5
“Could Don Kingsley really have been in possession of an original Navy Jack flag?” Theodosia asked Drayton once Tod Slawson had left. “Where would he get something like that? More importantly, could a more than two hundred-year-old flag have withstood the ravages of time? After these many years, wouldn’t a flag of that vintage be in tatters and remnants? Or simply reduced to dust?”
But Drayton thought differently. “If the flag was properly cared for, stored correctly, and by that I mean temperature and humidity controlled, it might still be in fairly decent shape.”
“That would be amazing.”
Drayton scratched his cheek absently, as if deep in thought. “As I recall, there was a Continental Light Dragoons flag that went up for auction at Sotheby’s a few years ago.”
“Do you remember what it sold for?”
“It went for a pretty penny. Almost eighteen million dollars.”
The number was so vast, it took Theodosia’s breath away. She cleared her throat self-consciously. “So this ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ flag might be worth even more?”
“I would guess . . . yes,” Drayton said. “A lot more.” He dropped his voice to a reverent tone. “Realize, please, these antique flags are sacred objects. People died defending them. Not just those serving in the Continental army and navy, but ordinary men and women who stood alongside them in the American Revolution and believed implicitly in the principles these flags stood for.”
“Dear Lord,” Theo said. “I’m shocked there’s a flag of that vintage available. I would have thought most old, historic flags were enshrined in museums and history centers.”
“I’m no expert, but I believe there are only thirty or so genuine Revolutionary War flags still in existence,” Drayton said.
“Then I can certainly understand a collector’s fervor. A Navy Jack flag is . . . well, it’s incredibly inspirational,” Theodosia said. “It would be akin to a holy relic.”
“Exactly so.”
“Where would Don Kingsley obtain a flag like that? And why would he want to sell it if he was a collector himself?”
“Hard to say. Maybe he inherited the flag, or maybe he picked it out of a junk store bin. Many pieces of fine art have been discovered that way,” Drayton said.
“An occasional Jackson Pollock painting that turns up on Long Island maybe. But a Revolutionary War flag?”
“You never know.”
“Who could tell us about this type of flag? Are there any flag experts in Charleston that could offer an opinion?”
“Possibly someone in the Americana Club.”
“What is that? Some historical group? I’ve never heard you mention them before.”
“And I’m sure the members would prefer to keep it that way,” Drayton said. He cleared his throat, as if he were about to impart a deep, dark secret. “The Americana Club is a small group of wealthy men who collect rare pieces of American history. Old documents, flags, medals, militaria, you name it.”
“Civil War pieces, too?”
“Of course.”
Theodosia felt her heart blip with interest. “And you say this group is local?”
“Most of them live right here in Charleston. They reside in the Historic District, of course. And own homes along the Battery and Tradd Street.”
“So really a hop, skip, and a jump away from us.”
“Correct.”
“Does this Americana Club have its own private museum?”
Drayton chuckled. “No, but all the members probably have a secret room in their home.”
“Sounds like they fly under the radar.”
“You know, Theo, I don’t think you should get all wound up about this purported Union Jack. Now that I think about it, there’s a good chance the flag isn’t genuine.”
“But what if it is?”
“Well, what if it is?” Drayton said. “What’s the problem?”
“For one thing, the flag’s owner was just murdered along with two other innocent people. So it wasn’t just an indiscriminate killing. I mean, there was a reason behind it. Somebody must have wanted something from Kingsley. And when they didn’t get it . . . BOOM!”
“I suppose you do have a point.”
“And now there seems to be a mad scramble going on.”
“A treasure hunt to see who can possess that flag,” Drayton said slowly.
“Or steal it,” Theodosia said. Missing money and a missing flag. How very . . . curious.
The rain didn’t keep customers away this morning and, five minutes later, the tea shop was busy. The door flew open constantly as merchants from up and down Church Street came in to grab their morning cuppa and a take-out scone. Tourists came in to seek refuge and get a bite to eat, their faces aglow when they saw what a lovely tea shop they’d discovered.
Theodosia took orders and ran them back to Haley. Drayton brewed pots of tea. Theodosia ran Haley’s finished orders back to their guests, picking up the steeping pots on the way.
And all the while Theodosia’s mind was in a whirl. Thinking about the deadly explosion yesterday, wondering about this missing flag. When there was a lull in the action she said to Drayton, “Do you mind if I skip out for five minutes and run next store to the bookshop?”
Drayton cocked an eye at her. “Looking to do a little research?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
Theodosia grabbed an umbrella and ducked out into the storm. The rain had let up some, but the wind was whooshing down the street. It caught her hair and made the auburn tendrils stream out like ribbons on a maypole.
Theodosia gritted her teeth. When her hair got wet—or slightly damp—it took on a life of its own. Not exactly frizzing, but expanding in size until it became an abundant halo around her head.
Luckily, the Antiquarian Bookshop was only three doors down from the Indigo Tea Shop. It was housed in a tall, redbrick building and had a classic storefront, with gold, curlicue letters painted on the window. Theodosia ran in, shaking rain from her umbrella, and breathed a sigh of relief. Inside the bookshop it smelled like old paper, ink, and leather book covers. Tall, wooden bookcases were crammed full of used books as well as new books written by local authors. Antique library tables held interesting displays and vintage leather club chairs were scattered about so you could sit a spell and do some reading.
Lois Chamberlain, the owner and a former librarian, was at her usual place, hunched over the front desk. She was a compact woman, late fifties, wearing a purple shawl and bright-red half-glasses. Her long gray hair was plaited in a single braid that extended halfway down her back. With her sharp eyes and crinkly smile, she reminded Theodosia of one of the traditional low-country wise women who knew just when and where to gather healing herbs and tender roots in the forest.
Lois looked up and smiled as Theodosia approached her desk.
“Rainy out there,” Lois said. “Bad for business. Keeps the tourists indoors.”
“Hopefully this weather won’t last all week.”
“It will because this Thursday I’m supposed to have a booth at an outdoor bookfair over in Columbia.” Lois rapped her knuckles against the front desk and said, “What can I do for you?”
“What do you know about flags?” Theodosia asked.
“Not much, but we probably have several books about them.”
“From the Revolutionary War era?”
Lois’s chair creaked as she stood up. “That could be tricky, but let’s go take a look.”
Theodosia was in luck. Lois found two separate books about Revolutionary War uniforms, battle dress, and flags.
“I need to purchase these books,” Theodosia said.
“You’re welcome to borrow them.”
“No, I want to buy them. It’s important.”
“Well, let me at least wrap them in plastic. Since it’s raining cats and dogs out there.”
“Hurry up, we’re really getting busy,” Drayton called to Theodosia the minute she stepped through the front door.
Theodosia glanced around the tea shop. Only four tables were occupied and none of the guests looked particularly anxious or irritable. They nibbled scones and sipped cups of tea, seemingly enjoying their respite from the inclement weather.
Theodosia held up an index finger. “Give me one more minute.”
She disappeared behind the celadon velvet curtains that separated the tea room proper from the kitchen and her own small office. She tossed her purse on her messy desk and dumped the two books alongside it. She turned, ready to get back to work, and then stopped and glanced back at the books.
Just one quick peek. What could it hurt?
Theodosia flipped through the book entitled Emblems of the American Revolution. When she got to the chapter on flags, she scanned the illustrations and photos and carefully read the captions. The fact that all the flags were homespun and hand-sewn gave them a resolute do-or-die feel. And the more Theodosia studied the flags, the more she had the sense that she was looking at something remarkable, something that carried a great deal of spiritual significance.
Yes, it took only a few pages and Theodosia was hooked.