But then George smiled. ‘You thought I’d look like Alex,’ he said to me. ‘People always do. He forgets to mention the fact that our father’s Indian.’
‘I’m sure I did!’ protested Alexander, turning to him. ‘Didn’t I?’
‘No!’ I said. ‘I – he didn’t—’ I wanted to explain that I was quite the opposite of upset, but I could not find the words.
‘Well,’ said Bertie. ‘I suppose I ought to do the formalities. Daisy, Hazel, may I introduce you to Harold Mukherjee and George Mukherjee, sons of Sir Mangaldas Mukherjee, the renowned doctor? Alexander Arcady I believe you already know.’
‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Daisy smoothly, taking Harold’s and then George’s hands as though she was not surprised in the slightest – although I had seen her pause at the sight of them, and knew that she was as amazed as I was.
Harold shook our hands with a smile and turned back to talk to Bertie, but George was another matter. He took Daisy’s hand and caught her eye, a direct stare that was not polite, but bold and deeply assessing.
‘Hello,’ said George gravely. ‘You must be Daisy Wells.’
They both dropped hands and stepped back at the same time. Daisy took a small breath, and I saw the wrinkle appear at the top of her nose.
I knew that something rather unusual had happened. You see, Daisy always takes the measure of everyone she meets. It only takes her a moment to understand almost everything about them – what sort of person they are, what they want and how they might be expected to go about it. I am used to her doing it. I am less used to the other person doing it to her in return. But – I looked at George – that is what had happened. George was seeing her, not the pretty, rather foolish Daisy she likes to show to the world, but the secret, clever, noticing Daisy. It was astonishing.
I was afraid of how Daisy would react. She is not used to being laid bare like this. But after a moment the wrinkle on her nose smoothed out. Her eyebrow went up, and a small smile quirked on her lips. ‘Hullo, George Mukherjee,’ she said. ‘I think I shall very much enjoy getting to know you better.’
Then it was my turn. I found myself looking up into George’s eyes, his hand in mine. ‘Hello, Hazel Wong,’ he said to me. ‘Pleased to meet you at last. I think I shall like you as much as Alexander does.’
I blushed.
Then Alexander turned to me. I had been in agonies trying not to look at him properly. I was waiting for a polite greeting, or nothing at all – but I suddenly found myself caught about the shoulders, pulled forward and squashed against a chest studded with shirt buttons. A bow tie tickled my forehead and my nose was full of a boyish smell that was both nice and very strange. I felt my whole body blush with shock. Alexander had hugged me! ‘Hazel!’ he cried in my ear. ‘Why, Hazel, hello!’ Then he pushed me away from him, just as violently as he had pulled me into the hug, and beamed down at me joyfully. His face was lit up with happiness, and I realized I should not have been worried at all about whether he was glad to see me. ‘You haven’t changed a bit – no, wait, I do believe you’re taller!’
‘You’re taller too,’ I said, my ears roaring. ‘You— Hello.’
Then Alexander turned away from me. ‘Hello, Daisy,’ he said. ‘You look very pretty.’
My stomach ached. Alexander might be glad to see me – but it was Daisy he had called pretty, Daisy that he wanted to admire. I knew my green dress looked garish next to Daisy’s pink taffeta, and my hair dull and dark next to the glow of her blonde curls. It is not fair that I must stand beside her always. If the whole world was drowning, she is the person I would reach out a hand to save, but that does not mean that I do not sometimes wish that she were not so very perfect.
‘Alexander,’ said Daisy – and there was something in her voice that told me that she had not forgotten the letters between the two of us last term. ‘How lovely to see you. Have you been here long?’
‘Almost a whole week,’ said Alexander, his natural cheerfulness bubbling out and sweeping all the awkwardness away. ‘Weston broke up ages ago. It’s been terrifically jolly, though – we’ve got wizard rooms next to Harold’s at St John’s, and everyone’s being so nice.’
‘Alex is being optimistic about human nature, as usual,’ said George. ‘It’s all because they think our father might give money to John’s for a scholarship if both his sons go to university here. They have good reason to be nice to us.’
‘Yes, but they like you too!’ cried Alexander, as Daisy gave a small appreciative snort, which she quickly covered with her hand.
‘Course they do, Arcady,’ said Harold, turning and clapping him on the back.
I heard the tone of his voice, and knew that there were some things blond, kind Alexander could never properly understand. It felt like a joke that only George, Harold and I could be part of.
Then, at the other end of the room, voices were raised. I had been so focused on George, Harold and Alexander that I had barely thought about the other people at the party – but of course, we were in Donald’s rooms. Beside the drinks table stood the man who had shouted at me on his bicycle earlier, Michael Butler – and next to him were two young men who I realized must be Donald and Chummy.
Both were short and brown-haired, with small noses and blue eyes and rather red cheeks. They were not identical twins – one had a thinner face and the other had much richer brown hair – and the expressions on their faces made them look even less similar. The thin-faced, mousy-haired one had a petty, sour look, and a tightly pursed mouth. Next to him, his rounder-cheeked, chestnut-haired brother shone. He stood with his chest thrown out, his orange bow tie like a flame and a confident, rather naughty look on his face. I saw at once what Bertie had meant. If this was Chummy, then he looked like a person who ought to be an heir.
‘Three days to go, Donald!’ he was saying to his brother. ‘You don’t have enough champagne, though. I’ve ordered more under your name. And the music – haven’t I told you I won’t have Leslie Thompson?’
‘I like him,’ said Donald, folding his arms defensively. He had two just-healed scars on his forehead, I saw – it must be where the bucket and the stone had hit him. It really did look like he had been hurt badly.
‘I don’t care what you think. I won’t have a foreigner playing his trumpet at our party. So I’ve hired Nat Gonella instead. Someone English!’
‘You can’t do that! It’s my money!’ cried Donald.
‘Not yet it isn’t. And anyway, if it wasn’t for an accident of five minutes, you wouldn’t be getting it at all.’
‘It wasn’t an accident! I was born first!’ said Donald. He sounded shrill and furious. ‘And on the twenty-fifth all that money will come to me, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’ll see – things will change. I’m just as good as you are, and everyone will see it!’
‘Are you!’ said Chummy. ‘I don’t think so. You can’t do a thing without me, and you know it. And anyway – well, just you wait and see.’
Daisy kicked me, hard, with the toe of her shoe.
‘Oh,’ said George, staring at us both. ‘So you think there’s something going on as well.’
11
Daisy turned white, and the crinkle at the top of her nose came back with a vengeance. ‘Whatever do you mean?’ she asked George.
‘It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?’ he replied quietly, glancing over at Bertie and Harold. ‘Something’s up between Chummy and Donald. Hasn’t Bertie told you about Donald’s “accidents”?’
‘We’ve been watching them almost all week,’ said Alexander, looking at both of us eagerly. ‘I’m glad you’ve seen it too. We were beginning to think we might be cracked.’
‘We’ve seen it now,’ I said – and then caught Daisy’s enraged glare.
‘George and I have decided that we’re going to have a shot at investigating it,’ said Alexander. ‘Would you like to join in?’
‘No!’ said Daisy sharply. ‘I mean – there’s nothing to investigate.�
�
‘Wait. You’re only saying that because you want to investigate!’ said George.
‘Of course we don’t!’ spluttered Daisy, caught off guard. ‘We would never do such a thing!’
‘Alex told me about the way you behaved on the Orient Express at first – trying to shut him out. You can’t do that again.’
‘Oh, see here!’ said Alexander, tugging at his cuffs awkwardly. ‘Daisy’s a good sort.’
‘Look, we helped you with your last case,’ said George, sticking out his chin. I saw that he was not only noticing, he was bold, sure of himself and able to carry a point. ‘Now you have to help us. Fair’s fair.’
‘You helped Hazel,’ said Daisy spikily. I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and tried not to look at her. It is true that Alexander’s letters helped me – and also that they drove a wedge between me and Daisy that I can sometimes still feel the splinters from. ‘Look here. If anyone is going to be doing any investigating, it ought to be us. We have solved four murder cases, and so that makes this our mystery!’
‘Your mystery? We were here first!’ said George, crossing his arms. He was not giving an inch of ground to Daisy. I was rather impressed with him. Daisy is not an easy person to say no to.
‘We’re better detectives!’ cried Daisy. ‘Have you solved any murders?’
‘We once—’ Alexander began eagerly, but George cut him off.
‘No, but that hardly matters, as this isn’t a murder either. Don’t talk so loud! They’ll notice something’s up. Look. There’s a way around this – a very easy one. We can all detect.’
‘But—’ said Daisy. I knew she was about to say, But it is still our case – but before she could, someone came into the room behind us. We all went quiet, and pretended to be enjoying our glasses of squash.
‘Having a party, are you?’ said a voice. ‘Give me a glass, will you?’
I jumped. There was something about those words that were both utterly familiar and completely out of place. It was not so much what the person had said, but the accent they had said it in. It dropped me like a stone back into the past, to being small in Hong Kong, and at another party.
Then I turned, and my heart began pounding. I had not been wrong after all when I remembered Hong Kong, for the handsome, well-dressed young man standing in the doorway had black hair, pale skin and eyes as dark as mine. In fact, to most British people I am sure that this man would look exactly like me – that is what English people always think when they see more than one Chinese person together. I suddenly understood the reason why Mr Perkins had been so calm when he met me. At Maudlin I was not unique.
12
And this was not just any Chinese person. I knew him.
His name was Alfred Cheng, and he was the cousin of Victoria Cheng, the girl whose father had sent her to a very prestigious girls’ school in Cairo, and convinced my own father – a business rival of Mr Cheng – to send me to Deepdean two years ago. Most unexpectedly, a piece of my Hong Kong life had appeared in the middle of polite, English Cambridge.
I remembered the first time I had met him, years ago. I had been at a party, very small and shy, and Alfred had come up to me in his padded silk suit and said, ‘Give me your cake.’
I had politely done so – I had been taught never to say no to boys, especially older ones – and then watched as Alfred had worked his way round the room, taking cake from every plate. That was the sort of boy he had been. I wondered if he was still used to getting the things he wanted.
‘Hazel, Daisy, this is Alfred Cheng,’ said Bertie, coming up to us again. ‘Lives on this staircase as well. Here, Hazel, he’s not related to you, by any chance? Cheng, do you know Hazel Wong?’
‘I know her father,’ said Alfred, at the same time as I said, ‘I know his cousin.’
‘We aren’t related,’ I added in a hurry. Really, I should not have needed to say it – Alfred is quite tall and well-built, and his face is much squarer than mine.
Chummy looked over and saw Albert – and then his eye fell on me. ‘What’s this?’ he asked in a loud voice. ‘Another Chinese? Isn’t it a bit much? Why, we English will begin to feel outnumbered soon!’
I froze.
‘Hazel is my sister’s friend,’ said Bertie.
Chummy stared at Alfred, Harold, George and me rather accusingly, as though it was unreasonable of us all to be alive, and so close to each other. I felt embarrassed, as though I had made a mistake without noticing it – like eating with the wrong fork, or wearing the wrong sort of hat.
Then I saw George’s chin tip up again, and remembered that I had made no mistake at all. It really is not rude to exist, whatever anyone else says. I decided I did not like Chummy at all.
‘Do be quiet, Chummy, you prize idiot,’ said Alfred fiercely. I looked at his hands, and saw they were shaking – Chummy’s words had got to him, just as they had me. ‘Your brother may be coming into money soon, but my father could still buy and sell you both.’
Chummy looked furious. ‘How dare you!’ he snapped. ‘You jumped-up—’
‘Don’t, Chummy,’ said Bertie quickly. ‘Don’t be like that. Come on. We’re having a party.’ I saw that he looked embarrassed, and wondered how he could stick up for Chummy when he spoke to other people like that. I felt sick.
‘Oh, I suppose,’ said Chummy, still angry. ‘Port! How about some port? Donald, you’ve been saving a decanter, haven’t you? Let’s drink it.’
‘No, that’s my best vintage!’ cried Donald, but Chummy ignored him. He pushed him aside and picked up a crystal decanter, uncorking it with a flourish that made its stopper gleam in the lamplight. As Donald grumbled and looked helpless, Chummy began to pour dark-red, sweet-smelling drink into tiny little glasses. They reminded me of a doll’s house tea set.
‘None for the children,’ said Michael Butler sternly.
‘Oh, let them!’ said Harold. ‘Father always gives George a glass.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Michael – and I saw what Bertie had meant about him taking his role as a don seriously. Everyone else was a student, loud and silly, but he was behaving like a proper grown-up.
Daisy, George and Alexander sighed, and I made sure to sigh too – although my father would never allow me to drink, and would have been quite furious if he knew I had even been offered it.
Then Chummy, Donald, Alfred, Michael, Harold and Bertie all raised their glasses. ‘To Christmas!’ said Bertie. ‘To holidays!’ said Harold. ‘To birthdays,’ said Chummy, with a glare at Donald. They all drank, and Chummy made a face. ‘Sour,’ he said. ‘I believe it’s corked, Don. I shan’t be having any more.’
‘It’s perfectly all right,’ said Donald – though I could see his mouth purse, and knew that he had not liked the taste either. The others all politely finished their drinks, but Donald drank his glass down, and poured himself more. It was as though he was trying to spite Chummy, to show him that he could ignore him if he chose – but he did not do it very well.
Donald was just drinking his second glass when a distant bell rang.
‘Ah!’ said Bertie, straightening his bow tie. ‘Dinner time! Come on, I’m starved!’
He went on a headlong dash out of the room and down the stairs, and the rest of us followed. I was glad – I had been feeling so uncomfortable in that awkward party.
Somehow Alexander managed to get himself just behind Daisy. My stomach clenched. Then George was at my elbow, and I turned to him, glad of the distraction. ‘Hello again!’ I said.
‘Hello again to you too,’ said George. ‘It really is nice to meet you at last. Alexander has told me a terrific lot about you. He thinks you’re terribly nice.’
Terribly nice, at that moment, did not feel good enough, so I said, ‘Oh?’ wanly.
‘Yes,’ said George. ‘Of course, Alexander thinks everyone’s terribly nice. He says the same about Daisy, although she clearly isn’t nice at all.’
I laughed.
‘I can tell she’s far
cleverer than she lets on,’ George went on. ‘I think she might be cleverer than me. Don’t look like that – I don’t mind. Not many people are, but she is.’
He said it so casually, as though he was saying an obvious truth. I was more fascinated with him by the minute. Like Alexander, he said what he thought, but he was more forceful – more, I realized, like Daisy.
‘She’s my best friend,’ I said.
‘Lucky her,’ said George with a smile. ‘Now – I’ve got an idea about detecting this case.’
‘Is it to do with us working together?’ I asked uncertainly. ‘Daisy won’t like it.’
‘If you say yes, she’ll come round,’ said George. ‘But listen. Why don’t we—’
Chummy suddenly came clattering down the stairs behind us, and I knew we could not talk further.
‘No good here,’ said George. ‘Tomorrow. Meet to discuss in Fitzbillies at noon?’
I nodded, feeling very brave and grown up. I had made a decision on behalf of the Detective Society, and I knew it was a good one. I suddenly saw that this holiday might be very interesting indeed.
13
Out we went into the blue dark. We walked back along the path, past the porter’s lodge, and through an archway into another, larger quad. This one had not only a square of dark grass, but a large pond, black and still, with a little metal statue in the middle. It stood up like a paper cutout against a set of grand lit windows.
‘That’s the Great Hall,’ said Bertie in my ear. I breathed out in amazement. Maudlin really was like a castle, I thought; a castle out of a romance. Here was even more of the magnificence of Cambridge my father had described. I imagined the food, the warmth, the gowns and silver plates, and I stepped forward gladly.
My foot slid on a patch of ice. I stumbled, gasping, and two pairs of hands steadied me. Daisy was on my left, and on my right was Alexander. ‘Careful,’ he said.
I was so pleased and embarrassed that I shook him away, tucking my arm instead closer into Daisy’s. As we walked into Maudlin’s Great Hall, I was in a turmoil of emotions.
Mistletoe and Murder: A Murder Most Unladylike Mystery Page 4