Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery

by King, Rebecca

  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.

  “That’s the hat. Where was it?”

  “Just outside of the spinney,” Lord Brentwood replied briskly, shoving the hat back into the bag. “Sitting in the middle of the road.”

  “He chased me,” Archie said, glancing first at his dad then, reluctantly, at the Justice. He watched a dark scowl settle over the Justice’s face, and inched ever so closer to the solid reassurance of his dad.

  “Back here?” Lord Brentwood’s voice was sharp.

  Archie nodded.

  “Did you see him?”

  “No, but I was sitting there, when the latch lifted silently and someone pushed on the door.” He lapsed into silence, and watched as the Justice and his dad shared one of ‘those’ looks grownups usually shared when they didn’t want to say anything in front of children.

  “Did you see the murderer’s face at all, Archie?” The Justice’s face was intense, and very watchful.

  Archie shook his head slowly. “No.” The image of the haunting, almost cadaverous face of the man who had briefly captured him, rose alarmingly between them. There was something so familiar that Archie felt as though if he reached his hand out, he could almost touch the truth. Confusion muddled his thoughts, and he turned his gaze to the floor, trying to ignore what his instincts were telling him. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be possible. But he couldn’t ignore the probability that the man opposite could very well be the murderer. Was it possible? Or was it his distrust of the man that was making him think things that would get him, and his dad, into serious trouble?

  “Well, I think that is all for now, Archie,” the Justice announced, breaking into Archie’s thoughts. “If there is anything – anything at all, mind, you must tell your dad here.” Lord Brentwood turned to Jack. “Call upon me at any time, day or night, if you learn of anything.”

  “Aye, will do, my lord, and that’s a fact,” Jack replied.

  An awkward silence settled around the room when the Justice made no attempt to move toward the door, and instead stood staring intently down at Archie, clearly waiting for Archie to meet his gaze. Archie fought the urge to squirm under the Justice’s close scrutiny and felt that there was something more the Justice wanted to say. Even his father shuffled uncomfortably as the silence stretched out between them.

  “Well then, if that’s everything,” Lord Brentwood sighed, staring hard at Archie who refused to meet his gaze.

  Jack frowned at the man’s careful study of Archie. It was almost too probing; too intense, and it made his hackles rise. Placing a large palm protectively on his son’s bony shoulder, it had the desired effect on the Justice. With a physical jerk, Lord Brentwood turned his gaze toward Jack and offered him a brief – barely there – smile as he made his way toward the door.

  Archie jumped when Lord Brentwood suddenly spun toward him, bending down until his face was directly in Archie’s line of vision. Archie felt his dad stiffen in protest at the quick, almost menacing action.

  “I want you to promise me, Archie, that if you remember anything else, anything at all, then you tell your dad. Anything, Archie.”

  Archie lifted his gaze to the piercing eyes of Lord Brentwood, and shuddered at the almost sinister intent hidden in the swirling depths. He flicked a glance at his dad, suddenly very grateful for his reassuring presence.

  “Please be very careful. The man is a murderer.” As though realising his behaviour was causing alarm, Lord Brentwood’s voice turned almost apologetic in an attempt to try to ease the hostile atmosphere. “Until we find out who it is, please be on guard. Don’t go near the spinney, and don’t go out at night again.”

  Archie frowned at the hint of threat in the man’s voice and knew his dad had heard it too. They both watched in consternation as the Justice seemed to give himself a physical shake, flicked them both a brief smile and tapped his forehead in mock salute, yanking the door open with too much brisk efficiency.

  Standing in the doorway, he paused briefly to glance back at them.

  “Stay safe.” He nodded once to Jack and disappeared, closing the door behind him with a firm click.

  As soon as the door was closed, Jack slid the bolt across and turned to his son.

  “What do you think to that?”

  “I think he knows something he hasn’t told you,” Archie replied, moving to stand before the window. He was busy watching Lord Brentwood mount his horse and amble away, and missed the thoughtful look that swept over his dad’s face.

  Jack moved to stand beside his son, proud of the way he had handled himself, given the Justice’s strange behaviour. Placing one hand on Archie’s shoulder, he too watched the Justice ride away.
/>   “Did you see the tricorn in the road yesterday when you were looking for Mr Harriman’s body?”

  Jack glanced down at his son with a frown and slowly shook his head. “We searched up and down that road, we did. More than one of us. Went over it with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing.”

  “So how did he get it?” Archie frowned as he recalled the mad dash away from the spinney. The hat had been on the man’s head then, he was sure of it. Maybe it fell off when the murderer had fallen. But why hadn’t he gone back to fetch it? Even more important, how had Lord Brentwood gotten to it before the search party?

  His dad wisely remained quiet. Archie had already been through enough of an ordeal as it was, without scaring his son further with his own suspicions. He made a mental note to ask in the tavern later who, if anyone, had found the murderer’s hat.

  “I am not sure, Archie, maybe we will find out soon. Right now, I think we need to light that fire, it’s getting chilly tonight. Harvest starts tomorrow, you know, and it will be all hands to the carts then.”

  Archie sighed deeply, and with one last look out of the front window, paused long enough to draw the curtains closed before following his father into the comforting warmth, and reassuring bustle of the front room.

  Something the Justice said kept swirling around and around, as though demanding an answer. The Justice had said he shouldn’t go out ‘again’. As though he knew that Archie had ventured back outside to feed the pigs. Was that because it was Lord Brentwood who was the murderer, and had been watching the house? Or was it just a casual statement, not meant to have any meaning or relevance to actual events?

  Archie frowned, feeling more unsettled than ever before. The more he thought about it, the less he was comfortable with Lord Brentwood. Although he was the Justice, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t, and couldn’t, commit a crime. But murder?

  “Come on, Archie,” Jack sighed, holding the sitting room door open for his soon. He knew Archie was still thinking over the Justice’s visit, but for now, Jack wanted him to think about something else. At least for a little while. “Come and supervise Ben and Sammy while I go over to the tavern. I’ll be back in a bit.” Ignoring the surprised look on his wife’s face, Jack stalked through the small house, snatched up his coat and hat, and slammed the kitchen door behind him. There were a few questions of his own he needed to ask the men in the tavern, preferably before Brentwood got there.

  With a deep sigh, the constable shrugged into his jacket and headed toward the pub.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Archie felt a restless despondency settle over him when he climbed the stairs to bed later that night. Luckily, the gruesome twosome, Sammy and Ben, had been sent to bed a couple of hours ago and were already fast asleep, affording Archie a few moments of quiet to gather his thoughts. Settling down beneath the warm sheets, Archie heaved a deep sigh, savouring the familiar comfort of Sammy who, even in sleep, snuggled up to the warmth of Archie’s back.

  The wind had gradually increased throughout the day until it now buffered furiously against the sides of the house. The thick branches of the tree outside of their bedroom window scratched against the windowpane, clawing to gain entrance. The steady rustle of the leaves grew louder as the minutes ticked by. Desperately trying to block the sounds out, he tugged the thin blanket over his ears and squeezed his eyes tight, willing sleep to come.

  He could hear the soft murmuring of his mum and dad downstairs as they shut the house down for the night. Moments later, the closing of the sitting room door was followed by the steady thump of his parents climbing the stairs. Within minutes the house descended into silence.

  Nobody had seen fit to close the shutters or curtains in the boys’ bedroom before turning in for the night, leaving the windows to rattle against the wind. Even across the room, Archie could feel the slight draught that stole the meagre warmth from his arms. With a shiver, he tossed back the covers and quietly padded toward the window.

  One hand was raised to draw the shutter closed when he glanced outside – and froze. His stomach flipped. There. Beneath the old tree, directly across the road, stood the silhouette of a man in the moonlight, watching the house.

  Plastering himself against the wall, Archie stood perfectly still for several moments, staring into the darkness of the bedroom; his mind frantically racing as he tried to decide what to do.

  Should he crawl back across the bedroom, get back into bed, and pretend he hadn’t seen anything? Or, should he close the shutters anyway? If he stuck to the shadows, the man wouldn’t know who had closed them. As long as Archie stayed out of sight, everything would be all right, wouldn’t it? But why was the man watching the house? What was he waiting for? Moreover, what – or rather who – did he want?

  His limbs trembled with fear. Drawing in a deep fortifying breath, Archie knew that he couldn’t spend the rest of his life hiding. Slowly sliding down the wall, he drew his knees up and wrapped his arms protectively around them while trying to decide what to do. If he told his dad, he would be putting him at risk. Although his dad had gone out on the night that Mr Harriman had been murdered, he had soon rounded up Georgie next door and the rest of the villagers. His dad most probably wouldn’t bother going next door to summon help, especially given that it was the middle of the night, but would instead, most probably, go across the road to see for himself. Archie couldn’t bear the thought of his dad ending up the same way as Mr Harriman.

  But this was his home. He couldn’t live in fear of even closing the shutters in his bedroom. At some point the man opposite would get fed up with waiting – then what? Would he go in search of Archie and murder not only Archie, but the rest of his family as well? Or would he eventually just give up and leave?

  Whatever happened, harvesting was soon to begin and the men would be working on the fields until dark. His dad wouldn’t be back home until well after dusk, when the last of the corn had been taken to the mill, and the equipment prepared for the following day. A lot of villagers would be out on the fields. There would be loads of people coming and going, but nobody would be around who he could turn to for help if the murderer turned up. The fields were just too far away to run to quickly if he needed help. Even more worrying, Archie would have to walk home after work – alone – while it was dark.

  Archie realised that if he had any hope of making sure justice was found for Mr Harriman’s murder, then it was down to him to try to find out who the killer was. After all, he had been the one – the only one – who had seen the killer up close. Because of that, his family was now at risk from the murderer who was apparently now standing mere feet away, watching the house.

  He also couldn’t ignore the fact that he was the only person who knew about the small piece of white something Mr Harriman had been holding in the fist he had held out to Archie in his final moments.

  Shaking his head in growing confusion, Archie took a deep breath and twisted around to kneel down in front of the window, carefully peeking around the corner of the shutter. He studied the dark shadows beneath the oak tree for several moments, hardly daring to breathe in case he saw the man again.

  His patience was rewarded when, minutes later, a tall, black figure slowly separated from the solidity of the tree trunk, paused at the edge of the cart track, stared up at the house for several minutes then turned around, and disappeared into the dark shadows beneath the tree once more.

  Archie’s heart hammered in his throat. As soon as the figure disappeared again, he slumped back onto the floor, his back resting against the reassuring solidity of the wall. Had the man seen him? What was he waiting for? Whatever it was, Archie knew he couldn’t simply climb back into bed and go to sleep. Not with him lurking outside. Suddenly, a thought popped into Archie’s mind, and he stared at the silhouette of his brothers sleeping peacefully in the bed in front of him.

  Was the man waiting until his parents had gone to sleep? Was that what he was waiting for? The more Archie considered the possibility, the more he realised
that the man watching the house was waiting until everyone had gone to sleep before making his move.

  Archie knew that there was only one thing the man could possibly be considering.

  Getting into the house.

  Archie’s stomach churned at the thought of coming face to face with the murderer again. Filled with fear and determination in equal measure, Archie rose to his feet, a dark scowl on his face.

  He briefly contemplated going into his parents’ room, but immediately dismissed the idea. He had to protect his family, and that meant keeping them inside where it was safe. If his father thought there was someone lurking outside, he would get dressed and go outside to check. Alone. In the dark. The image of Mr Harriman’s mottled face swam before Archie, and it was enough to keep him where he was. But that meant that it was now down to Archie, and Archie alone, to make sure that the murderer didn’t get into the house.

  Shaking his head, Archie reluctantly eased to his knees again to stare out into the darkness. He waited and waited, and began to wonder if the man had left. He had begun to shake from the rapidly growing chill within the room until he couldn’t stand it any longer, and simply had to return to the warmth of the bed. With toes numb from the cold, he was about to turn away from the window, when the figure appeared at the side of the cart track again, as silent as a wraith in the moonlight.

  The suddenness with which the man simply appeared was startling, and Archie couldn’t withhold the gasp of horror at the familiar outline of the man who had killed Mr Harriman. He hadn’t even seen the man move. One minute there had been nothing, and the next, a tall dark figure wearing a cloak simply appeared in the middle of the track.

  Curiosity kept Archie still. Hidden behind the solid pane of the shutter, he watched the man study the house. Now his initial fear had begun to ease, fuelled by the need to protect his family, Archie couldn’t move away. Because of the roiling storm clouds, it was difficult to tell where the man was looking, but if Archie was to believe what he was seeing, he would think that the man was watching Archie, watching him!