Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery

by King, Rebecca

  Mumbling an apology, he valiantly tried to smother the huge yawn that escaped anyway, and blinked his eyes wide as Edward sat beside him. He could feel his dad’s careful scrutiny from the head of the table, but refused to meet his eyes. Archie knew for certain that his dad would know that he and Edward had been up to something and, until he and Edward had a chance to decide what to do, neither of them could risk anyone finding out what they had done, and what they had found. Especially if they were going to go over to Mr Harriman’s house tonight.

  Archie considered the prospect with a mixture of weary exhaustion and anticipation at the thought of another adventure. He glanced sideways at an equally sleepy Edward, unsurprised to find his friend looking really dark around the eyes.

  “There you go, boys, eat up now,” Marjorie chirruped. If she noticed the boys’ tiredness, she chose not to comment on it, undoubtedly putting their tiredness down to them chattering away into the night rather than sleeping. Which, if Archie was honest, was true – to a point.

  “Unless your dad comes to the bakery to tell you he is back, Edward, you need to come here after work,” Jack announced, pushing away from the table. “Your dad said that they would be back today if your aunt was feeling better but, until they return, you are to stay with us.” He paused and looked pointedly at the two boys for several moments, waiting until they both met his gaze.

  “Keep your eyes peeled, and let me know the instant you see -,” he glanced furtively toward the kitchen Marjorie had disappeared into, “-anyone, understand?”

  Both boys immediately nodded. Archie flicked a glance toward the kitchen, pleased when his dad picked up on the silent question.

  “I haven’t said anything yet, and don’t see the point of frightening her for the moment. Until I find out a bit more, I don’t want you to either – understand?”

  “Did he come back last night?” Archie whispered, casting a furtive glance toward the kitchen door.

  Jack shook his head. “No, thankfully. But I think I will sleep down here for the next few nights, and I need to speak to the other men in the village and make plans for that trap,” he sighed, thankful that harvest hadn’t begun yet.

  Archie nodded cautiously, fighting hard not to let the consternation show on his face. The last thing he – they – needed was for his dad to sleep downstairs too, or the house to be watched by half of the villagers. They had managed to get away with sneaking out of the house one night, but two?

  “Be careful today, boys,” Jack urged, tugging his jacket on.

  Edward’s head dutifully bobbed up and down so quickly Archie wondered if it would fall off. Archie merely smiled weakly at his dad, feeling the guilt increase at keeping important secrets from his father.

  “I’d better be off,” Jack announced loudly when Marjorie reappeared in the room. “Keep the door locked today, Marjorie. Until the murderer is caught, don’t take any chances, you hear?”

  He stalked toward the hallway. “Girls! If you don’t come down now, you can walk yourselves,” he shouted, shouldering into his jacket. Although it was raining outside, there were still chores to do and a job to go to.

  The heavy thumping of his sisters racing down the stairs invaded the air. In a flurry of activity, Betsy, Emilie, and Jack left the house, preceded by Ben and Sammy, who were already playing chase around the garden while they were waiting for their dad to come out and take them to work.

  Snatching the bread and butter off their plates, Archie and Edward hurried into their jackets, called a quick ‘goodbye’ to Marjorie, and raced out of the door. Deliberately hanging back, they followed Jack, his daughters and the twins down the lane.

  “Do you have it?” Edward whispered, one eye on Archie’s father.

  Archie nodded, fingering the rough surface of the coin, hidden in his jacket. The walk to work only took a couple of minutes, leaving neither of them any time to discuss what to do about it. Far too quickly they arrived at the corn mill. At the door to the mill, Archie lifted a hand of farewell to his father, waiting as his dad watched Emilie disappear into the buttery before motioning Betsy to head to the woods, and Brentwood Manor.

  Sensing time was running out in more ways than one, Archie glanced at Edward, who was shuffling impatiently from one foot to the other while chewing the last of his breakfast.

  “I know there is something strange about this coin,” Archie whispered, casting Edward a cautious glance. “It is only stamped on one side.” His voice was almost grave as he glanced at his friend, who frowned in confusion.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, one side has markings on, and the other is perfectly smooth,” Archie explained.

  “Are you sure?”

  Archie rolled his eyes and sighed, “I’m sure. I’ll show you tonight.”

  “While it’s daylight, see if you can see what the markings are.” Edward’s voice was laced with excitement.

  “Are you two going to work today, or not?”

  “Sorry, Mr Tompkins,” Archie said, glancing at his friend. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Morning, Edward,” Mr Tompkins nodded, watching Edward disappear into the bakery further down the road.

  “Is everyone watching us?” Archie asked, when the road around them was completely empty.

  “There has been a murder, boy,” Mr Tompkins declared, his voice tinged with sadness. “Nobody wants you to be the next one.” The older man uncharacteristically clapped Archie on the shoulder in an almost fatherly gesture.

  For a businessman, Mr Tompkins had always been firm but fair with his workers, but had always maintained an air of efficient briskness that had made him almost inapproachable. Now, it was almost as though he was offering Archie the hand of friendship, and it left Archie feeling somewhat confused and on edge. It was so unlike the man he worked for, Archie didn’t quite know what to make of this new side to his boss.

  “Come on, although there isn’t any corn coming in today, there is a new delivery of bags, and the top floor needs cleaning. Then we have to start on the huge mound we do have.”

  Archie sighed, and headed inside. Once in the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder, driven by the strong feeling that he was being watched again.

  Glancing carefully around the empty roads behind him, he couldn’t see anything untoward, but could feel the presence of someone. With a shudder, he slammed the mill door shut and scurried to the top floor. Once there, he picked up a broom and moved to the single window along the wall, studying the road as far as he could see.

  Several minutes later, assured that there was nothing appearing out of the ordinary, he slowly began to sweep. People had begun to mill around, popping into the shop opposite further down the road, others were going into the bakery to bake their bread, someone else was hanging out their washing. It was an ordinary day for most people.

  Casting a furtive glance around the empty room, Archie eased away from the window but stayed within the gentle ray of sunshine. Taking the coin out of his pocket, he took the opportunity to study it closely.

  His heart hammered in his throat at the strange looking object. It looked like a shilling. His thin, grubby fingers turned the coin over, and he stared at the smooth side thoughtfully. It was as though it had been only half made.

  The sudden sound of boots on the stairs made him jump. Quickly stuffing the coin into his trousers, he began to sweep the floor and pretended to be engrossed in his allotted task by the time Mr Tompkins popped his head over the top of the wooden steps to check on him. Archie ignored him and continued to sweep, hoping Mr Tompkins wouldn’t notice how little of the floor he had actually swept while being up there! Within a couple of minutes, Mr Tompkins disappeared again, but this time Archie continued to sweep. The rhythmic brush of bristles against the rough wooden planks gave him time to think. The small, round object hidden in his trousers almost burned through the pocket, teasing him with the mystery it contained. If he was to believe what he was carrying, the coin was a fake; a fo
rgery.

  He had heard someone in the tavern tell a story once about someone who had made fake coins down in London. He couldn’t remember what had happened to them, but he could remember that they had cast a lot of coins before they were caught. It was someone in the East End docks, he thought. Was this one of the coins that had been in the process of being cast? If so, what was Mr Harriman doing with it?

  Archie swept around the chimney stack. Was that why Mr Harriman was murdered? Was he taking it to the Justice and had been stopped in the most brutal way possible? Or, was he involved in forging the coin? If so, why would Lord Brentwood kill him? Assuming, that is, that Lord Brentwood was the murderer.

  Again, Archie’s thoughts turned toward Mr Harriman’s house. Although Mr Harriman always spoke to people he passed in the street, he never bothered to stop and talk. As a result, nobody knew much of what he did for a living. He had always kept himself to himself and, apart from his weekly visits to his sister, nobody knew much about his relatives because nobody ever visited him.

  Archie stopped sweeping. Now that he came to think about it, nobody had ever seen his sister. Did she exist? Had a sister been made up to keep the gossips from asking too many probing questions about his coming and going? After all, nothing much happened in the village of Battleflat. The gossips would have undoubtedly made a point of finding out where Mr Harriman was disappearing to every week. Visiting a relation gave Mr Harriman a perfect excuse to disappear for a few hours on a regular basis without anyone thinking anything about it.

  Archie brushed the small pile of dust and debris nearer to the steps. He could hear the familiar hustle and bustle of the busy corn mill. The low rumble of the millstones was interspersed by the noise of the workmen filling the hoppers and dragging the full bags of flour and grain. It was loud. It was dusty. The regular noise was enough to assure him that everyone was busy elsewhere.

  Digging deep into his pocket, he unfolded the small piece of parchment and studied it for several moments, gasping in shock at what he saw.

  “Archie!”

  He jumped, stuffing the parchment back into his pocket and snatching his broom off the floor.

  “Coming,” Archie called, aware of the sound of boots on the stairs growing louder again. A quick glance behind him confirmed the floor was now neatly swept as instructed. Within minutes he had dispatched the small pile of debris and went to Mr Tompkins for his next instruction.

  “I want you to go to take this sack to Mrs Humble.” Mr Tompkins dropped a small sack of flour at Archie’s feet.

  Archie nodded, pleased to be given something to do outside. Even if it was carrying the heavy sack to the small cottage at the edge of the village. Unfortunately it didn’t help in his quest to get to Mr Harriman’s house, because Mrs Humble’s small cottage was on the opposite side of the village, closer to the main street.

  Despite his relief, he felt his stomach dip at the thought of walking down the road unaccompanied. The memory of the strange man’s appearance day before made him shiver but, there was no way to get out of his allotted task. With a sigh, he hefted the heavy sack onto his shoulder and left the mill. At least this time he had something he could hurl at anyone who appeared before him, Archie reasoned to himself. This time, he would be ready. If Mr Tompkins docked him a sack of flour out of his wages so be it, but at least he would be alive to tell his mum and dad why he had lost even more of his weekly pay.

  Puffing out his cheeks, all of Archie’s senses were on alert as he walked slowly down the middle of the road. The air hung heavily with a fine drizzle that immediately soaked his shirt, chilling his skin. With the heavy weight tentatively balanced on his shoulder, it seemed to take forever to get to Mrs Humble’s small cottage on the edge of the village.

  He was relieved when he got there without issue, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched again. Luckily, Mrs Humble’s house sat in solitary splendour at the side of a dead end track that was uninterrupted by hedgerow and trees. Archie knocked briskly on the front door and stood back to wait. He knocked again, and waited.

  With nothing else to do, Archie turned around and casually studied the area around them. Further across the village, he could see the thatched roof of his own house and, of course, the mill, but there were very few people about. Most of the villagers had opted to stay out of the rain, leaving the village with a strangely deserted feel that was as oppressive as the steady downpour. He glanced up and down the track thoughtfully. Should he just return to the mill and leave the sack where it was? The dark clouds gave no sign of letting up any time soon. If it did continue to rain, the sack of flour would be ruined if it was left outside. Turning back toward the door, Archie knocked louder this time, only to hesitate when the door rattled beneath his fist.

  He slowly lifted the latch. His heart pounded; something was definitely wrong. He wasn’t certain if he was surprised or not when the door immediately swung inward. The gloom within the small cottage was far from welcoming, and he peered into the house cautiously. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but shivered at the sight of the cold and unwelcome sitting room.

  “Mrs Humble? Are you there?” Silence answered. “Mrs Humble, Mr Tompkins sent a sack of flour from the mill. I’ll just leave it inside the door,” Archie gasped, hoisting the sack through the door. Unfortunately this meant that he had to go inside with it.

  He tried not to look around, he really did. But curiosity drove him to cast one quick glance into the small living room before he left. There was little about it that was worthy of note. It was clean and tidy, if a little shabby. The solitary chair beside the fireplace had once been plush, but was now threadbare; the covers dimmed through age. A few ornaments were dotted here and there. An old chipped pot pig sat on the hearth, next to a half burnt candle. The only other furnishings within the room were a decrepit dresser sitting along the far wall with the doors half hanging off, and a sideboard that had been polished so much over the years, the wood beneath the wax had begun to wear through. Built-in cupboards on either side of the fireplace had been repainted so many times that the chips in the woodwork were a variety of intriguing colours.

  The house was still and silent; nothing threatening there. It was almost too still. Too silent. It had a feeling of expectancy about it; as though it was waiting for something. Mrs Humble was a lady of indefinable age, who was one of the village’s most active busybodies. She spent most of her days going in and out of people’s houses, seemingly to ‘check on them’. Almost everyone in the village knew, and understood, that she probably did it because she wanted the company – or was just so nosy that she didn’t want to miss anything that went on in the village. Usually, she was the first to spread the glad, or not-so-glad, tidings of the villagers, and seemed to thrive on exchanging as much ‘news’ as possible, as quickly as she could.

  “She could be out and about,” Archie reasoned quietly to himself. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to; he was alone after all, but it was reassuring to hear his own voice. It made him feel as though he wasn’t the only person left in the village. Coming from a house that was always full of hustle and bustle and arguing children, he couldn’t understand how Mrs Humble stood living in such solitude, and felt a strange understanding for the elderly lady’s need to get out of the house.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Archie turned to leave. He almost felt as though something was holding him back. Some unseen hand was telling him to stay and look around. He paused in the doorway with a frown. Glancing up and down the cart track once more, he was unsurprised to find nothing unusual, and still no sign of anyone else.

  “Imagination,” Archie muttered, turning to grasp the door latch. As he started to draw the door toward him, his eyes were drawn toward the cupboard sitting beside the hearth. There, poking out of a crack between the door and the frame, was a piece of cloth.

  He stared at the cloth for several moments, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up in alarm. Trying to keep calm
, he forced himself to think carefully. A tablecloth perhaps? A piece of mending? Or, maybe Mrs Humble’s old cloak?

  “You have to get out of here,” he mumbled, puffing out his cheeks. If anyone else turned up, it was going to be bad enough explaining why he was in Mrs Humble’s house when she wasn’t there. He couldn’t go snooping around her cupboards; then he would be in trouble! But there was something strange about that piece of cloth. The room was otherwise neat and tidy. There was nothing poking out of any of the other cupboard or drawers.

  ‘Everything has its place’, his mum always said. Someone who was neat and tidy would always take a moment to tuck a stray piece of cloth like that back into the cupboard. Curiosity, or a strange and unfamiliar yen for neatness, drove him to march across the room, yank open the door, shove the black cloth back in, slam the door closed and hightail it out of the house.

  It was vaguely reassuring to hear the solid slam of the cottage door behind him as he skipped down the step and headed back to the mill. He had already been gone far too long as it was. He would be lucky if Mr Tompkins didn’t tell him off, or dock his wages again for his laziness. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. There it was again, that strange feeling of being watched. Frowning darkly, Archie slowed to a stop and turned around, carefully scanning the area behind him.

  The cart track was empty. There were no strange shadows lurking in the trees and no sign of anybody else nearby. His eyes turned to the cottage he had just left. Outside, everything looked as it ought to – quiet and still. He was about to turn away when his blood froze in his veins. The yellowed net curtain to the left of the door, in the sitting room Archie had just left, slowly lowered back into place. Archie didn’t need a mirror to know his eyes grew round in shock. His heart began to hammer in his throat as he stared at the now still curtain for several moments. He couldn’t see any shadow, or even an outline of anyone inside. But someone was there.

  Was it Mrs Humble? If so, why hadn’t she spoken to him? Or was someone – someone other than Mrs Humble – in her cottage?