1 Masked figures slipped down twisty paths as a neon orange Cheshire cat peered down from its perch high atop a crumbling stone wall. The Red Queen cackled as she held court on a candlelit patio overflowing with guests dressed in tuxedos and cocktail dresses. Over on a patch of manicured lawn, excited shrieks rose up as bets were placed on a do-or-die croquet match. It was the Mad Hatter Masquerade, an autumn fundraiser for the Charleston Opera Society, and what Theodosia Browning decided was a voyage into crazy town. As the owner of the Indigo Tea Shop on Charleston's famed Church Street, Theodosia was used to staging exciting events. A Firefly Tea at an old plantation, a Murder Mystery Tea in a haunted house . . . even a Honeybee Tea in Petigru Park. But the Opera Society's masquerade party at the old Pendleton Grist Mill near the City Marina was the most unconventional venue she'd ever seen. The Grist Mill's twisty walkways, jagged walls, and flaming torches brought to mind the ancient battlements of a ruined Scottish castle. Sprinkle in strolling musicians, fire eaters, dancing fairies, a dozen or so Alice in Wonderland characters, two bars, and three hors d'oeuvres stations and you had yourself a first-class high society soiree. Gathering up her ankle-skimming black silk skirt, Theodosia turned to Drayton Conneley, her tea sommelier, peered through the eye slits of her peacock-feathered mask, and said, "Can you believe this party?" She was practically agog at the revelers and entertainers streaming past them. Drayton, who was decked out in a tuxedo and white half-mask reminiscent of The Phantom of the Opera, said, "It's really quite magnificent. The Friends of the Opera have truly outdone themselves this time." He took a sip of his peach tea smash and nodded to himself as if to punctuate his words. "Aren't you glad we helped with the appetizers?" "I'm just tickled we got invited." Theodosia laughed a rich, tinkling laugh that crinkled her startling blue eyes and caused her mass of auburn hair to shimmer in the candlelight. She'd never consider herself Charleston high society, but that didn't mean she couldn't party her head off. After all, she was still mid-thirties, unmarried . . . well, okay, she was in a relationship . . . but did love a big-time gala. A girl had to slip into her dancing shoes once in a while, right? Drayton, on the other hand, was sixty-something, well-heeled, and accustomed to rubbing elbows with Charleston money. He served on the board of directors at the Heritage Society, did stints on the boards of the Dock Theatre and Carstead Folk Museum, and, at last count, owned three tuxedos. While Theodosia came from a hustle-bustle marketing background, Drayton had cut his teeth at the tea auctions in Amsterdam and taught culinary classes at the prestigious Johnson & Wales University. Theodosia may be the clever entrepreneur bubbling with new ideas, but Drayton has been around. A White Rabbit dressed in tie and tails skittered past them followed by a fairy dancer in a long, diaphanous gown. As the fairy ran by, she thrust a crown of flowers with trailing pink ribbons into Theodosia's hands. "Tea roses and freesia," Drayton said as Theodosia placed the floral crown atop her head and scrunched it down over curly locks that were suddenly reacting adversely to the evening's high-test humidity. "With all those flowers in your hair and your long dress, you look as if you just stepped out of a Renaissance tapestry." He'd barely uttered his words when a short fellow wearing a floppy blue suit and an enormous mouse head ran up to them. "It's the Dormouse," Theodosia exclaimed. "Which means Alice must be dancing around this wonderland as well." The Dormouse shoved a silver scepter into Drayton's hands and then scampered away. "I'll say this," Drayton said, giving the scepter a playful twirl. "This certainly is an immersive experience. I mean look at this place. Who'd have thought you could turn a historic old grist mill into such a magical, slightly secretive setting?" "I know," Theodosia said. "The twisty paths, the crumbling walls with curls of ivy, the fact that every time you step around an old stone pillar or column, another weird tableau presents itself." "Speaking of which, shall we help ourselves to another peach tea smash?" "I'm so glad you allowed them to use your signature drink recipe," Theodosia said. "White tea, peach slices, and fine old bourbon," Drayton said. "You can never go wrong with that." They walked down a cobblestone path and entered one of the grist mill's open sheds where a crowd of masked partygoers danced to a jazz trio playing an up-tempo rendition of Dave Brubeck's "Take Five." "It's hard to recognize your friends when everyone's wearing masks," Theodosia said. "But I think I see Delaine. The one in the black lace dress dancing with the fellow in a Chinese mask?" Theodosia turned to study another group of guests. "And maybe, over there, the man behind the silver bird mask is Timothy Neville?" "I'm sure they're both here tonight, along with half the inhabitants of Charleston's Historic District," Drayton said. "After all, this is one of the major events of the Fall season." "On second thought, I think that might be Delaine," Theodosia said as she eyed a woman in a red sequin dress with strappy black leather stilettos. "You see when she kicks up her heels there's a hint of red on the soles of her shoes?" Drayton touched a hand to his bow tie. "What's that mean?" "Louboutins," Theodosia said in a knowing tone. "Ah, shoes. Expensive are they?" "You have no idea." But the woman in the spendy party shoes saw them watching, and suddenly spun away from her partner and danced over to Theodosia and Drayton. She lifted her red and gold Venetian mask and gave a knowing wink. "Right shoes, wrong name." "Cricket!" Theodosia exclaimed. Cricket Sadler was the executive chairperson in charge of the Mad Hatter Masquerade. She'd single-handedly come up with the theme and roped in Theodosia and Drayton to help with hors d'oeuvres. "Dear lady," Drayton said, taking Cricket's hand. "Your party is exquisite. There's so much merriment and exotic entertainment going on around us. It's dizzying." "Believe me when I say I had beaucoup help," Cricket said, fairly bubbling with excitement. "Entire committees, if you must know, tasked with decorations, performers, costumes, entertainment, and even lighting." She rolled her eyes expressively. "Then there was the food and liquor-well, you know about all that because you catered it. And I have to say, our guests are love-love-loving it!" Theodosia was pleased by Cricket's words. She, Drayton, and Haley, their young chef at the Indigo Tea Shop, had kicked around lots of ideas, but finally settled on steak bites, miniature shrimp kabobs, duck pâté on crostini, and a selection of local cheeses. They'd spent the entire afternoon prepping, cooking, assembling, and then, finally, schlepping everything over here. But that had been earlier in the day, before all the candles and twinkle lights were lit, and before the musicians and performers arrived to spin their magic. "We were just on our way to grab another drink," Drayton said to Cricket. "May I get you one as well?" "A tasty offer," Cricket said. She was petite, had short brown hair with chunks of honey blond, and was draped in real-deal gold earrings and necklaces. She hitched up her shoulders, leaned forward and said, "But right now I need to make the rounds and see if I can hustle up a few more donations from our invitees. Then, I for sure have to find my husband. Last I saw of Harlan, he'd wandered off with the Red Queen." "And probably having a merry time of it," Drayton said. He turned back to Theodosia and said, "The bar is which way?" "I think maybe over here," Theodosia said. They crunched their way down a dimly lit gravel path past a giant papier-mâché mushroom, turned a corner and-whoops, this wasn't the right way to the bar at all. They suddenly found themselves smack dab in the heart of the grist mill. "Looks like we took a wrong turn," Theodosia said, then stopped dead in her tracks to gaze at the hulking pieces of machinery that stood in the center of the room. There were interconnecting wheels and some kind of old motor attached to pulleys, chains, and leather paddles. Overhead was a honeycomb of low wooden beams and a ragged hole in the ancient roof that let in a small spill of moonlight. A faint rustle of wings filled the air as birds flitted from beam to beam. "Amazing," Drayton said as he walked a few steps closer to the apparatus. "This old grist mill is really something." "It's also a little scary," Theodosia said. In the semidarkness the wood beams and stone walls seemed to press in on them as well as tamp down the sounds of outside revelry. In fact, she could barely hear any music at all. But Drayton remained fascinated. "Early grist mills were water-run, powered by sluiceways. But this particular mill was automated in the late eighteenth century. You see that large wheel?" Theodosia nodded. From her perspective it looked like something from a torture chamber. "Throw the bevel gears and that wheel drives the whole shebang. See, there's the giant mill stone where grain was ground then carried up by those leather paddles." Theodosia walked a little closer and peered at the central workings of the old grist mill. "This is some place. And I'm amazed at how well-versed you are about its operation." "Because it's interesting, a piece of Charleston's history. And you know how much I like history." "Oh, I do," Theodosia said. Drayton was known to go on for hours about Charleston's old churches, mansions, single houses, plantations, hidden lanes, and narrow cobblestone alleys. "But imagine how noisy and inhospitable this place must have been a century ago when grain was milled here practically day and night," Drayton said. "It's not that hospitable now." The mill was dark, and Theodosia felt as if shadows were flitting all around them. Maybe it was the flicker of torches from outside? Or just her imagination? "All that chaff filling the air, making it difficult to see and breathe," Drayton continued. "And the noise and clatter of clanking machinery." As if to punctuate Drayton's words, a low hum rose up from the nearby machinery. Then a leather belt started to vibrate. Drayton took a cautious step back. "What just happened here?" "Maybe someone threw a switch?" Theodosia said. She'd caught a faint scrape of footsteps behind her. "For a demonstration of some kind?" But when she turned and looked back over her shoulder, she didn't see a soul. "Huh, this is weird." The noise increased in pitch, building from a low hum to a loud, repetitive, clickety-clack-clack as chains and leather belts began to move. It was as if the machinery, untouched for decades, had suddenly been sparked to life. Now, with everything thumping and thrumming, Theodosia could barely hear anything at all. "I don't think we should be in here," Theodosia shouted in Drayton's ear, feeling foolish even as she said it. Of course, they shouldn't be here. These old mill contraptions were dangerous. As if they could grab somebody and . . . the phrase grind his bones suddenly popped into her head. She spun hastily, ready to grab Drayton's sleeve and pull him away from this strange, shadowy place. But Drayton was rooted to where he stood, mouth open, seemingly dumbstruck. Then he slowly lifted a hand and pointed. "What?" Theodosia shouted. When Drayton didn't answer, she said, "What?" a second time. Then she lifted her eyes, blinked hard, and did a kind of double take. Because something, Lord knows what, was caught in the giant heavy chains that pulled the leather paddles up toward the ceiling. "What do you think that is?" Drayton asked her. "Rags? A bunch of old gunny sacks?" Theodosia shook her head. "I don't know." But the strange thing was, she did know. Because whatever was caught between those giant paddles had a definite shape to it. Two arms, a leg . . . maybe a head? "Help!" Drayton shouted as he suddenly arrived at the same conclusion. He turned and sprinted for the doorway. "Help!" he called out. "There's been an accident, we need help in here!" His plaintive cries brought a half dozen curious people. A man in a white dinner jacket yelled, "What's wrong?" while behind him Theodosia's friend, Delaine Dish, screamed, "My Lord, is that a man dangling up there?" The chains and leather paddles had pulled the body even higher. Now, the onlookers' screams blended with the noise of the machines and rose to a fever pitch. Their screams drew even more people who lifted their collective voices in a dreadful cacophony that seemed to billow through the ancient grist mill, matching the enormous clouds of dust being spun out up by clanking machinery. "Someone's caught in the gears," a man shouted. "Somebody do something," a woman in a bright yellow gown cried. Even Cricket Sadler ran in and started screaming for help. But no one did anything. They simply stood there, horror-struck, too paralyzed to help or figure out the situation. Theodosia didn't know what to do, but she knew she had to do something. She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to see through the swirl of dust and chaff, then edged over to what Drayton had pointed out earlier as bevel gears. Reaching a hand out, Theodosia pushed one of the wooden levers, hoping to stop the machinery. Nothing. The clanking grew louder and the screams from the crowd increased in volume. She touched a hand to a second lever, pushed hard, felt it start to give, want to give. Blowing out a stream of air, trying not to choke as she cleared the terrible dust from her nose and mouth, she leaned hard into her task. Pushing with all her might, she managed to throw the lever hard-left. There was a deep shudder, a terrible screeching noise, and then the machinery finally, mercifully, ground to a halt. "Get him down! Help him!" came countless cries. Now, a dozen hands reached up to try and free the trapped man, but no one could reach him. Seconds dragged by, then a full minute, before a ladder was found and lifted up. A young man in a green and yellow caterpillar costume scrambled nimbly up the ladder and worked feverishly to untangle the man from the chains. After two minutes of twisting and turning, he was finally able to free the injured man. Balancing precariously now, he bent forward to lower the victim into waiting arms. But at the last second, he fumbled and lost his grip. The victim cartwheeled away from him, plunging fifteen feet down, and hitting the cobblestone floor like a sack of flour. Excerpted from Peach Tea Smash by Laura Childs All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
