Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery

by King, Rebecca

  “Murder,” they both said together. Edward puffed out his cheeks on a sigh and hoped he was up to it. Although he tried, he really did, he just wasn’t like Archie. His best friend was always thinking on his feet and was usually calm in a crisis. Edward usually fell to pieces and ended up a quivering mess, helped along by Archie’s calm coaxing. He had a vague feeling that something else had happened to Archie that his friend wasn’t telling him about, but he didn’t know how to ask him. He didn’t know what he was asking, but nevertheless he knew that Archie would tell him in his own good time if he saw fit that Edward should know.

  “I’ll try,” Edward muttered, not at all convinced that he could withstand relentless questions by the Justice. “I’ll do my best.”

  “What do you think this is?” Archie said picking up the roll of parchments. He didn’t wait for Edward to reply, and slowly unrolled the papers. The unfamiliar swirls of ink made little sense to him but his eyes ran over row upon row anyway just in case anything familiar jumped out at him, but nothing did. He passed the parchment to Edward who glanced at it and dropped it on the floor. He too was unable to read, and the lines made little sense to him either.

  “Isn’t that the Brentwood crest?” he gasped when three more pieces of parchment had been casually discarded.

  Archie froze. Edward was right. There at the top of the paper was a large crest very similar to the one on the side of the big black carriage that rumbled past the corn mill whenever Lady Brentwood went on her travels.

  “What do you think it says?” Edward whispered, peering over the top of the parchment.

  “I am not sure, but I think this may prove that Brentwood was involved in something.”

  “Like what?” Edward’s eyes met Archie’s.

  “I am not sure, but until we can find out, Brentwood must not get his hands on them.”

  Edward nodded.

  They turned to the last two items on the material. One of them was a small rectangle of grubby metal that was covered in what looked like ash.

  Archie picked it up and felt a tiny thrill of excitement stir deep in his belly. He knew that this, whatever it was, was the reason Mr Harriman had been killed. Beneath his fingers the smooth dips of the metal were familiar. As familiar to him as the coin he had spent many hours running his fingers over during the past two days.

  He frowned and placed the item in the palm of his hand. There was a seam running down the length of the metal. Digging his fingernail into the seam, he gasped as it suddenly sprang open and there, in the centre of the grimy rectangle of grey, lay another coin. Although, unlike the coin in his pocket, this one was perfectly cast.

  With trembling fingers, Archie slowly lifted it from its casing, gasping in astonishment as his fingers touched the grime on the coin and in doing so, revealed shiny gold underneath. He had only ever seen a gold coin once, and that had only been briefly as it had been in Lord Brentwood’s hand when he had been searching for a penny to throw to one of the children. But the colour had remained in Archie’s memory. A wonderfully shiny, yellow colour, almost like a canary’s wings, that was so brilliant that it could have been cast from an angel.

  “Do you think it is real?” Edward whispered, watching Archie polish it on his shirt and place it on the floor between them. He daren’t touch it and sat staring reverently down at it instead.

  “Yes, I do, Edward, and I think we are now in a lot of trouble,” Archie murmured, feeling wonder and fear collide.

  “What do you want to do now? I mean, you can hardly wander around tomorrow with this lot stuffed in your pocket, and if you leave it in the house, anyone could find it.”

  “We will have to hide it where nobody will think to look for it,” Archie replied after several silent moments of deep thought. A vague flicker of an idea swept before him and he smiled secretively at Edward for a moment.

  “How tired are you?”

  Edward froze and stared in horror at his friend. “I am not going out there again,” he snapped, his voice firm. He felt so strongly against the idea that he felt certain that if Archie persisted, this was one argument he was not going to win.

  “I know we are not. Neither of us are going out there at night again.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” Edward huffed, swamped with relief. “I’m tired, Archie, can we not leave all of this until the morning?”

  “Yes, I’ll sleep on this for tonight, but tomorrow I need your help.”

  “What, again?” Edward huffed, slumping into his blankets. He watched as Archie snuffed out the candle. The sounds of his friend settling amongst his own blankets added to his relief in the knowledge that Archie meant what he said. “At this rate, Archie, I am going to start charging you for my services.”

  “Hah! I have a gold coin to pay you with!” Archie replied, snuggling down and savouring the warmth.

  “Good, because I have a feeling you are going to need all of it to pay me what you owe me after tonight. Now you have the nerve to ask me for more,” Edward grumbled, feeling inordinately smug that Archie needed his help.

  “How are you with pigs?”

  Sleep was pushed to the edges of his mind as Edward stared blankly at the ceiling with a frown. “Pigs?”

  “Yes, pigs.”

  “Oh Lord,” Edward sighed, rolling over. He was glad Archie couldn’t see his grin in the darkness. Despite the fear, the lack of sleep, the cold and the dead bodies that seemed to turn up whenever Archie was around, this was still the best adventure that Edward had ever had, and he couldn’t wait to find out how pigs featured in any of it.

  With a sigh of contentment, he snuggled down and, filled with anticipation of another day of adventures, promptly fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “What do you think we should do about Mrs Humble?” Edward whispered the following morning as he followed Archie outside to help with the chores. He was aware of the bulge beneath his friend’s jacket, but stoically ignored it as they left the house to carry out Archie’s chores.

  “Oh, I’m so tired,” Archie yawned widely, pausing briefly to allow Edward to catch up and walk alongside him. Together they wove their way along the narrow path toward the pigsty.

  “I don’t know,” he replied as soon as they were far enough from the house not to be overheard.

  “Are you going to tell your dad?”

  Archie shook his head. “There will be too many questions to answer and we will be in serious trouble, not only leaving the house to go to the tavern alone, in the middle of the night, but then to go out to Mr Harriman’s house –” He shook his head. “- Dad will have a fit and my life won’t be worth living.”

  Edward could understand. If his own dad found out what he had been up to, he would have to do double chores for the rest of his life. “I don’t want to get into trouble either, Archie, but we can’t leave Mrs Humble in the woods. She may never be found.”

  Archie picked up a pail, walked over to the well and began to wind the bucket of water up. As he poured the cool liquid into the pail at his feet, he glanced at Edward.

  “I don’t know about you, but it was dark last night and I can’t remember where I was. I think I can vaguely recall where I came out of the trees into the field, but I cannot remember where I fell over her, much less be able to lead anyone to her.”

  Edward sighed, feeling strangely dissatisfied.

  “We can only hope someone does find her,” Archie sighed.

  “But what if they don’t?”

  Archie’s gaze was solemn as he stared at Edward. “Then I will tell my dad and hope she is still there.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” Edward frowned. “I mean, it is hardly like she is going to get up and find herself somewhere else to lie, is it?”

  “I know, but there were the two men in the woods, one of who was the one who murdered her. Because they know I found her, they may move her again.”

  “Oh Lord, this is getting more and more sinister. I don’t like it, Archie. I mean dead bod
ies is bad enough, but moving them around? What have we got ourselves into?”

  “I don’t know, but it is really serious and I know Lord Brentwood is involved in it up to his ears; I just don’t know how yet.” Archie picked the pail up and made his way to the pigsty.

  “Keep a lookout,” Archie whispered, sliding back the bolt and nudging the pigs out of the way as he disappeared into the single-storey brick building.

  Edward picked up a pail of grain and began to scatter it for the chickens, who jostled and clucked for the golden treat. While scattering the corn, he surreptitiously scanned the track for any sign of strangers but could see nothing unusual.

  Minutes later, chores done, they walked away from the pigsty outwardly chatting in a perfectly normal way, but the knowing look they shared was filled with barely withheld humour. Anybody watching them would not have thought anything unusual about Archie entering the pigsty with his bucket, or even going into the pigsty. The pigs, being used to Archie around them on a daily basis, made no objection to having their space invaded, allowing him to hide their small parcel in the eaves of the pigsty without even a flicker of an eye.

  “Any sign?”

  “Nothing,” Edward muttered, boffing Archie at the back of the head playfully and running off down the track with Archie giving chase. Archie’s mum had said that as soon as the pigs were fed, both boys were to head off to work, which they were doing, but nobody said they couldn’t have some fun while they were going.

  They ignored the rueful shaking of heads from some of the workers who were heading toward the fields for the day.

  “Save your energy, boys, it’s going to be a long one,” one cautioned cheerfully, grinning as they scurried past, laughing.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be alright,” Archie replied, grinning at Edward who had slowed to a steady walk.

  “Where are you today, Archie?”

  “I’m at the mill. It’s going to be really busy as soon as the first carts come in, so it’s a long day for me. What about you? Are you going to be at the bake house all day?”

  “Nope, I’ve got to go to the fields to tie the sheaves.”

  “Lord, you’re lucky. I wish I could be outside all day,” Archie replied reverently, thinking about his long hours in the dusty corn mill.

  Dawn had just risen over the horizon, and the village was starting to come alive. Most of the workmen carried sickles and scythes, pouches of food and kegs of ale and cider. The women carried their babies wrapped in their aprons, while young children scampered around in excitement. The elder villagers shuffled along behind them, eager to play their part and savour the community atmosphere.

  Archie waved to his mum who was walking alongside some of the eldest villagers, feeling a thrill of anticipation at being swept along with the masses heading to the fields. He wished he could go with them; he really missed the singing and easy camaraderie of the labourers.

  All too soon he reluctantly said his goodbyes to Edward, and disappeared into the mill. Placing his lunch pouch on the table beside the door, Archie picked up the brush and began to sweep. Luckily Sammy and Ben had already gone to the fields with their dad, and would not be back until later. Not having them in the mill meant more work for Archie, but he didn’t mind that. He needed to think, and not having their continual inane chatter and constant distraction would give him the opportunity to decide what to do about Mrs Humble’s body, and the clues they had found.

  Archie sighed as he swept past the window and glanced outside. It was going to be warm and sunny. A gentle haze had already settled over the fields that would bask in golden glory until the orange embers of dusk would settle them into darkness.

  His eyes landed on the church further away and his thoughts immediately turned to Mr Harriman. Nobody had said anything about Mr Harriman being buried yet. Had he missed it? Had Mr Harriman already been buried, and nobody had mentioned it to him? Somehow, he doubted it. Battleflat wasn’t busy enough for a funeral to be held and not talked about, but Mr Harriman couldn’t still be lying in the tavern – could he?

  He made a mental note to ask his mother as soon as he got home, and turned his attention back to the dirty floor.

  “So can I?” Archie prompted later that night. He was tired from several days of poor sleep and a long, exhausting day at the corn mill, but it was of little consequence at that moment. As soon as he had seen the telling look pass between his mum and dad, he had known he had a battle on his hands.

  “I don’t know, Archie, maybe you would be better to stay at work tomorrow,” his mum replied.

  “But I feel that I should go,” Archie persisted.

  “Why?” his dad asked. “You didn’t even know Mr Harriman, other than to nod at him as you passed him in the street.”

  “None of us did though, did we?” Archie turned imploring eyes on his dad. “But you are going, Dad. Why can’t I go? I was the last one who saw him alive, after all.”

  “I’m not going,” Marjorie piped up from the depths of the kitchen. “I’m going out to the fields again.”

  “I’m going in my official capacity as constable. Lord Brentwood may be there,” Jack replied, staring sternly at Archie. “He will undoubtedly take the opportunity to pester you about what you saw. Have you remembered anything else?”

  Archie had to fight to keep his face bland and hope that his face didn’t have that tell-tale flush of embarrassment that immediately made him want to fidget. He shook his head slowly, dropping his eyes to the table so he didn’t have to meet his dad’s gaze.

  “I want to go, Dad,” Archie said softly. “I need to.”

  The silence that settled over the room was interrupted by the occasional thumps on the ceiling from his brothers, who were fighting again.

  “I’ll go and see what they are doing,” Marjorie said, dropping her cloth on the table as she swept past and disappeared up the stairs.

  “I just feel that I need to go,” Archie said, staring sadly at his dad.

  “If you feel that it won’t upset you too much, then I suppose it will be alright. But you must be ready first thing in the morning. Because of harvest, the vicar has agreed to hold the service early.”

  Archie nodded, relieved that it had been so easy to persuade him. Later, during tea, after several moments of savouring delicious food, he became aware of Edward’s curious gaze. His eyes silently warned Edward to keep quiet for now, but the unspoken agreement that they would discuss things at the earliest opportunity hung between them.

  “Are you sure you want to go?” Edward asked later that night as they lay settled on the blankets once more; this time, though, they had every intention of staying there for the entire night. After mulling over the clues once more, they had settled into a companionable silence and now lay in the darkness waiting for sleep to claim them.

  “I’m sure. Not only will it give me the opportunity to see Mr Harriman buried, but I need to be able to check the churchyard and see if I can locate that place marked with a circle on the map.”

  “But what if it isn’t Battleflat Church?” Edward whispered, wondering how Archie was going to get away from the funeral long enough to search anything.

  “It must be. Why would Mr Harriman hide anything anywhere else?”

  “We don’t know where he came from. It could be a churchyard anywhere.”

  “Well, until we check Battleflat Church, we cannot cross it off our list,” Archie argued reasonably. “Besides -” he said, studying the map closely again, “- it is the same layout as Battleflat Church. The gate is in the same place and the church is positioned the same way, and I am sure the tree marked here is the one that sits to the left of the gateway. I am sure it is Battleflat Church.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Edward’s voice was laced with doubt. “I wish I could go with you.”

  “I know, but I will report back later, I promise.”

  “You’d better,” Edward warned seriously, settling down with a sigh.

  The following
morning, with the sun being chased by ominous looking clouds, Archie stepped out of the kitchen door after his dad. He paused briefly as Mr Harriman’s coffin was slowly carried past on a horse-drawn cart. Glancing swiftly at his dad, he remained quiet as he began to walk slowly after the sombre procession.

  “Where is everyone?” he whispered when curiosity refused to allow him to remain quiet.

  Jack glanced down at his son. “They are all going to harvest, Archie. I am going too as soon as this is over.”

  There were only six or seven people walking alongside them. Two of them were the gravediggers who usually attended every funeral, and would fill the grave in after the burial. The rest consisted of the innkeeper and his wife, followed by Archie and his dad. Not a large procession, but at least some of the villagers had turned out to pay their last respects.

  “People didn’t like him, did they?” Archie whispered, sensing his dad staring down at him.

  “It wasn’t that they didn’t like him, Archie,” Jack protested. “It is just that Mr Harriman didn’t mix with many people, that’s all. I wouldn’t be here either if -”

  “If I hadn’t seen him die, and you weren’t the village constable.”

  Jack sighed and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, nodding to Mr Tompkins as they passed. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can go home, get changed and go to work instead.”

  “I need to do it,” Archie protested. Not only was he driven by something - something he couldn’t define – to go to the funeral, but he also wanted to take a look at the churchyard and see if he could identify the place marked on the map.

  The next hour passed in a blur of monotonous boredom for Archie. On more than one occasion, while sitting on the hard, wooden pew in the cold church, listening to the vicar drone on and on about sin and retribution, Archie seriously regretted his decision to attend. He would have actually preferred to be working hard in the stuffy corn mill, getting dusty and itchy from endlessly sweeping the husks. Anything was better than sitting and watching his breath fog out before him, while the hard bench bit into his bottom. He felt his dad shift uncomfortably next to him a time or two, and fought a smile.