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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...