Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery (6 page)

Despite
the warmth of the bed, Archie shivered. Ignoring the grumbling of
Ben beside him, he tugged the thin cover high over his ears with a
sigh, certain that tonight sleep would elude him.

Within
seconds he was fast asleep.

The
following morning Archie awoke to find the house strangely quiet.
Almost too quiet. He glanced curiously at the bed beside him,
surprised to find it empty. Throwing back the covers, he stumbled
to the washstand. The cold morning air danced across his skin,
snatching the last vestige of warmth with brisk efficiency. Quickly
using the cold water in the pitcher to wash, he gratefully donned
his clothes before heading downstairs to see why everyone was being
so quiet.

Only his
mum was in the house.

“
Where is everyone?” Archie asked, nonplussed. Surely he
hadn’t overslept?

Mum
smiled at him gently and beckoned him toward the table.

“
They have gone to work. Ben and Sammy are with your dad
today, and Betsy and Emilie are at work already.” She sensed
Archie’s next question and pushed a plate of cheese and bread
before him. “Your dad said to let you sleep. He’s explained to Mr
Tompkins why you aren’t in work today.”

“
But I have to go to work,” Archie stammered, aghast that his
dad would do such a thing as risk losing a day’s pay. Mr Thompkins
would dock his wages for not working, and that would make next week
hard for everyone.

“
Mr Tompkins understands, Archie,” Mum replied dismissively,
as she set about scrubbing the hearth.

“
Did they find Mr Harriman?” Archie couldn’t quite hide the
quiver from his voice as he posed the question he dreaded the
answer to.

“
Yes, dear, they did.” His mum’s voice was soft with sympathy
as she shot him a sad smile over her shoulder before turning back
to her scrubbing. “In the spinney, just as you said.”

Archie
shuddered as the image of Mr Harriman’s mottled face rose starkly
in his mind. “Any sign of the-“

Silently, Marjorie shook her head. Archie’s stomach dropped
and he fought the urge to tremble at the thought of the dark-garbed
menace roaming the streets.

“
Don’t you worry none though, Archie. The Justice of the
Peace, Lord Brentwood, has been informed. Your dad’s looking for
strangers in the area. Maybe the man who did it is long gone.”
Although her words were meant to be reassuring, her tone hinted
that she didn’t believe them for a second.

Archie
shuddered and hoped she was right that the man had gone. Somehow
though, he doubted it too. Something warned him that the man was
still in the area.

In the
safety of his own home, having rested and eaten, Archie felt secure
enough to think about the man who had put Mr Harriman so ruthlessly
to death. There was something about the raw, husky whisper that had
been familiar – only he couldn’t quite place why. With a frown, he
studied the darkly open void of the empty grate with a
shudder.

“
I’ll get to work then,” he murmured, pausing when his mum
waved him back down.

“
Your dad says you have to stop here today.”

“
But -” Archie hated to remind her that they needed the money,
but knew she understood when her eyes met and held his.

“
It’s alright, we’ll manage. After such a shock, nobody minds
if you take a few hours, my dear. Rest for a while, maybe something
that happened yesterday will come back to you.”

Archie
sensed there was something she wasn’t telling him, and sat watching
her, waiting.

Eventually she sighed, and put down the pot of black she was
using to black the grate. “The Justice of the Peace is coming
personally to ask you some questions later,” she confessed on a
sigh, shooting him a frown. “But if you tell your dad I told you,
I’ll be mighty cross with you, young man.”

Archie
felt his stomach drop, and considered her words. He had only met
Lord Brentwood once. The Justice of the Peace was a well-to-do nob
who lived in the big house on the outskirts of the village. His
breeches alone must have cost ten years’ worth of Archie’s wages.
There had been something about the stern-looking aristocrat that
had immediately made Archie wary.

That was probably why he made such a good Justice,
Archie mused thoughtfully. After all, until
yesterday there had been no crime in the area for some time. Except
for the odd sheep of Mr Taylor’s going missing, and the occasional
pail of milk, nothing much ever happened.

Now it
had, Archie wished it hadn’t. He thought of the boredom he had
experienced earlier yesterday afternoon with a pang of longing.
Life had suddenly turned very complicated, and he wasn’t certain he
liked it. He suddenly wanted – needed - to be bored; living in a
village where nothing much happened. He didn’t want to find himself
in the middle of a murder investigation. But, unfortunately, there
was no way out.

“
Why isn’t dad doing it? Why is the Justice involved?” Archie
frowned. His dad was the village constable, it was for him to
investigate a murder, surely?

Marjorie
sighed, clearly unsure herself. “I think it is because it is a very
serious crime, Archie. We all know that your dad can deal with it,
but the Justice wants the murderer caught quickly, and has said he
is going to help with the investigation personally.”

Archie frowned. Admittedly, the murder of Mr Harriman was by
far the most serious crime that had
ever
happened in the village, but
usually the Justice never got involved – whatever the crime.
Sensing that there was something odd going on, Archie lapsed into
silence.

He tried
to convince his mum to let him go to work several times over the
course of the day, and failed. At home, he found himself with far
too much time to think about what he had seen. Now the fear had
subsided, he was able to consider things more clearly; something he
suspected his mum and dad had been hoping for.

In an
attempt to get out of it, he had offered to take dad his lunch, and
take the bread to the bakery to bake, or collect the butter from
the buttery. He had even offered to churn the cheese in the cheese
room, but instead had been made to stay at home and wait for the
Justice to turn up and ask his questions.

Unfortunately, that meant that Archie had spent most of the
day thinking about the events of the day before. There was
something that Archie had realised – something that until now he
had not thought about. The more he considered it, the more he
realised that he hadn’t attached any significance to it before. It
made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and left
him with even more of a problem. He had to decide just what he was
going to do about the realisation that he had very nearly missed
one very large clue – a clue that Mr Harriman had been trying to
give him right up until the moment he died.

“
Now what?” Archie sighed, wandering aimlessly around the
front room. He paused beside the front room window, and stared
blankly out across the fields opposite. “What were you trying to
give me?”

His
stomach still churned over whenever he thought about Mr Harriman’s
last moments, he knew he owed it to Mr Harriman to think them
through carefully. Especially as Archie hadn’t told his dad as soon
as he had arrived home, and by keeping quiet had given the murderer
time to escape, and left Mr Harriman to get rained upon.

Archie
knew that whatever Mr Harriman had been holding in the hand he had
held out to Archie, the piece of white was probably still clenched
in his tight fist. Was that what the murderer had been after? Had
the murderer already gotten hold of it?

“
What do I do now?” Archie murmured, shaking his head in
consternation. He jumped when his mum spoke from directly behind
him.

“
What was that, Archie?”

Archie
spun on his heel and stared at his mum, giving himself a mental
shake.

“
Nothing – just thinking.” He averted his gaze from his mum’s
close scrutiny, praying that she wouldn’t ask any questions. He had
so many of his own, he didn’t know where to start. The last thing
he wanted – or needed – was to have a load of questions from his
mum, or Dad, and especially the Justice.

“
Come and help me get the tea things ready,” Marjorie
suggested. “Lord Brentwood should be here soon.”

Archie
shuddered, and quietly followed.

They
were just putting away the tea things when there was a knock on the
front door. Archie knew before his dad answered it, that it was
Lord Brentwood. His stomach dipped in nervous anticipation. He
hated the thought of recounting that grizzly afternoon in detail
again, especially to someone he didn’t trust, but he knew he had no
choice. His dad would expect it of him, and there really was no
real reason why he shouldn’t tell the Justice.

Although
it wasn’t Sunday, in deference to the importance of their new
arrival, Archie was summoned to the front room – the poshest room
in the whole house – to meet him.

“
Hello, Archie,” Lord Brentwood intoned, watching Archie enter
with dark eyes.

Archie
nodded at the new arrival, sketching a quick bow.

“
Don’t bother with all that,” the Justice ordered, motioning
widely to a seat. “Come and sit down.” His gaze met and held Jack’s
for several moments as Archie took a seat beside his
father.

“
You know why I am here, Archie. You are an intelligent lad. I
want you to go through everything you saw that afternoon. Don’t
leave anything out.”

Archie
shuddered. Although the request was made in a kindly voice, there
was something about the man’s eyes that was cold and hard, and did
little to encourage Archie to confide in him. Not wanting to get
his dad in any trouble though, Archie took a breath and began to
talk.

Several
minutes later, he finished carefully describing what he had seen
the afternoon of the murder with a sigh of relief. A tiny pang of
guilt swept through him. He felt fairly certain that the Justice
knew he hadn’t been entirely honest with him and described
everything he knew, but luckily the man didn’t press him any
further. Archie felt a flush of awkwardness steal through his
cheeks, and hoped his dad wouldn’t notice.

“
Now that you have calmed down a bit, Archie, is there
anything you can remember about the man you saw?” The Justice’s
voice was crisp and matter-of-fact. Despite the posh tone to his
voice, there was nothing patronising about him. It was just a
simple question from someone who talked a bit differently, that was
all. There was nothing in his manner that gave Archie cause to
distrust him in any way, but nevertheless, Archie felt distinctly
uneasy. He frowned down at the floor beneath his feet, pretending
to think over the events carefully.

“
I think his eyes were dark brown, almost black and he had
rotted teeth, but apart from that, nothing. He had a black tricorn
hat on, and the collar of his cloak drawn up to cover his face,”
Archie replied, turning his gaze back to the Justice.

He
gasped as Lord Brentwood bent down toward a bag at his feet that
Archie hadn’t noticed, and drew out a black tricorn. The familiar
surge of fear sweep through him at the familiar object. The
familiar stench of unwashed animal filtered into the room. Jack
coughed awkwardly, one hand rising casually in attempt to protect
his nose.

Archie’s
horrified gaze turned to the Justice, who seemed oblivious to the
offensive odour emanating from his hand.

“
Is this the hat you saw the man wear?” The voice was
matter-of-fact. The man clearly wanted to get the bottom of things,
so he could move on to more important matters, like catching the
murderer who had been wearing it. He seemed to be reluctant to
scare Archie into silence, and was trying to be as patient as
possible under the circumstances, but Archie could sense the man’s
growing agitation. It was clearly outlined by the rigid set of his
shoulders, and the faint tinge of impatience underlying his
aristocratic voice.

The
words locked in Archie’s throat and he nodded solemnly, his eyes
locked on the black material. It felt like the Justice had just
brought evil into the house, and it made him even more wary of the
man he had never felt particularly comfortable with in the first
place.

Once
again his eyes met and held those of the Justice of the Peace.
Although his face remained impassive, everything within him froze
as he stared at the middle-aged man before him. Lord Brentwood was
tall; taller than most men, and was lithe and well fed, although
not fat. There was nothing strange or alarming about his
well-dressed facade, except for his eyes. The hard, uncompromising
stare that was just a little too intent, a little too menacing to
be reassuring. Archie knew the man was waiting for something, but
had no idea what it was.

The
image of the hard, almost feral eyes of the murderer swept before
him briefly. It wasn’t until that moment that he realised that Lord
Brentwood’s eyes were also dark brown. Archie frowned, immediately
dismissing the wild notion that Lord Brentwood was the murderer.
Although Archie couldn’t remember precise details exactly, the man
who had chased him across the field had been smaller, thinner.
Although the eyes were very similar. Too similar. Archie shuddered
and turned his gaze away from the all too probing stare of the
Justice.