Archie swallowed, shivering at the memory of that black piece of cloth poking out of the cupboard. He wondered if it was being worn by someone when he had shoved it back into the cupboard, and felt his stomach flip at the thought that he had been that close to someone who was hiding in Mrs Humble’s house. Was it the murderer?
“Oh my God,” Archie swallowed. Possibilities of what might have happened ran through his mind, and he fought hard to turn around slowly and carry on walking. He struggled to hide the need to run as fast as he could. He didn’t want the person in the cottage to know that they had frightened him. More importantly, that he knew they were in the house.
Walking as casually as possible was in stark contrast to his racing thoughts. He felt certain it couldn’t be Mrs Humble. She would have taken the opportunity to ask Archie as many questions as possible while he was there. So, where was she? If it wasn’t her in the cottage, someone else was there. But who?
CHAPTER SEVEN
It took every ounce of self control he possessed to walk casually back to the mill. Although his ears were tuned to any sound of movement behind him, his eyes were glued on the reassuring sight of the three storey tower. Digging his hands deep into his pockets, his fingers sought the round coin and parchment.
He took a deep breath to stop the trembling in his hands. Fear made his thoughts cloudy and jumbled. He knew that if he had any hope of getting to the bottom of what was going on, he needed to be able to think as clearly as possible and needed his wits about him. Turning into a quivering wreck wasn’t going to help either him, or Mrs Humble who, it seemed, was either acting very strangely, or was in danger.
Once around the corner, like a dog scenting a juicy bone, he headed toward the safety of the mill door and was about to break into a run only to come to an abrupt halt. A gasp of dismay hovered on his lips and he eyed the back of Lord Brentwood standing mere feet away in horror.
Mr Tompkins flickered the briefest glance at Archie, yet his face remaining impassive. It assured Archie that Mr Tompkins was prepared to cover for him, and divert the Justice’s attention to give Archie the chance to escape. Although he was unsure why Mr Tompkins was prepared to face the wrath of Lord Brentwood, Archie was, nevertheless, not prepared to look a gift horse in the mouth, and slowly back to tiptoe back around the corner of the mill. His mind raced frantically, plotting the layout of the mill and the various doors he could use to get into the mill without being seen.
He was still visible from Mrs Humble’s cottage, but that was the last of his problems right now. Sidling closer to the mill took him toward safety, and away from the threat of Brentwood, but it also increased the noise from the grinding millstones. He cocked his head and listened to the low rumble of conversation between Mr Tompkins and the Justice through the noise beyond.
“How long is he going to be?”
“He should be back soon, my lord,” Mr Tompkins replied, annoyance lacing his voice. Although he was a law abiding man, Mr Tompkins hated having his authority questioned and was clearly rankled by the arrogant tinge of command in the aristocrat’s voice.
“I want to see the boy as soon as he shows up.” Lord Brentwood’s voice dipped so much that Archie struggled to hear the last couple of words. His skin crawled at the clear threat he could hear in the deep rasp.
“Then you will have to wait,” Mr Tompkins snapped.
“Where did he go?” Lord Brentwood persisted, aware that Mr Tompkins had ignored his previous question.
“He’s gone to deliver some flour,” the mill owner replied, clearly reluctant to furnish the man with the details.
“I won’t have you hindering an investigation, Tompkins, I’ll have you arrested if you try,” the Justice growled, clearly determined not to be put off his quest to harass Archie again. “I need to ask the boy some questions.”
“I thought you already had, several times,” Mr Tompkins replied dryly, unmoved by Lord Brentwood’s threats.
“I’m leading a murder investigation, Tompkins,” the Justice snapped. “I am sure I don’t need to remind you how serious it can be to try to interfere with an investigation, do I?”
Archie shivered. He didn’t need to peek around the corner to know the Justice was scowling.
“I’m not being evasive or difficult,” Mr Tompkins protested. “He has gone to deliver several bags of flour and could be anywhere. I didn’t give him any instruction as to which to deliver first.” Mr Tompkins’s voice dimmed. Archie squinted at the floor beneath his feet and strained to hear but couldn’t make out Mr Tompkins’s next words. Shaking his head, Archie glanced up and down the street.
With the possibility of returning to the mill through the front doors now impossible, Archie had to think on his feet. The last thing he wanted was to be questioned again by the Justice and, for the life of him, he couldn’t see what the Justice would want with him again. But, if he loitered around outside for much longer, someone would certainly pass by and want to know what he was doing. He was lucky that the gossips hadn’t seen him as it was.
Casting a quick glance up and down the road, Archie snuck around the back of the mill, crouching low as he approached the window of Mr Tompkins’s office, before creeping toward the rear doors normally used for deliveries. Squatting down, he peeped cautiously over the stone step toward the depths of the mill, pleased to see that someone had thought to close the inner door. Taking advantage of the opportunity to get inside without being seen, Archie jumped up and dodged through the door. At the far corner of the room, the stairs beckoned, summoning him toward safety.
Although he had no idea what he could do up there, he didn’t hesitate to head toward the steps. He tiptoed past the men taking a well-earned break who were listening to the exchange between the Justice and Mr Tompkins. They didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to Archie’s arrival. One of the workers, Jim, saw him and jumped at Archie’s swift and silent appearance, before looking quickly at the others. While keeping a wary eye on them, he motioned with one hand repeatedly toward the stairs, silently urging Archie to get out of sight. Without hesitation, Archie leapt up the stairs, grinning his thanks at Jim as he passed. He was breathing hard by the time he arrived on the second floor, only to be greeted by Sammy.
“Arch-”
Archie gasped and slammed his hand over Sammy’s mouth, silencing his younger brother’s excited squeal. His dark scowl met his brother’s rounded eyes in stern warning before he slowly removed his hand.
“Keep quiet,” Archie whispered directly into Sammy’s ear. “Where’s Ben?”
“He’s gone with Bob to fetch some more feed for Grumpy,” Sammy reported, clearly bursting with questions.
Archie sighed, but trusted Sammy enough to realise the seriousness of the situation. “The Justice is downstairs and wants a word with me, but Dad said I wasn’t to talk to him unless he was there. Do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone I am here,” Archie warned. “Do you understand? Or Dad is going to be mighty cross with you.”
Sammy immediately swallowed at the thought of facing his dad’s temper, and nodded fervently. “’Course, Archie, I won’t say anything. Promise.”
Archie nodded. “I’m going up there. Can you come and tell me when Lord Brentwood has gone?”
Sammy nodded, staring up at Archie cautiously. “Why don’t you want to talk to him?” Archie sighed. Sammy was always curious about everything.
Thinking swiftly, Archie gave him the only answer he could. “Because, he keeps asking me about Mr Harriman’s murder, and I don’t want to talk about it. Alright?” He sighed, watching Sammy’s eyes light with curiosity. Wondering if he had just made matters worse, he didn’t have to wait long until Sammy asked the question that had been burning inside him.
“Was it really bad? What was it like?”
“I watched a man die,” Archie snapped. “What do you think it was like?”
Sammy thought about that for a moment. “Sorry, Arch,” he mumbled, clearly regretting his enthusia
sm.
Feeling a heel for snapping at the sight of the despondency on his young brother’s face, Archie clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll answer your questions one day, but not today, alright? Now, go and see if Lord Brentwood is still downstairs talking to Mr Thompkins. Please?”
Sammy nodded, and took off down the steps, dragging a pile of sacks behind him. Archie shook his head and hoped Sammy would keep his promise and remain quiet.
Within minutes Mr Tompkins poked his head over the top of the steps at Archie’s feet.
“It’s alright to come down now, boy,” Mr Tompkins said, disappearing to the lower floor to wait for Archie to join him.
“Sorry, sir,” Archie muttered, standing before his boss. “My dad said not to answer any of his questions unless he was there.”
“I know, which is why I lied to the man. God knows he will throw me behind bars if he ever found out, but he won’t, will he, Archie?”
Archie smiled secretively. “No sir, definitely not.”
“Right then. Did you deliver Mrs Humble’s flour as instructed?”
“Yes, sir, but there was something really odd,” Archie frowned, knowing he owed it to Mrs Humble to tell them what he had seen earlier.
“Go on then, spit it out.”
Archie studied Mr Tompkins. Although the order had been brisk, there was no impatience on the man’s face, and nothing to show Archie that he was being humoured. Making a decision, Archie sighed.
“When I was at Mrs Humble’s house, there was nobody there. I knocked several times and called out to her, but there was no answer. So I tried the door, which opened.”
“So? Mrs Humble doesn’t lock her door, Archie. Nobody around here does. What’s your point?”
“Well, I didn’t want to leave the flour outside in case it rained, so when the door opened, I went in.”
Mr Tompkins sighed. “What did you break?”
“Nothing!” Archie replied indignantly, hurt that Mr Tompkins would think he was so clumsy. “It is just that nobody answered when I called. But as I was walking back down the lane, I looked back at the house, and the curtain definitely moved. Someone was there, but they didn’t answer me. Mrs Humble wouldn’t do that.” He lapsed into silence, watching as a thoughtful look swept over Mr Tompkins’s face as he studied the ground at his feet.
“Are you sure you saw the curtain move?”
“Yes, sir,” Archie replied, his voice firm.
“Alright then, I’ll send two of the men to check on her.” Mr Tompkins clapped a hand on Archie’s shoulder. “Tell your dad as soon as you get home. Also tell him about the Justice. Although I bought you some time, I am certain he won’t be put off for long and you will almost certainly get a visit at home tonight.”
Archie wrinkled his nose in distaste and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Alright then, stack the sacks and then go and feed Bobbin and Grumpy.”
Archie scurried off, glad to be given something to do outside. Feeding Grumpy was one of his favourite jobs of all.
Bobbin and Grumpy were the mill horses. They were used to draw the millstones that ground the flour. Bobbin was of an indefinable age, and a big softie who loved loads of fuss. Grumpy was the same, although was called his unfortunate name because he always looked sad, and miserable, and wasn’t inclined to need as much fuss as Bobbin. Archie loved brushing their soft fur, and spending time with them in the sweet-smelling hay. There was something about their gentleness, despite their sheer size, that he felt oddly reassuring.
First, though, he went to the second floor and began to tug sacks into a neat pile. It was dirty and very boring. On one of his several trips past the window, Archie glanced outside and paused, watching as Gus and Jim walked to Mr Humble’s house. With a shiver, Archie glanced around the room, and quickly drew the small piece of parchment out of his pocket. Despite the dimness of the afternoon, there was enough light to see several clearly drawn trees, the cross that presumably marked the presence of a church, and a winding path that ran through them, at the end of which was another, much larger X.
Studying the drawing for several moments, Archie mentally ran through the layout of the area, wondering if it was the churchyard at Battleflat. He hadn’t spent any time in the churchyard to know the layout of the gravestones, and know if they related to what was drawn on the map. Assuming the map was accurate. He knew that Edward travelled around the area more through his work at the bakery, and would probably know if it was anywhere near where they lived.
It would help if they could get the second half of the map, and more clues, but that meant a trip to Mr Harriman’s house.
Bristling with impatience, Archie stuffed the parchment back into his pocket and finished stacking the sacks before heading toward Grumpy’s stables at the rear of the mill. He saw Gus and Jim return to the mill, but there was no flurry of activity indicating they had found anything amiss. Mrs Humble was probably out and about on her gossipy travels.
He had just finished putting the feed into Bobbin’s bucket, when Mr Tompkins appeared at the stable door.
“Archie, come here a minute,” he called.
Archie gave Bobbin a gentle pat and locked the stable door behind him. He could feel Mr Tompkins studying him closely, and felt his stomach turn over nervously.
“Do you remember seeing anything else at Mrs Humble’s house?” Mr Tompkins’s asked quietly when Archie stood before him.
“Nothing, sir.” Archie mentally winced at the small lie. “Is Mrs Humble alright?”
“We don’t know, Archie, she wasn’t at home. But Mrs Entwhistle says Mrs Humble hasn’t been out today.”
“So where is she?”
“Nobody knows,” Mr Tompkins replied gravely. “I am sure there is a simple reason for her being away. Maybe Mrs Entwhistle is wrong. I’ve sent for your dad, though. I think he needs to know – you know, just in case.”
Archie’s brows rose and he nodded slowly. He knew that nothing in the village got past Mrs Entwhistle and she was rarely wrong. If she said Mrs Humble hadn’t been out of her house that day, then the chances were that Mrs Humble hadn’t left the house. Although Mr Tompkins hadn’t said as much, he was clearly thinking the worst.
“I know, Archie,” Mr Tompkins said gently, seemingly reading Archie’s thoughts. “But, it’s too early to worry just yet. Mrs Entwhistle is going to ask around. Meantime, if you remember anything else, tell your dad.”
Mr Tompkins nodded, glancing at the dark clouds high above. “If this rain keeps off, the harvesting can begin again the day after tomorrow, so get as much rest now as you can. We’ve almost finished what we have in the stores now. Go home for today, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Archie glanced at Mr Tompkins, surprised to be given two early days.
“Take Ben and Sammy with you.”
Archie nodded, disappearing inside to find his brothers. It was unheard of to be sent home early once, let alone twice. He knew instinctively that there was something Mr Tompkins wasn’t saying. Within minutes, his squabbling brothers running ahead, Archie left the protection of the mill and headed for home. Having no sooner gone a few steps than the memory of his return home the previous afternoon came to his mind.
“Hey, you two, wait for me,” Archie shouted, taking to his heels after his brothers. Their delighted squeals rang in the air as the boys thundered toward home.
Relief swept through Archie as minutes later, gasping for air, they tumbled through the back door of home having seen nothing untoward. Their laughter rang loudly on the quiet within the house, as they jostled and hustled each other through the door before slamming it behind them.
Archie pushed Ben back, “I told you I would beat you, short legs,” Archie teased, grinning at his younger brother.
“Only because you are have skinny long legs, like a spider.”
Archie cuffed his brother behind the ear, laughing as he dodged the thump aimed at his arm. He was still chuckling when he stumbled to a stop in the doorwa
y to the sitting room. All traces of humour left him in an instant.
“Hello, Archie.”
The cultured tones of Lord Brentwood broke the awkward silence. Archie sensed rather than saw his mum rise awkwardly to her feet, her face stiff.
Something was wrong.
Archie nodded cautiously, hating the man there and then for pestering him and, by the look on his mum’s face, making her feel awkward and uncomfortable in her own home. He broke eye contact with Lord Brentwood long enough to glance at the tense features of his mother, and felt sorry for her. Clearly she hadn’t wanted to allow the aristocratic man into the house, but had been given little choice.
“Come and take a seat, Archie,” Lord Brentwood said, pushing out a chair. Archie glanced at his mum, who stood before the fireplace.
Sensing the rising tension within the room, Sammy and Ben stood silently beside him, watching the interplay with interest. Despite their rambunctiousness, they had the wisdom to remain quiet and watchful when the situation arose.
“No, thanks,” Archie said, shifting on his feet. It went against everything he had been taught to go against a grown-up giving him an order, especially one held in high esteem like the Justice was, but he wasn’t going to take orders from Lord Brentwood in his own house. Something about the man annoyed him, and Archie simply couldn’t ignore his dislike and distrust of Brentwood’s continued appearance, seemingly to ask more questions. He felt a protective urge toward his mother and brothers that surprised him, and it didn’t leave him inclined to be polite to this particular unwanted guest.
“Archie.”
He heard the reprimand in his mother’s voice but refused to listen to it. The memory of Mr Harriman’s lifeless body lying still and silent in the cold cellar rose to his mind. He wondered whether Lord Brentwood was involved in Mr Harriman’s demise. He was certainly determined enough in his quest to get information out of Archie, and seemed to know that Archie hadn’t told him everything he knew. But did that make him a murderer?
Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery Page 11