Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery

by King, Rebecca

  “It’s alright, Mrs Balfour. If Archie wants to stand, that’s fine.” Although Lord Brentwood’s words were reasonable, the clipped tone did little to hide his rising annoyance. Archie was intrigued. Clearly the Justice didn’t like not being able to intimidate Archie into doing what he wanted.

  “I think it would be best if the boys left us for a while. Why don’t you take them upstairs, Mrs Balfour? We will only be a minute.”

  Archie shared a look with his mother, his dad’s words ringing clearly between them. He could sense his mum’s hesitation and silently willed her not to give in to the order, mentally sighing in relief when she stood her ground.

  “The boys can go and fetch their dad, I am sure he will want to be here to listen to what you have to tell us.”

  Archie watched as Lord Brentwood’s face hardened slightly. Although he remained seating in a seemingly relaxed and casual pose, the change in his face was so swift, so sudden, that if Archie hadn’t been watching him, he would have been certain he had imagined it.

  “I am afraid I don’t have the time to wait. I think it would be best if you took the boys upstairs.”

  “I want mum to stay,” Archie declared defiantly, glaring meaningfully at his mum. He knew she understood when she moved to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Now then, my lord, perhaps you would like to tell us what this visit is about. Archie has already told you everything he knows.” He was proud of his mother for the firmness of her voice. She sounded as though she was about to give him a lecture on behaving himself and being a gentleman rather than a scoundrel. He smothered a grin at the flush of temper that rose on Lord Brentwood’s face.

  Archie knew what a bold move could mean to the family. His mum did the mending from Brentwood House, and his sister Betsy was a scullery maid there. If the family offended Lord Brentwood, he could quite easily cast them off and the entire family would be left destitute. Although his dad was a constable in the parish, and earned a decent wage, with five children in the house, every penny counted. It was enough of a struggle to lose one or two days’ worth of Archie’s wages, let alone Betsy and his mum’s earnings on a permanent basis. Still, his mum had stood her ground and refused to be ordered around in her own house. Archie felt proud of her, and threw her a grateful glance, straightening his shoulders proudly before turning his gaze defiantly to Lord Brentwood.

  Just then, the latch on the back door shattered the stilted silence. Not bothering to take his boots or jacket off as he usually did, Jack appeared in the doorway, a dark scowl on his face.

  “Lord Brentwood, I had heard you had come to visit us – again.” The emphasis on the final word wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. The young boys took a wary step back from their towering father, who was quite clearly displeased. Even Marjorie looked at her husband with a mixture of relief and wariness.

  “I wondered if Archie had remembered anything else, Constable,” Lord Brentwood murmured, reminding Jack of his status within the village. It wasn’t lost on anyone present that Lord Brentwood was silently warning Jack that he was also his boss and wasn’t a man to cross.

  Archie shook his head slowly, bolstered by the towering presence of his father standing beside him.

  “We said we would let you know if he did remember anything,” Jack replied. He really wanted to throw the aristocrat out on his ear, but kept his mouth shut in deference to Betsy’s employment at the big house. The more he thought about the Justice, the more uncomfortable he became until, of late, he had seriously considered ordering Betsy to leave her job and find something somewhere else. He shifted sideways, silently making room for the Justice to leave by the back door.

  Lord Brentwood quirked his lips in a parody of a smile. Jack’s silent request for him to leave wasn’t lost on him, nor was the implication of him leaving by the back door. He wasn’t welcome, hadn’t been invited and was – politely – being asked to leave.

  “If there is anything, Archie, you must tell me. I don’t take kindly to secrets.” Cold menace rang in Lord Brentwood’s voice.

  Archie felt his dad shift beside him.

  “Neither do I,” Archie replied, tipping his chin up defiantly as he met the lord’s cold eyes. Archie knew that if it wasn’t for his dad standing beside him, the lord would have probably drawn that cruel looking whip sticking out of his boots, and used it on him. Archie saw the Justice’s fingers clench, and knew the possibility was being considered. It was gone in an instant, and the Justice relaxed slightly before pasting a jovial, and very false, smile on his face.

  “I’ll see you soon, Archie,” he chirruped, nodding briskly to Jack and Marjorie before disappearing out of the kitchen door. It wasn’t lost on anyone that he left the kitchen door open behind him. Jack closed it with a firm thump, before turning to his wife, who had slumped into a chair beside the table in relief, clearly shaken by the events that had unfolded in her sitting room.

  “Thank heavens you came when you did,” she gasped, glancing at her husband.

  “Joshua told me he saw the man heading this way. I got here as quick as I could,” Jack said, placing a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder as he glanced toward Archie.

  “Cor, he was mad,” Ben declared, taking a seat on the soft. He had no idea what the last few minutes had been all about, but wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  “Are you alright?” Jack asked Archie.

  “He’s been to the mill as well.”

  Jack’s brows rose.

  “Mr Tompkins made an excuse and stopped him from seeing me. I think that’s why he came here,” Archie added, glancing at his mum who was still patting her brow in worry.

  “I’ve asked Mr Tompkins to stop him from pestering you,” Jack admitted, frowning at his son. He knew Archie well enough to know there was something else. “Come outside a minute, you can give me a hand with something.”

  Archie didn’t hesitate to follow his dad outside. Once in the gardens, a fair distance from the house, Jack turned to his son.

  “Well?”

  Archie explained what had happened at Mrs Humble’s house.

  “Sounds odd,” Jack frowned, studying the area around them. “I’ll ask around and see if she has gone to visit relatives or something. Is there anything else?”

  “Nope, just that someone was definitely in the house.” It felt as though floodgates opened up inside him. Although he couldn’t – wouldn’t, tell his dad about going to the tavern and getting the clues from Mr Harriman’s corpse, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t tell his dad about the cloak.

  “The thing is, Dad, the man in the spinney stunk something awful, but there wasn’t the smell in the house. When I opened the door to the cupboard to shove the cloth back in, I can’t remember any smell.”

  “That’s alright, Archie. It is probably Mrs Humble’s cloak, but I’ll check it out. Meantime, stay safe, Archie. I’ll speak to Mr Tompkins about you not going out on any more deliveries for now.”

  “What if Lord Brentwood comes back? He is after something, I am sure of it,” Archie scowled, staring at the distinguished figure riding off into the distance toward home.

  “I know he is, but we have to be careful, Archie. Not only is there mum’s sewing, but Betsy’s job at risk if we get him too angry. Be careful, and be evasive where he is concerned. Mr Tompkins is going to cover for you, but for now I think it is best if you don’t spend too much time out and about. For now, at least.”

  “Did you find anything out about the tricorn hat?”

  Jack considered his son for a moment. He was still struggling with the sudden revelation that his son had such a high level of intelligence for his age, and was inordinately pleased and proud of him that, throughout everything he had faced over the past few days, he had remained calm and in control; almost logical in his approach to what had happened. It humbled Jack more than he could say.

  “Just that nobody from the village found it.”

  “Which points t
o the fact that Lord Brentwood got it from someone else – or had it in the first place.” His eyes met and held his father’s for several moments.

  “We can’t say anything until we are sure, I know that for a fact. If we start throwing accusations around, we are going to get into deep trouble and we cannot afford that.”

  Archie knew that his dad meant more than getting in trouble with the Justice. Lord Brentwood could sack Betsy and stop sending baskets of sewing and wages to mum. It would render the family destitute.

  “Hold your tongue with him, and keep telling him you don’t know anything else. If you do remember anything, tell me first so we can decide what to do.”

  Archie nodded, relieved that his dad wasn’t going to push him to relive the details of Mr Harriman’s murder again. He fingered the coin and parchment in his pocket guiltily, and for a brief moment he seriously contemplated telling his dad. Not only did the clues not make sense, but his dad would have to tell Lord Brentwood, who would inevitably come back and ask more questions – again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Later that night, as the house settled down around them, Archie and Edward sat huddled together on the front room floor. The thin flicker of the candle barely lit the dark shadows in the corners of the room, but that didn’t matter to either boy as they sat whispering.

  “I don’t want to do it,” Edward declared flatly. “First Mr Harriman is murdered, then Mrs Humble goes missing. I don’t want to be the next one. If we go outside again, we are asking for the murderer to come and find us.”

  Even through the darkness, Archie could see the whites of his friend’s fear-filled eyes.

  “So what do we do? Sit here and wait for the murderer to come to us at home, and risk everyone else being murdered?”

  “We don’t know that the murderer is after us,” Edward argued, sensing his friend’s impatience. “We don’t even know if Mrs Humble has been murdered.”

  Archie paused, and stared thoughtfully at Edward.

  “What?”

  “We need to know if this map means anything, but can’t do that with what we have here. We need the other half of the map,” he explained, putting his thoughts about Mrs Humble to one side.

  “But we don’t know where it is in Mr Harriman’s house,” Edward persisted. He was reluctant to not only leave the warmth of the blankets he now half lay in, but he hated the thought of heading out into the dark night while there was a killer on the loose.

  “I’ll go on my own then,” Archie declared. If he was truly honest, the thought of going outside alone gave him the shivers, but he didn’t want Edward to know that. There was not only Lord Brentwood, who was becoming increasingly sinister, but the odd appearance of the strange man who had accosted him on the way home the other day. Now there was Mrs Humble’s disappearance on top of Mr Harriman’s murder, that started everything off in the first place!

  “Fine!” Edward snapped, watching Archie clamber to his feet with a growing feeling of impending doom. “What am I to tell your mum and dad if you aren’t back by morning, and are instead found lying dead in a ditch somewhere?” He knew he was arguing for no reason. By the look of the stubborn tilt to his friend’s chin, there was no chance of Edward winning this particular argument. Edward sighed, he wished he could win just one squabble with his best friend – especially this one, when the consequence of being caught by anyone, was dire.

  “Look on the bright side,” Archie reasoned after several moments of grumpy silence, while both boys put their boots on. “At least this time we aren’t going to a dead body.”

  Edward snorted, glaring through the darkness. “You hope! How do you know Mrs Humble’s body isn’t there?”

  Archie paused and wrinkled his nose up. “Why would anyone put her body in Mr Harriman’s house”

  “I don’t know,” Edward snapped. “Why would anyone want to kidnap, or murder, Mrs Humble?”

  Archie shook his head, growing confused by so many questions that he had no answers for.

  “I know one thing,” he declared flatly. “We aren’t going to get any answers by sitting here and doing nothing. Mr Harriman had this coin and map from somewhere, and the more I think about it, the more I think that Mr Harriman wanted me to have them. He certainly didn’t want the killer to get them. Whatever he was murdered for, the coin and map are part of the reason he died. We owe it to him to get answers.”

  “We have to tell your dad and let him decide what to do, Archie,” Edward said, worried about being caught.

  “We will – eventually - just not now. He will have to hand it to Lord Brentwood, or run the risk of ending up in jail. Until we find out why Lord Brentwood is so desperate to find out what I know, then we cannot risk him getting hold of it. After all, he could be the murderer.” He sensed rather than saw Edward’s eyes grow round as he considered the possibility.

  Suddenly making a decision, Archie crept toward the sitting room door, pausing to listen for several moments. The rhythmic sound of his dad’s soft snores reassuringly broke the silence. He could feel, rather than hear, Edward directly behind him and was relieved his friend was willing, for now at least, to go along with him.

  “We need to check to see if the man is watching again,” Edward whispered, heading toward the stairs.

  They stood for several long minutes, waiting for the shadow to separate from the tree.

  “Do you see anything?” Edward whispered, growing bored with watching – well, nothing.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t there.”

  “But if he isn’t there, where could he have gone?”

  Archie shrugged, and shook his head. “Mrs Humble’s house? I don’t know, Edward, but we cannot let it put us off going to Mr Harriman’s. We need the other half of the map.” He heard Edward’s loud sigh.

  “I don’t expect you to come with me if you really don’t want to, but I am going,” Archie declared, turning away from the window. He couldn’t ignore the possibility that the man who had been watching the house had seen the candle his father had left lit in the middle of the table, and had decided there was no point in waiting to break in.

  “I can’t let you go alone,” Edward sighed again, wondering how long his mum and dad were going to be away, and if they were likely to return before he became the murderer’s next victim. Despite the risks though, he really couldn’t consider simply sitting in the front room, waiting for his friend to return. He would go mad with worry.

  Archie sensed victory and smothered a delighted grin. “Just to Mr Harriman’s and back.”

  “Mr Harriman’s and back,” Edward repeated fatalistically. “Then I am going to get some sleep.”

  Within minutes the boys were tip-toeing out of the house, pausing briefly beside the door to allow their eyes to adjust to the moonlight outside while they scanned the area around them.

  “God, Archie, we must be barking mad,” Edward whispered, shivering as the wind whistled around them, grasping his words and sweeping them away. The branches on the trees around the house rustled warningly; the tall, willowy shadows dipped and swayed against the relentless barrage of the encroaching storm.

  “We need to be quick, or we are going to get caught up in that,” Edward whispered, nodding toward the lumbering black cloud beginning to overpower the moon’s cheery glow.

  “Let’s go,” Archie said, tugging his friend’s sleeve and ducking low behind the wall that would lead them around the same route they took the night before when they visited the cellars of the tavern. Although this time, they had to head toward the woods and Mr Harriman’s house rather than around to the tavern.

  The distance was the same, but unlike last night, the path to the woods meant they would be visible for a couple of minutes. Luckily though, the hour was late enough for the tavern to be closed already. As most of the villagers were workers who had to be up at dawn, everyone was abed; their houses dark and unwelcoming to the two boys who raced past.

  They paused at the end of the wall
and glanced cautiously up and down the road.

  “I can’t see anything, it’s too dark,” Edward sighed, shuddering at the shifting shadows beneath the trees. “I think we should go back, Archie, I don’t like this.” Fear laced his voice, and he sighed when Archie continued to creep forward.

  “We can’t go back now, we are nearly there,” Archie protested, reluctant to continue himself, but knowing that they probably wouldn’t get another chance. “This is the last time we need to head out at night. After tonight, we don’t go out again after dark, I promise.”

  “Swear?” Edward asked, holding out his little finger.

  “Swear,” Archie declared flatly, entwining his little finger with his friend’s in a silent pact of brotherhood.

  “Let’s go then,” Edward whispered, eyeing the shifting shadows around them reluctantly. “You first.”

  Archie sighed, knowing that he couldn’t really force Edward to go first given that he was here under protest, and it had been Archie’s idea to be here at all. Taking a deep breath, he lunged to his feet and tore across the empty track toward the darkness of the woods opposite. Once there, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom, only to stumble forward as Edward slammed into his back.

  “Oomph.”

  “Sorry,” Edward whispered, trying to see his feet. “I can’t see anything, can you?” He tried to peer over Archie’s shoulder but could see little except for the towering trees closest to them.

  “No. I think Mr Harriman’s house is this way,” Archie whispered, his voice dipping with uncertainty. Glancing upward, he suddenly wished the night wasn’t so dark; the moonlight would have been a welcome bonus to their quest, but it now seemed to have lost its battle with the storm clouds, and had vanished into a mere wisp of haze.

  Inky blackness gathered them into its menacing hold, refusing to aid their way through the dense foliage within the woods. Together they stumbled and tripped over the roughly hewn forest floor.

  “Do you have to make so much noise?” Edward whispered, wincing at the sound of the large crack of the twig Archie had just stepped on.