“And then, of course, there’s the Devonshire cream.” Drayton smiled at Theodosia. “Theo?”
Now Theodosia stepped into the spotlight. “Devonshire cream, which is sometimes called clotted cream, is a thick cream made by heating fresh milk using a steam process, then allowing it to cool very slowly. During this cooling period, the cream content rises to the surface and forms ‘clots.’ This type of cream production is thought to have originated in the county of Devon, or Devonshire, where our illustrious duke and duchess resided.” She smiled. “And while we didn’t milk the cows or build up a head of steam, I can assure you that the Devonshire cream you’re enjoying today is highly authentic.”
There was a final spate of applause, and then Grace Dawson plucked at Theodosia’s sleeve and said, “My goodness, that was so interesting.”
The luncheon continued with lots more friendly banter, and Theodosia and Drayton were kept hopping. Pretty much everyone wanted seconds on scones, and they were definitely impressed with Drayton’s own version of thick, rich Devonshire cream. In fact, halfway through the luncheon, Theodosia was forced to retreat to her office to quickly print out two dozen copies of his recipe.
When the luncheon finally drew to a close and guests began to wander about the tea shop, selecting tins of tea and perusing scone mixes and grapevine wreaths, Theodosia looked around for Lionel Rinicker. She found him deep in conversation with Drayton. Grace was listening in.
“I tell you,” Rinicker was saying, “Timothy is worried sick.”
“Worried about what?” Theodosia asked, trying her best to look innocent.
“He’s convinced a gang of crazy thugs are going to come storming into the Heritage Society’s show and steal every precious object in sight,” Rinicker said.
Drayton stared pointedly at Theodosia. “I wonder where he got that idea?”
Theodosia winced.
“And you know what I told him?” Rinicker continued.
“I can’t imagine,” Theodosia said.
“I told him it could happen,” Rinicker said. “I said that if it happened at a local jewelry shop, it could certainly happen at an exhibition where a priceless Fabergé egg is being showcased.” Almost as an aside to Grace, he said, “Smash-and-grabs are practically de rigueur all over Europe. And they’re gaining in popularity here.”
Grace touched a hand to her throat and looked pained. “Are you serious?” Then, before anyone could answer, she added, “Do you really think it could happen again?”
Rinicker bobbed his head, looking almost happy. “Absolutely, I do.”
13
“I’d say our tea was a smashing success.” Haley beamed. She was still floating on air from what had seemed like an endless stream of compliments from their guests.
“A good time was had by all,” Drayton echoed.
“Thank goodness,” was all Theodosia had to say. She was delighted their guests had been charmed by the tea. And, for a few moments, she’d felt almost like Mary Poppins, flitting through the tea room, delivering sugar and smiles. But that was before Lionel Rinicker had voiced his opinion on the possibility of another theft. That notion had brought her crashing back down to earth. True, she herself had warned Timothy Neville of the very same thing. But, deep down, she wanted to be optimistic and assure herself that nothing else was going to happen. Of course, with the FBI scurrying about and the Charleston police on high alert, tension and danger seemed to hang redolent in the air. It just felt like something was going to happen.
“Who needs an afternoon pick-me-up?” Drayton called out. “I’m thinking of brewing a pot of Yin Feng green tea.”
“Isn’t that stuff, like, a hundred dollars a pound?” Haley asked.
“One hundred and fifteen dollars.” Drayton allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. “But after all our hard work I think we deserve a special treat. And it is a superb green tea.”
“You mean, like, green is the new black?” Haley asked.
“Precisely,” Drayton said. He turned toward Theodosia. “Don’t you agree, Theo?”
“Sounds good,” she said in a distracted tone just as the phone rang. She snatched it up. “Indigo Tea Shop, how may I help you?” She listened and then handed the phone to Drayton.
He listened for a few moments and then said, “Ah, what a pity. But, I do understand. Perhaps another time, then.” He hung up the phone, looking a little forlorn.
“What happened?” Haley asked. “Somebody cancel your subscription to Bow Tie Monthly?”
Drayton shrugged. “My opera companion just backed out on me.”
“Ooh, too bad,” Haley said. “And the season kicks off with La Bohème tonight. I suppose you still have those box seats?”
“Of course I do.”
“Too bad I’m not an opera buff,” Haley said. “Unfortunately, it’s just not my thing.”