two
Hazel opens the door for them.
Alexander tries to squash the funny feeling in his chest— disappointment at it not being Daisy?— and takes her in.
She looks tired— dark circles ringing the bottoms of her eyes like twin crescent moons, her skin even paler than usual. She is fidgeting— her hands twitching, fingers rubbing against each other fervently, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Her dress is wrinkled and her dark hair ruffled— but her eyes seem to light up as she gazes at them.
Beaming, she shakes hands with George, the both of them exchanging somewhat secret smiles. Alexander never gets their one-of-a-kind interactions, the ones that can only happen between them, non-English to non-English, but he knows that George and Hazel understand each other in a way he never can.
And then before Alexander knows it, Hazel's turning towards him, and as she meets his eyes shyly— like she always does— it feels like nothing has changed and time has not passed since their last meeting.
His heart swelling with happiness, he sweeps her into a hug. She tenses at first, then melts into his arms. Once again, he's reminded by how tiny she is. Mid-hug, he smiles to himself, unseen by Hazel. He even feels reluctant to pull away, but George is raising his eyebrows at him, a small smirk on his face.
Flustered, he takes a step back and looks around. "Where's Daisy?" he asks quickly. A peculiar smell— beef tea, perhaps— stains the air, and he catches another glimpse of Bridget the maid rushing into a room, a jug of water in her hand.
Before he can connect the dots, George does it for him, replying, "She's sick."
Hazel stares at him incredulously, and that's all the confirmation George needs.
"What?" he questions innocently, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he proceeds to explain how he came to his conclusion in a flurry of precise observations, finishing at the end with a, "See? Elementary."
He crosses his arms and smiles at a duly impressed Hazel rather smugly. Alexander shakes his head, sighing, but he can't help but smile back at George. "Show-off." At that, George raises an eyebrow, smirk widening.
"Who am I showing off to?" He tilts his head at Hazel, who's blinking at him curiously. "Hazel's cleverer than I am."
Alexander sees Hazel flush—just slightly, soft pink dusting her cheeks—and she frowns at George. He bites back his smile—classic Hazel, so humble that she can't believe high praise when it's given to her. Even though George may be being a tad too playful here.
"Is Daisy all right? I mean—will she be?" he blurts out, causing the both of them to turn and look at him.
Hazel's forehead creases slightly, an exasperated smile crawling up her lips. "She'll be perfectly all right! She only has the flu. It's been going round the Rue," she explains, and with those two magical words, Alexander feels electrifying excitement shoot up to his throat, and the next second, he's begging a slightly flustered Hazel to spill the beans.
"It really isn't fair that you girls get all the best mysteries," he laments.
Hazel smiles widely—she doesn't seem to be aware of it—and she says playfully, "Well, we are the best Detective Society." She blushes immediately after that, as though what she's just said only just occurred to her, and looks down at her feet.
"Hazel! Hazel!" someone calls from the rooms, and Alexander's heart skips a beat when he realises it's Daisy's voice, only hoarsened by the flu. "I can hear George and Alexander! Bring them in at once!"
Hazel hesitates, but soon they're ushered into Daisy's room, and Alexander's eyes fall on Daisy, ethereal and glowing even down with sickness, and he averts his eyes almost immediately before Daisy can catch on. Behind him, he hears George tut at him softly, but in the corner of his eye, he sees Hazel staring at him, frowning—and his heart sinks.
He still remembers what Hazel told him last December. No. Not ever. I know Daisy. She said it in such an upsetting tone, Alexander knows it must hurt her, stuck in the middle, seeing one friend pine after another friend and not being able to do anything about it. She must be worried, seeing him still hopelessly in love with her after half a year. He draws in a deep breath, resolving not to bother Hazel with this Daisy business anymore.
After a round of intense protest, Hazel goes about narrating their whole experience at the Rue, and there's something in the way she tells the story that makes Alexander blink and stare at her more closely. There's… something new about her, something that shines in her eyes, something in the way she carries herself with confident hand gestures. Her voice is louder than he remembers too—it reverberates around the room and peals in his ears, and Alexander finds himself immersed in the story she's telling.
At the end of the recount, George leans back and whistles. "Golly!"
"Spiffing!" Alexander exclaims. This mystery's much more thrilling and puzzling than he previously thought, and now he's practically radiating with excitement.
Daisy watches them with a half-delirious smirk on her face. "It isn't bad, is it?"
"So, what do we do now? How can we help?" Alexander asks, staring from George to Daisy and finally to Hazel, who glances away from him and shoots a glare at Daisy, who has a slightly begrudging look on her face.
"You can't— well. There is one thing," she admits sullenly after a moment. "We were going to do it yesterday, but then I was struck down by this infuriating illness."
"You want to go to Annie's boarding house," George says.
Daisy looks annoyed but nods in confirmation as she lays down their course of investigation, but Hazel looks slightly helpless as she protests the impossibility of her plan. Alexander stares at her curiously, while Daisy just clicks her tongue impatiently and sighs like she's used to it.
"Hazel," she says in a chiding voice, "really. We have been in London for almost a month. I should think you know how to get lost in it by now."
Hazel looks different somehow.
It could be the purple coat that seems to swallow her tiny figure completely, or the blue beret on her head that strangely seems to suit her. It could be the pair of round, wire-rimmed glasses that rests on the bridge of her round nose, adding to her bookish look. It could be how she gingerly tip-toes towards George from behind, trying to surprise him when he's already spotted her long before. And Alexander has, too. If she's trying to scare George, then he shall scare her.
Hazel lets out a shrill shriek, and Alexander's head snaps towards her. She's clapped her hands over her mouth and jumped back from George, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. Alexander can't help but smile at her.
He's figured out how Hazel looks different—it's because she looks simply adorable right now.
With that strange but thrilling thought lingering in his head, he steps forward from his spot under a tree and bounds across the street to where Hazel and George are standing. George spots him immediately, and raises an eyebrow at him. Alexander holds up a finger to his lips and gestures at Hazel's unsuspecting figure, and George's face lights up with amused understanding.
Creeping up behind Hazel, Alexander knocks into her and grabs her arms to stop her from struggling. Hazel freezes, then before he knows it, she's screaming and twisting her arm out of his grasp to elbow him sharply in the chest.
He gasps at the pain, recoiling back a little, momentarily stunned at how much damage Hazel can inflict despite her size. "Ow, Hazel! It's me!" he says hurriedly, seeing how violently Hazel was shaking. His hands hold on to her trembling arms, trying to calm her down.
She whirls around, and Alexander is shocked at the angry flush spreading across her cheeks and the expression on her face. He's never seen Hazel with that look before, and now it's directed onto him. A rush of embarrassment washed over him as he realises what he's done, and he stumbles away from her, feeling heat rush to his face.
"I thought you were a murderer!" Hazel cries, and Alexander flinches at her shrill, too-loud voice so unlike the quiet, shy Hazel he knows. Her rich, dark brown eyes glimmer behind her round glasses. She's almost like a different person now, and he can't help but stare at her dumbly as she continues, "Or Bridget!"
"I'm—I'm so sorry, Hazel," he stutters, suddenly feeling tongue-tied in front of her. He runs a hand through his hair nervously, taking in a deep breath. "I didn't mean to upset you! I thought it would be funny." He rushes to give an explanation, but Hazel doesn't seem fully placated by it, her bottom lip trembling as she hugs herself tightly.
George sighs and shoots him a look as he steps in to wrap an arm around Hazel's shoulders. Alexander stares at him. "Alex!" he chides in an exasperated voice. "You idiot—"
"Hey! Hey, you!" someone yells from behind, and Alexander turns around to see an old man hobbling towards them, shaking his fist. He shoots a deathly glare at Alexander, and Alexander steps back instinctively. "Boys! What are you doing! Unhand that girl! Unhand her, I say! Dirty ruffians!"
Then his eyes shifts to George, and a sick look seems to come over his face, and then his face contorts with rage."You—!" he cries out, and Alexander flinches. Hazel bites her lip, but George's face remains smoothly impassive, one hand in the pocket of his ironed pants as he stares back at the old man calmly. "What do you think you're doing? Coming over and attacking our—"
He reaches out towards Hazel, then blinks at her face in shock, and when Alexander turns to see Hazel's face frozen in fear and helplessness, his heart twists, the sickening understanding dawning on him.
George glances at both of them, then clears his throat, straightening to his full stature as he tilts his head at the old man almost condescendingly. "My good sir, do you know to whom you are speaking?I am the Prince of Bengal and these are my friends, the Princess of Kowloon and the Duke of Massachusetts." He smiles at the old man and gestures politely at the bookstore before them. "We are waiting for my father, the Maharajah, to come out of this bookshop so he can take us to the Ritz for tea. Do you intend to prevent us from going about our business?"
George and Hazel stare him down menacingly, and Alexander tries to glare at him and fails.
The old man retreats with a scowl, but before he goes, he says, "London. It's not like it was in the good old days."
There is a sudden movement, and Alexander looks at Hazel, who has taken off her glasses and is looking at the old man with a strange expression on her face and the corner of her mouth slightly upturned.
"No, it isn't," she says to the man. Firm, commanding, confident. "It's better."
Alexander stares at her in wonder as the old man huffs and storms away, and George praises Hazel, "Didn't we do well? Hazel, you were brilliant!"
"You really were!" Alexander blurts out, smiling down at her so widely his mouth feels tired. Hazel flushes as she meets her eyes, and she immediately looks down.
"George was too!" she says quickly, and George smiles, shaking his head. "Oh—hurry—let's go and find Annie's accommodation before Bridget catches up with us!"
"Thick yellow fog curling around everyone."
They're standing on the bridge, the river churning on both sides and under them. George's leaning against one of the wrought-iron lamp posts, and Hazel's pacing the floor next to him. Alexander closes his eyes and imagines he's at the bridge last night, the fog touching his cold cheeks as George continues.
"Imagine Annie walking through it. Even in the brightest coat, she'd only be properly visible if you were very close to her, like both those witnesses were. She arrives on the bridge, she's standing near here, and then…" He trails off.
"She jumps?" Alexander supplies, trying not to shiver as he imagines the woman plummeting down into the river. But George shakes his head.
"No, I don't think so," he replies as he explains his reasoning in the perfectly logical and articulate manner, the way George always thinks no matter the situation. "I don't think that Annie ever meant to die. I think Daisy's right: someone else pushed her off the bridge."
Hazel shivers. "Ugh! But how did they manage it? Annie was afraid of the murderer, we know that, so why would she come to meet them here?"
Alexander scratches his chin thoughtfully, then suggests, "What if she just got a note? Something pretending to be from another member of the company." He snaps his fingers. "So, he's waiting for that person when the murderer comes up to her, disguised so she won't recognise them at first."
George's eyes light up. "Good, Alex! Once they were standing at the railing with her, it wouldn't be at all hard to do away with her."
Then his eyes take on a more mischievous light, and Alexander stares at him uncomprehendingly. He smirks back at Alexander and continues, "I say, Alex! You be the murderer." He gestures at him. "Go and stand behind Hazel."
Alexander shrugs, and steps behind Hazel, who tilts her head in confusion.
George shakes his head, tutting, unsatisfied. "Closer than that!" he orders.
Alexander complies, inching forward, but George still shakes his head. "Closer!"
Alexander steps in even closer to Hazel, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat as he realises how close they are.
It's strange, being this close behind Hazel and not doing anything—he looks down and starts to notice so many little things about her that he's never known to notice before: how stray strands of her jet-black hair have fallen out of her braid over time, dancing in the cold, gentle breeze, the curve of the nape of her neck, and how the top of her head only reaches up to his shoulder, and—
"I don't think I'd be worried if they came up behind me like this," Hazel says, and her voice snaps Alexander out of his daze. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "I'd be more surprised if they were stand-offish."
"So, it'd be easy for the murderer to get close if Annie believed she was meeting a friend. All right, Alex, what would you do now?"
Alexander scrunches his face as he thinks, squinting at Hazel standing in front of him and thinking through his next steps, then feels strangely awkward as he says, "I'd—er—I'd put my hand over her mouth so she couldn't scream." He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "Hazel, I mean Annie, I'm sorry about this."
He raises his arm and slowly puts his hand over Hazel's mouth. He's careful to be gentle about it, but his heart seems to skip a beat when his fingers graze the skin of her face, feeling her soft lips and warm breath against his palm, and it only beats faster when he places his other hand on the small of her back. It feels so weird to be in such an intimate position with a girl, and Hazel of all people—Hazel, his shy but shrewd letter-writing, puzzle-solving detective friend, Hazel, the best friend and secretary of Daisy, the girl who he is in love with.
Suddenly, Hazel turns around, and Alexander locks eyes with her. A soft pink dances across her cheeks, and they're so close, he can count the thick eyelashes framing her dark eyes and see every strand of hair sweeping across her forehead.
Under her intense gaze, he swallows as George says, "And then you'd push her in! There, see, it's quite easy."
Hazel spins around and glares at him, and Alexander takes the opportunity to step away from her. "I don't know," he mumbles, not looking at Hazel. "Wouldn't it be easier if I bent down, picked her up in my arms and threw her over?" He tries not to blush imagining that, and forges on, "All our suspects are bigger than Annie, right? If she was little like Hazel, it wouldn't take much. It'd be over before anyone noticed."
He tries to ignore how Hazel flushes at his words, turning away with a huff. "I am not re-enacting that," she says, and Alexander blinks at her.
George smirks and starts to say, "Oh, but—" He catches something behind them, and his whole expression changes. "Oh. Oh no."
And before Alexander knows it, they're separated from Hazel and thrown into a taxi with a policeman, hurtling back to George's house.
They sit at either side in the back of the taxi, with the policeman squashed in between the two of them.
George turns his head slightly to Alexander's side and says, "Well, Alex, that was fun while it lasted."
"It was," agrees Alexander faintly, and George flashes him a knowing smirk. He glances at him in irritation. "What's with that look?"
"Oh, nothing," replies George nonchalantly, stretching his arms behind his head. After a while, he says, "It's just too bad you didn't get to carry Hazel. I would've paid to see that."
Before he knows it, Alexander's blushing furiously. "George!" George blinks back at him, the picture of innocence.
"What're you so worked up over nothing for?" he asks. "Hazel does that sort of thing all the time, just with Daisy. They reenact the crime—that's how their Detective Society investigates."
"I suppose."
George shoots him a glance. "What's up with you, Alex? I thought you liked Daisy, not Hazel."
Alexander frowns. "Hazel's just a friend," he confirms quietly. "I don't see her that way. And I do like Daisy, but…" He trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence. But she doesn't like me back.
George watches him silently the rest of the car trip back.
Alexander's mind is whirling with confusing thoughts and emotions, as smudged and blurred as the scenery that whizzes past them on the other side of the window.
What does he feel for Hazel? He doesn't know. He just knows that… she's now a separate entity from Daisy Wells.
He's begun to truly see Hazel Wong.