Squaring his shoulders; his heart thumping loudly in his throat, Archie took the plate off a stunned, yet delighted Ben, who relinquished the plate with so much enthusiasm he nearly toppled the contents onto the floor. He was all too happy to hand over the chore to someone else and didn’t care who took the scraps out, as long as he didn’t have to go outside into the dark, by himself.
Archie paused by the back door, his knees trembling with fear.
Could he go outside? Should he? He knew he should be telling his dad what he had just seen, but couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Especially in front of the others. They would be gossiping about it and have to analyse and ask lots of questions; questions that Archie wasn’t sure he could answer. His mind was racing in a confusing mix of images and thoughts that refused to settle into any kind of sense. He didn’t know how to explain what he had just seen.
His mum was busy bustling about the kitchen. Archie’s gaze landed on the scrubbed dresser beside the door, and the small paring knife that sat beside a bowl of apples. It was small, but would cause enough of a wound to make any attacker let him go. With a deep breath, Archie threw a quick glance at his mum before swiping the knife off the dresser and easing the kitchen door open. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t planning on keeping the wicked-looking object, he was just going to borrow it to make sure he got home safely. Swallowing loudly, Archie fought the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks and wrenched the door open.
Once outside, the heavy thud of the door closing behind him sounded like gunshot. He jumped, and swallowed harshly against the wave of fear that swept through him. The cool night air did nothing to ease the trembling in his limbs. For a moment he thought he might be sick in the bushes. Through the solid wood behind him, he could hear the low hum of conversation and wondered if this was the last time he would hear them. He was suddenly very sorry for every ill thought and dark wish he had ever considered should befall them. He loved each and every one of them, and wanted to remain with them for as long as possible.
The distance between the door and the pig pen was only a few feet. The pen was really an old outbuilding at the end of the garden and had a rickety wooden fence around it. Archie could hear Basil and Agatha snorting and snuffling in anticipation of their tea, but it was so dark out that he couldn’t see them. The shadowy outline of the pen sat in solitary menace. That wasn’t the problem. It was the myriad bushes, walls and shrubs that lined the narrow path between the door and the pen that seemed to loom menacingly before him, and made the distance he needed to walk all the more dangerous. He had to walk through the bushes to get to the pigs. Anyone could be on the other side, and Archie would not know until it was too late. A bit like – well, Archie closed the hovering image of Mr Harriman’s face moments before death.
His stomach churned. His knees felt weak. His heart hammered in his throat. For a moment he wondered if he could do it. Every brush of the gentle autumn breeze against his cheeks seemed to taunt him. Even the rustle of the leaves on the trees across the road seemed almost sinister.
This was it.
He had to do it.
He briefly considered tossing the scraps into the small bush beside him, but knew Basil and Agatha well enough to know that they would create such a ruckus that it would be impossible to get any sleep until they got fed. Then Archie would have some explaining to do. The knowledge that he would have a stern ticking off if he didn’t do as he had said he would, was enough to spur him into action.
Squaring his shoulders, he clutched the plate of scraps in one hand and the small paring knife in the other. With his gaze firmly locked on the outline of the pig pen before him, Archie left the solid comfort of the kitchen door and stalked across the garden. As he walked, his gaze flicked from one bush to the next, searching the deep shadows for any sign of movement. Everything within him screamed at him to run, throw the plate, and get back inside. Be quick. Hurry. Stay safe.
The short walk to the pig pen took longer than he had ever thought possible. His cheeks puffed out in wary relief as he upended the contents of the plate into the pen. The delighted squeals and snorts of Basil and Agatha as they ate their long-awaited tea was the only sound Archie could hear beside the nervous thumping of his heart.
He slowly turned around to face the house.
There!
Further down the lane under the cover of the large oak tree; a furtive movement of someone in the shadows. Archie’s eyes grew round as he studied the trees, wondering if his imagination was getting away with him. His heart hammered louder than ever before and, without further hesitation, he lurched into action.
Tearing down the path, he blasted across the gardens, cleared the small stone wall next to the garden in one smooth jump and burst through the kitchen door. He slammed the door behind him, and slumped against it, chest heaving with a mixture of exhilaration and fear.
He’d done it!
He couldn’t believe he had actually gone outside, in the dark, and fed the pigs. The murderer was out there still. He was sure of it! Or was he? He frowned at the wall opposite. Had it been his imagination? Was he jumping at shadows because of what he had seen that afternoon? Nevertheless, Archie slid the bolt across with a satisfying thump.
As far as he knew nobody needed to go outside again tonight so, for now, they were all safe. First thing in the morning, he would tell his dad what he had seen and then leave it to the grown-ups to decide what to do. They could look for Mr Harriman, and try to find the murderer.
“There you are, Archie!” His mum shook her head at him sternly as she bustled about the kitchen. “What are you doing with that?” She nodded toward the small paring knife still clutched in Archie’s hand. “Here, give that to me before you hurt yourself.” She snatched the weapon off him and slapped it back onto the dresser in her usual bustling manner. “We have finished supper already, but I saved you a plate.” She ushered him into the sitting room, motioning for him to sit at the square table in the middle of the room. Her voice faded as she disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing several moments later with a plate of bread and butter, a piece of pie and an apple.
Archie watched as she placed the feast before him with a thump.
The blood drained out of his face. Bile rose in his throat. For a moment he stared at the bread as though it was about to lurch from the plate and crawl off.
“Go on then, eat up,” his mum motioned toward the plate encouragingly, waiting beside him. Archie knew she wouldn’t move until he had started to eat. They hadn’t food to waste, and it was a house rule that everyone ate what was put in front of them. It didn’t matter if you liked it or not, there was nothing on offer until the next meal, so you had to accept what you were given and like it. No questions asked. Archie knew that he couldn’t choke the food past the lump in his throat for anything. He also knew that he should tell his dad what he had seen, but the words just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t seem to think, and instead sat dumbly looking at the food before him without moving.
“Archie?” His dad’s voice penetrated the thick fog that settled in his head. Archie jumped nervously. “What’s the matter, boy? You sickening for something?”
Archie stared absently at his father for a moment. The enormity of the afternoon’s events, and his bravery a few minutes ago was finally beginning to sink in, and he fought the urge to cry. He wasn’t usually a crier - that was Sammy’s job. He was the mardy baby. Blinking back the unfamiliar sting of tears, Archie shook his head solemnly, reluctantly picking up a slice of bread and took a bite. The thick slice of bread slathered in a rich layer of creamy butter exploded in his mouth. Whether it was the familiar taste of his favourite tea, or the comfort of the mundane behaviour of his family Archie wasn’t sure, but he immediately felt something inside him begin to ease and calm. He realised just how hungry he was, and tucked in. While he ate, his mind began to settle and work again. He was able to think about what he had seen a little bit more clearly, and began to consider what he need
ed to do next.
CHAPTER TWO
As he ate, Archie studied the various members of his family. Although he couldn’t see her, Archie could hear his mother bustling around in the small kitchen at the back of the house like she usually did. He often wondered what she did in there that needed her to be in there practically all day, every day, and strongly suspected that she messed about in there so she didn’t have to supervise Ben and Sammy’s antics.
Not that he could blame her, Benjamin and Samuel were a pair of scallywags; always getting into trouble. If they weren’t bickering and fighting, they were getting up to scrapes and japes that inevitably got them a sound scolding from Dad. The problem was, they never seemed to learn. Even now, under the increasingly stern gaze of Dad, they were still pushing and arguing, completely oblivious to the impending scolding. Archie knew that even once they had been told off and sent to bed, they would be up in their bedroom, still bickering and throwing the punches.
His gaze turned toward Betsy, his eldest sister and Emilie, his youngest sister. Emilie was so much like himself, Archie had often wondered if she was really his twin. They thought alike, and had the same interests. In that moment, as though Emilie sensed his disquiet, she glanced at him in silent enquiry. He knew from the look in her eyes that she had realised something had happened, and would be asking him questions later. She smiled gently at him in silent sympathy, quietly offering her support as she usually did. He knew that whatever he told Emilie, she would always stand beside him. She would listen to what he had to say, think about it and then tell him what he should do. More often than not, her advice was right.
Martha, on the other hand, was his oldest sister and was the most distant of all of his siblings. She worked as a scullery maid at the big house owned by Lord and Lady Brentwood, and spent most of her waking hours fetching and carrying for them. Although he knew little about what scullery maids really did, he knew that Martha left just before dawn every day and would be gone until just after dark; sometimes later than that. If she wasn’t back by the time it went dark, Dad often went up to Battleflat Manor to wait to walk her home. She spent very little time at home and, when she was there, was busy either helping Mum or catching up on gossip with Emilie, who worked in the buttery and knew everything practically before everyone else did.
Archie finished the last slice of his apple with a sigh. He was suddenly glad that he had decided to eat. His stomach felt pleasantly full, and the fear that had held him in such a ruthless hold had begun to ease. Unfortunately though tiredness began to take its place, clouding his thoughts and making his movements slow and clumsy. With his meal finished, he carefully carried his plate to the kitchen, unsurprised to find his mum scrubbing an already spotless table.
“I’m off to bed,” Archie announced quietly, watching his mum drop the scrubbing brush and turn to him with a frown.
“Are you alright, Archie? You are not coming down with anything, are you? You’re looking a might peaky.”
The words that longed to burst out hovered temptingly on his lips. Instead, he slowly shook his head.
“I’m just tired, that’s all.” Archie didn’t protest as his mum swept him against her chest for a quick hug. The brief kiss she dropped on his forehead would usually have made him squirm uncomfortably, but tonight it brought forth the unfamiliar sting of tears.
“If you are sure? It is still early, but you do look a bit pale.” His mum buffed his cheeks affectionately, nodding toward the sitting room door and the hallway beyond. “Go and get a good night’s sleep, you will feel better in the morning, I’m sure of it.”
Archie merely smiled weakly and did as he was told, calling out, “Goodnight,” as he swept through the back room. He ignored the close scrutiny of Emilie and his dad, and closed the hallway door behind him with a dull thud. His mother’s words rang in his ears and made him frown.
After this afternoon, he didn’t think anything would ever be all right again. He was certain that poor Mr Harriman would never be the same.
Guilt immediately swept through Archie at the thought of the old man lying cold and alone in the secluded spinney. Once in his room, he closed the door and savoured the silence for several moments. It was a relief to get away from his dad’s watchful gaze. He hoped his dad wouldn’t send Emilie up to find out what was troubling him just yet – this wasn’t something he could tell his sister. He couldn’t recount the gruesome details to his sister, or his mum. The only person he felt he could tell was his dad. First, though, he had to wait until everyone had gone to bed.
Archie frowned and opened his eyes, only then realising that the room was unlit; the open shutters cast the room in an eerie, half-light that made him swallow nervously. He shuddered and studied the shadowed outline of the large bed he shared with his brothers, sitting against the wall to his left. Beside it sat a small, rickety table that held a solitary tallow candle. To his right a small washstand held a wash bowl and jug of water, and a threadbare towel.
It was as familiar to Archie as the back of his hand, but the more he stood with his back to the door, the more the darkness seemed to creep up on him until it became difficult to breathe. Suddenly the far corner of the small square room had a far darker edge to it, and seemed to loom toward him menacingly.
Scurrying across the room, he froze and stared at the old tree a few feet away. The image of himself sitting high in the branches watching the murderer swam alarmingly before him. One hand was resting on the shutter closest to him when he paused, thinking about what he had seen in the garden. Inching to one side, he stood partially hidden by the wooden shutter and studied the trees opposite carefully. It was pitch-black outside. Near impossible to see anything except the vague outline of the larger branches, but Archie knew.
The murderer was out there – watching.
With a shudder he quickly slammed the shutters closed and flipped the tiny latch across to lock them. Lighting the candle, he hurried over to the bed. Tiredness was beginning to make him clumsy, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he had told his dad everything he had seen.
A strong gust of wind rattled the windows, tickling Archie’s cheeks in a cold draught that made him shudder. If a storm came in, it would almost certainly rain and wash away the murderer’s footprints. Guilt surged through Archie stronger than ever before at the thought of Mr Harriman’s body lying there, cold and alone, while being drenched.
With a deep sigh, Archie threw his legs over the side of the bed. Reluctance dogged his footsteps as he made his way downstairs. He knew what he was about to do would throw the entire household into chaos, especially with Ben and Sammy in the house, but there was no choice. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to remain silent a moment longer.
His quiet entry into the sitting room was unnoticed for a couple of minutes, giving Archie the opportunity to gather his wayward thoughts. He knew his dad would ask why he hadn’t told them as soon as he had got in. If he was honest, Archie couldn’t really say why he hadn’t confided in them as soon as possible. In reality he was struggling to acknowledge that he had actually witnessed a brutal murder and, in describing it to his dad, by actually saying the words out loud, then he was confirming what he had seen was real. The thought terrified him.
He was halfway across the room before his mum noticed his presence, lowering her sewing as she stared at him. Something on his face must have warned her to remain quiet because she quickly motioned for Ben and Sammy to quieten down.
Archie moved to stand before his father, trying hard not to fidget nervously.
“What is it, Archie?” His dad’s voice was crisp yet filled with concern. Although he was strict with all of his children, he wasn’t a cruel man and wasn’t usually inclined to shout or use the strap without severe provocation. He knew something had happened that had deeply disturbed his usually calm and cheerful son. Something that had dire implications for someone.
Fighting back tears, Archie’s blue eyes reluctantly met his father’s.
“There is something I need to tell you, Dad,” Archie whispered, his voice quivering with the fear and lingering horror. Before he could talk himself out of it, he hastened. “I saw a murder.” Archie winced and felt his stomach sink to his toes. He took a deep breath, valiantly trying to stem the tears that threatened, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Mr Harriman,” he whispered, raising horror-filled eyes to meet his dad’s astonished gaze.
“You saw what?” Jack, his dad, asked incredulously, shooting a warning look at Marjorie.
“Oh, good Lord,” Marjorie gasped, dropping down into the chair beside the table with a thump.
Taking a shaky breath, Archie swiped at the tears shimmering on his eyelashes and, in a shaky voice, repeated. “I saw a man – I don’t know who – murder Mr Harriman.”
Sucking in a shuddering breath, the horror of the past few hours began to overwhelm Archie until he couldn’t stem the flow, and he explained the events as they happened in the spinney in one long rush of breath.
“He came out of nowhere, just after Edward left the spinney. I was sitting up the huge oak tree, about to get down when he appeared at the bottom. He was dressed in black and had a tricorn hat on and seemed to be waiting for someone. To get down I had to drop on him, so I stayed where I was. But when Mr Harriman came, the man jumped out of the bushes and put a black strip of cloth around Mr Harriman’s neck.” Archie didn’t describe the macabre sight of Mr Harriman’s face mottling red and purple, or the awful stare he locked on Archie as he lay dying.
He wasn’t sure his dad, or mum, understood him but once the words began to flow, they just wouldn’t stop.
Several long minutes later, he lapsed into silence, only then becoming aware of the stunned silence that settled over the room. Everyone froze in shock until the horror that had settled over the room was abruptly broken by his little brother, Sammy, who piped up.
“Oh my, a murder!” Glee laced his voice as he lurched up from the rug upon the floor and made for the door.
Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery Page 3