devonshire cream, the effect would be one of sparkling elegance. Old world but so very inviting, too.

  "Did I hear my name mentioned?" drawled a soft voice.

  "Delaine," said Drayton. "Speak of the devil."

  Delaine Dish, proprietor of Cotton Duck Clothing and the instigator of tonight's Candlelight Concert, came slithering up to the table. "Devil?" she said, a mischievous grin lighting her lovely, heart-shaped face. "Is that what you think I am, really?"

  "Dear lady," replied Drayton, extending his arms in a theatrical manner. "In reality you are a much-loved savior and delirious workaholic. If it were not for you this poor house that has been so generously donated to the Heritage Society would still be sitting empty, looking forlorn and utterly abandoned."

  "It was wonderful of you to volunteer to head up the Restoration Committee," added Theodosia. Delaine might be a social butterfly with a flippant manner and a penchant for attractive bachelors, but she was also a whiz at taking charge of committees and raising stupendous amounts of money for worthwhile causes.

  Delaine cocked her head and gazed around. "This house is still in a miserable state of disrepair," she told them. "But I am making it my mission in life to raise enough funds to at least have this main floor restored to its former grandeur. Once that happens we shall open the house for tours and begin to charge a small admission fee. Of course, it's too late to include it in this autumn's Lamplighter Tour, but maybe next year." Delaine smiled and held up a carefully manicured index finger to punctuate her sentence. "By that time the Augustus Chait House should be able to sustain itself as a tourist attraction and going concern."

  Theodosia grinned. All in all, Delaine had come up with a fairly workable business plan.

  "You're going to have to twist the arms of a lot of high-powered business people just to get this main floor in shape," said Drayton.

  Delaine threw him a Cheshire cat smile. "Look around." She waved an imperious arm at the crowd that was milling about, sipping flutes of champagne. "See those people? Feel that buzz of excitement? Those aren't just business people out there," she drawled. "Those are captains of industry as well as important Southern politicos. We've got doctors, attorneys, giants from the computer industry, even television executives here tonight."

  Drayton peered owlishly over the top of his half-glasses. "Well, when you put it that way. . ." he began.

  "You see that fellow over there?" snapped Delaine. "The one in the cashmere jacket?"

  Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley followed Delaine's triumphant gaze toward a tall, good-looking ginger-haired man who was holding court with two attractive women. Broad-shouldered yet sleek, the man had a well-bred, almost patrician air about him. Like he might be a wealthy plantation owner or someone to the manor born.

  "That's Clive Bonham," bragged Delaine. "Congressman Clive Bonham."

  "Ah, yes," said Drayton. "As it so happens, we're going to be catering a tea for the congressman this week. A political tea, I believe." Curling his lip slightly, Drayton pronounced the word political as though he were referring to a piece of slightly over-ripened fish.

  "And standing over there," Delaine continued, pointing to a dark-haired man who sported a pencil mustache and what looked like a perpetual sun tan, "is Jock Rowley, the real estate developer."

  "Good heavens," said Drayton. "Not the same Jock Rowley who put up those awful time-share condos on the Isle of Palms!”

  "Why are you always so all-fired opposed to progress?" demanded Delaine. "Nothing gets accomplished without progress. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, You've got to break a few eggs to make an omelet?"

  "None of us are opposed to progress," said Theodosia, stepping in. "But when quaint beach houses are torn down to make way for ticky-tack, Monopoly-board structures, and access to all those picturesque little creeks and inlets is denied, it's rather upsetting."

  "To us and the environment," said Drayton unhappily. "So, you see, it's really not an omelet at all. More like scrambled eggs."

  "Mmm," said Delaine as a middle-aged man in a preppy-looking navy blazer approached her with a slightly tentative air.

  "Delaine?" asked the man, extending his hand.

  "Oh, my goodness!" exclaimed Delaine as she clasped the man's hand and pumped it. "Look who's here! Corky Chait, our illustrious donor! Come, come," she urged him. "You must meet everyone." And she made hasty introductions to Theodosia, Drayton, and Haley.

  "Corky and I have met before," Drayton told the group once the handshakes were completed and Delaine had distributed a sufficient amount of air kisses. "We served on a youth orchestra committee together."

  "Indeed, we did," said Corky, smiling and showing a heroic array of teeth. "Back when I was still flying for Transcon Airlines. Although Drayton displayed a far better understanding than I of how to help foster the arts."

  "It's so generous of you to donate this house to the Heritage Society," Theodosia told Corky. "I've been a member of the Heritage Society for almost five years now and, I must say, this has to be the most magnificent donation they've ever received." As Corky graciously demurred, Theodosia was imbued with a feeling of warmth. Here was a person who was both social and civic-minded. He probably could have sold this old house and realized a very tidy profit. Instead, he made a generous donation that would be appreciated for generations to come.

  Delaine seemed to read Theodosia's thoughts: "A house is such a living, tangible memorial," she told Corky. "Although the city of Charleston has always done a masterful job in preserving historic homes, your donation of this grand old Victorian helps assure the integrity of our historic district." Though Delaine's words had the ring of a canned chamber of commerce speech, Corky still looked pleased.

  "Thank you," he said. "But to be completely honest, the bequest had already been written into my grandfather's will. He was the one who selected the Heritage Society as beneficiary."

  "Your grandfather passed away recently?" asked Theodosia.

  "Two months ago," answered Corky. "Jedediah lived to the ripe old age of ninety-six. A truly amazing man."

  "You have our sympathy," murmured Theodosia.

  "Thank you," said Corky. "But realize, my wife and I probably would have donated the house anyway. We really had no use for it. And the Heritage Society is such a worthwhile cause."

  "Theodosia," said Drayton, "you know Corky's wife, Claudia, don't you? She owns Le Nest, that lovely little shop over on Society Street. In fact, this is one of her tablecloths that we're using tonight." He gestured at his tea table.

  "Of course," said Theodosia. "I've stopped by Le Nest two or three times since it opened." She threw Corky a questioning glance. "Is Claudia here tonight?"

  Corky shook his head. "Unfortunately, Claudia had to supervise a newly arrived shipment at our warehouse. She's just back from a nonstop buying trip which has pretty much led to a complete overhaul in her merchandise mix at Le Nest. Before, her focus was on Porthault and Pratesi sheets along with European toiletries and French-milled soaps. Now she's carrying handmade European linens, trousseau sets, antique fabrics, brocade and lace table linens, and French herbs. Oh, and tea towels. You should see her collection of tea towels!"

  "Are you serious?" squealed Theodosia. "Tea towels are an absolute passion of mine!"

  "Then you'd better stop by," said Corky, as a small knot of people pressed up behind him, obviously eager to chat. "I know she just received some new ones from Les Olivades." He began to edge away. "Talk to you all later? After the concert?"

  "Count on it," said Drayton. "We'll be right here serving tea and
our special scones."

  They all murmured their good-byes and then Corky moved on to chat with another group of well-wishers.

  "Nice fellow," said Drayton. "What does he do now?"

  "Corky imports exotic woods from South America," said Delaine. "I believe he sells mostly to high-end builders. As you know, so many home owners today want special cabinetry or exotic inlaid flooring or wine tasting rooms."

  "I didn't know that," said Drayton, who also lived in a Civil War-era dwelling, though his home was extremely small and austere compared to the one they were in this evening.

  Posturing grandly, Delaine turned to Theodosia. "You haven't said boo about my dress, honey." Then, before Theodosia had a chance to make any comment at all concerning Delaine's reddish-orange, form-hugging cocktail dress, Delaine went on: "Isn't it smashing? Chiffon cut on the bias. And such a vibrant color. I do love vibrant colors."

  "It's beautiful," murmured Theodosia, who was wearing a silver shift with matching stilettos, also from Delaine's shop.

  "I'd call it blood orange, just like the tea we'll be serving this evening," Drayton told her.

  Delaine let out a high tinkling laugh. "Blood orange, gunpowder green, golden tips, red raspberry ... your teas always sound like such wonderful colors. Fashion colors."

  "I suppose that's the beauty of tea," agreed Drayton. "With each sip, tiny explosions of taste and color delight the senses and intrigue the palette. The smoky flavor of gun powder tea, the sweet fruitiness from Assam golden tips, the rich, ripe flavors from teas and infusions containing bits of raspberry or peaches. Oh, I could go on . . ."

  "Please don't," said Delaine. She touched a hand to a matching silk rose that was pinned just below her left shoulder. "And did you notice? I had this flower made to match. Flower pins are still so popular. I've been selling gazillions of them at Cotton Duck." Delaine's boutique was one of the premier clothing shops in Charleston.