Eventually, his patience was rewarded and the vicar drew the service to an end. Although it was supposed to be an abbreviated service, it didn’t seem like it to Archie, who almost groaned aloud at the discomfort in his sore bottom when he stood up.
He followed the coffin solemnly as it was taken outside, and stood respectfully beside the grave as it accepted the new occupant. He took his turn sprinkling dirt over the coffin while the vicar began to drone on once more until eventually the service drew to a close. The grave diggers picked up their shovels and began to fill the hole in, leaving Archie and his dad free to go on their way.
Unfortunately – or fortunately as it later turned out - his dad was waylaid by the vicar who seemingly wanted to chat about a small theft of the church funds, leaving Archie with the opportunity he needed to wander among the gravestones. He knew he should be heading home to get changed so he could get to work without losing too much in wages, but this was just too perfect an opportunity to be missed.
Mentally tracing the map, Archie began to wander around. Glancing toward the entrance gate of the church, with the building about ten paces behind him as shown on the map, Archie found himself standing at the foot of a yew tree. Right there in the middle of the churchyard to the left of the gate, exactly as shown on the map.
Frowning in consternation, Archie wandered aimlessly around the thick trunk, staring at the ground. The churchyard was right on the main street. He didn’t know much about trees, but it seemed doubtful that anybody could dig a hole in the churchyard for anything other than putting a dead body in. Even if you ignored the fact that you could be seen from the road – why?
He could understand someone wanting to hide something where people were less likely to search – he had done exactly that thing yesterday, but the churchyard? In particular, why the tree?
Archie frowned, lost in thought. A quick glance across the churchyard assured him that his dad was deep in conversation with the vicar, and the gravediggers were busy filling the grave. With their attention diverted, Archie glanced closer at the ground at his feet, but it was hard packed and certainly didn’t appear to have been disturbed recently.
He placed a hand on the rough bark, thinking about the huge oak tree in the spinney. He missed climbing it, and wondered if he would ever go to the spinney again. After that fateful afternoon when everything in his life had changed so drastically, it suddenly didn’t seem to be a very good place to play. He didn’t think he would ever enjoy spending any time there again. It was a shame, because he loved to climb that oak tree, but at the moment it held too many dark and sinister memories.
As he turned away, he glanced upward at the chirruping birds, and froze. His eyes darted this way and that, his mind racing as he tried to absorb what he had just spotted.
There, high up in the dense foliage, nestled close to the tree trunk, was a cloth bag that was almost the same colour as the tree trunk itself. So close to the trunk that Archie wondered if it was tied. The tree was thick and gnarled, and less apt to sway in the high winds they had had over the past couple of days, which is probably why the bag hadn’t fallen off.
Archie casually leaned his back against the thick bark and glanced at his dad still deep in conversation. Standing in the shade of the large tree, out of the sunshine, he was able to study the area, but couldn’t see anything or anyone untoward. There was nothing at the back of any of the gravestones around the tree – he had checked.
His heart thumped heavily with suppressed excitement and he fought the urge to clamber upward and snatch the bag down. Curiosity began to burn within him until his fingers positively tingled with the need to seek out the answers to the questions that began to bubble furiously.
“Archie!”
It took all of his willpower to slowly push away from the tree and make his way back toward his dad.
“Can I ask you something?” Archie asked when they were almost back at home. Keeping his eyes firmly on the track before them, he sensed rather than saw his father’s look.
“Where is Mr Harriman’s sister?”
“Nobody knows, Archie.” Jack replied with a sigh. “Because none of us really knew all that much about him, nobody knows how to get hold of her - where she lives, or even what her name is. I am not sure if she even knows he is dead yet. We can only hope that come Sunday, when he doesn’t turn up as he usually does, she raises the alarm with Lord Brentwood and her identity is revealed. I’ve put a notice in the broadsheet, and sent notices out to the local villages, but until she reads one, or someone tells her, then there is nothing much more I can do.”
Archie sighed, and wondered if Mr Harriman’s sister really existed after all. It seems that apart from where his house was, nobody really knew anything about Mr Harriman.
“Come on now, let’s get changed and get back to work. I’ve got to go over to Farmer Smith’s again; someone has stolen another of his sheep.”
Later, as he made his way toward the corn mill, Archie’s thoughts turned once more to Mrs Humble. A wave of guilt, stronger than ever before, swept through him and he knew that he had to tell his dad what had happened the night before, whatever the consequences.
Although another lie would get him into even more trouble at a later date, he couldn’t tell his father what they had been looking for at Mr Harriman’s house, or indeed that they had found anything at all. That, he would have to save for another time, or else risk getting his dad into serious trouble too. If he had to tell his dad anything, it had to be that curiosity drove them to go. As long as he protected Edward and made him appear to be a reluctant party in all of it, everything would be alright. Archie would be in serious trouble of course, but at least it would mean that Mrs Humble would have a proper burial – sort of like Mr Harriman had just had.
Unfortunately, circumstances conspired against him. When he arrived at home later that evening, the house was abuzz with the latest news.
Mrs Humble had been found.
Dead.
Even more strangely – she had been found at home.
Standing in the doorway of the sitting room, Archie froze and frowned at his feet. Slowly shrugging out of his jacket, he hung it on the peg by the back door, and turned toward Edward. His eyes met those of his friend’s for several moments and he sensed rather than saw Edward’s shrug.
“When was she found?” Archie asked quietly, taking a seat beside Ben at the table. Everyone else had already eaten. Even Betsy and Emilie were already at home, and were busy mending the basket of sewing sent from the main house while Archie’s mum bustled about in the kitchen.
Slowly munching the pie, pickle, cheese and apple on his plate, Archie turned to his mum.
“What did she die of?” His eyes met those of his dad’s for several moments.
“We don’t know,” Jack sighed, picking up his boot and buffing it rapidly.
Archie knew there was something his dad wasn’t telling him. He glanced at Edward, who merely shook his head.
“She was at home?” Archie frowned, thinking of his own visit to the house the other day. “How? When I went, there was nobody there. She hasn’t been seen since.”
Jack sighed, and put his boot down on the floor. “When you went to the house, did you check everywhere, Archie?”
Archie frowned and stared at his father. “No, I went into the front room. There was definitely nobody in the room. When I called, there was no answer, so I dropped the flour on the floor where it wouldn’t get wet, then I left.” Archie frowned, thinking of the black cloak sticking out of the cupboard. “Why?”
“Because she was found sitting in the chair in front of the hearth.”
Archie began to shake his head. “She wasn’t there when I went to deliver the flour, Dad, I’d have seen her.”
“We think she took ill when she was out and about and, when she returned home, sat down where she died,” Marjorie reported softly, placing a piece of apple pie in front of Archie.
“What makes you think that?”
Archie wished they would just get to the point. Clearly they were reluctant to tell him, but had been discussing it anyway. Why?
“Because she was found covered in leaves and twigs,” Edward said quietly, joining the conversation for the first time. “They think she may have fallen or something while she was outside, managed to get home where she took ill and died.”
“Aahh! That makes sense. But there was nobody outside when I was there,” Archie added thoughtfully, his thoughts once again turning to that black piece of cloth sticking out of the cupboard.
“Well, the flour was there where you left it, so we think it must have been sometime between your visit and today.”
“Another funeral,” Archie sighed, shaking his head dolefully. At least he was now off the hook and didn’t have to tell his dad that he had been out at Mr Harriman’s house at night. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not.
“What does Lord Brentwood think? Has he been told yet?”
“Apparently he isn’t here at the moment. He has gone to London on business, but I’ve left a message for him when he returns.”
“So Mrs Humble can’t be buried until he gets back?”
“Not really, not until the Justice says it is alright to bury her. There are a lot of upset people in the village right now, boys, so be careful what you say.”
“Yes, sir,” Archie replied dutifully, glancing at Edward, who mumbled the same response. In reality, neither boy had any intention of discussing Mrs Humble with anyone other than each other. There were far too many questions that remained unanswered for either boy to accept the villagers’ ideas on how Mrs Humble had died. Far too many disturbing, unanswered questions.
Like, why return Mrs Humble to her house? If the murderer was going to do that, why move her to the woods in the first place? Had she been murdered in the woods earlier that day? If so, why not just leave her body there to rot? After all, people rarely ventured into the woods, and had even less cause to head in that direction now that Mr Harriman was dead. If Mrs Humble had been in the woods when she had been murdered, what had she been doing there? What had she seen that had meant she had to die? Who had she seen who had wanted her dead?
Having finished a meal, Archie moved away from the table and stared meaningfully at Edward, who followed him outside to ‘help’ with Archie’s chores.
Edward was positively bursting with questions, hopping from foot to foot with impatience as he followed Archie away from the house. Neither boy was aware of the darkness that surrounded them as they slowly walked down toward the pigsty.
Collecting a bucket, Archie dropped the plate of scraps into the bucket and disappeared into the sty, returning moments later with the packet tucked under his shirt.
“Do you think the murderer moved Mrs Humble?” Edward couldn’t remain silent any longer.
Archie shook his head. “I am not sure. It just doesn’t make sense. There is something really odd going on here, but I do know one thing.” He glanced meaningfully at Edward, who looked confused.
“What?”
“It is odd that suddenly Mrs Humble’s body arrives back at her house, the same day that Lord Brentwood suddenly has to go away for a while.”
“Lord, do you think he has been murdered too?” Edward’s voice rose to a squeak.
Archie glanced at his friend starkly. “I think he is the murderer.”
“Brentwood?”
Archie fought a smile at the surprise on Edward’s face. “Sshhh, keep your voice down,” he whispered, glancing around them furtively. He could feel someone watching; could practically feel their eyes on him. With a shiver, he moved over to the well, filled with urgency to get back inside.
“Hello, boys.”
Archie closed his eyes briefly, as Edward’s soft gasp of alarm filled his ears. He knew without seeing his face that this was the man who he had seen in the middle of the cart track the night before.
“What do you want?”Archie asked defiantly, his chin raised with pugnacious determination so that the man would not be able to see how scared he was.
“I want to talk to you, that’s all. You are perfectly safe for tonight, I promise, but just don’t venture off anywhere.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Of Brentwood’s?” Archie knew he was pushing the boundaries by not addressing the Justice as a Lord, but really didn’t care. He didn’t like the man anyway.
“No, definitely not Brentwood’s. I know you are a man of intelligence, Archie, so I am sure I don’t need to tell you not to trust Brentwood.” Archie frowned at the stark warning on the man’s face. He felt rather than saw Edward cautiously sidle up to stand beside him.
“Who are you?”
“I am after the man who murdered Roger Harriman and Mrs Humble, and mean to make sure he is brought to justice.”
Archie’s eyes met and held the man’s in the darkness. He could see little other than honesty staring back at him. There was nothing dark or sinister about the man who was leaning casually against the corner of the pigsty. Although he was dressed entirely in black, he seemed almost calm, and vaguely reassuring. Which was strange given that if he hadn’t have spoken, neither boy would have even known he was there.
“Who are you after?” Archie wanted to hear from the man who the murderer was. Although he firmly believed it was Lord Brentwood, he needed to hear someone else confirm his suspicions, especially given that he had nothing to base those suspicions on other than odd behaviour.
“You know who it is, Archie – we both do. Just don’t be pressured into doing anything rash. Stay firm, and stay close to your friend, Edward, here.” Archie felt Edward stiffen beside him at the mention of his name.
“But who are you, and why should we trust you?” Archie asked, frowning darkly at the man’s own clandestine behaviour. He realised then that the man hadn’t answered any of Archie’s questions – why? What had he got to hide?
“I can’t tell you right now, boys. You just have to trust me. I know you want justice for Mr Harriman and now Mrs Humble, but you have to leave it to me to make to make sure that enough evidence is collected to ensure – the murderer, is made to pay for his crimes.”
Archie know they didn’t really have much choice. “My father is the village constable though, he should be involved.”
“I’m sure you understand that on this occasion, it is best if your father doesn’t know.” The words hinted that the man was referring to Archie and Edward’s night-time forays.
“Have you been following us?”
“Aye,” the man nodded once. “Someone has to watch your backs.”
Archie sensed Edward’s round eyes on his face but refused to turn away from the man before him. He wasn’t sure if he looked away, the man would vanish entirely.
“What do you want us to do?” It was the first time Edward had spoken, and the words came out in a rush, pushed along by nervousness.
“I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, and stay away from Lord Brentwood.”
The small hairs came up on the back of Archie’s neck. Was that because Lord Brentwood is the murderer? He was about to ask when the sound of the back door of the house opening broke the silence that hovered over them. Both boys glanced toward the shaft of light that spilled out, piercing the darkness.
“Are you alright, boys?” Marjorie called, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“Yes, fine,” Archie replied, turning back to where the man had, moments earlier, been standing. Unsurprisingly, the space was now empty.
“Oh lordy, how did he do that?” Edward whispered, his tone awestruck.
Archie tried hard to see through the gloom where the man had been. After several moments he shook his head, knowing somehow that although he couldn’t see the man, he was still there. Watching. Waiting. Was he the same man who had been watching the house? Somehow, Archie didn’t think so. There was no reason for the man to try to break in, after all, unless he was in fact th
e murderer and was trying to warn the boys away from getting at the truth. But he had had perfect opportunity to murder Archie the night before. He was relatively young, about five and thirty probably, and was fit enough to run down a young boy, so why hadn’t he taken the perfect opportunity to kill Archie while he had the chance in the middle of the night?
“Come on, let’s get back inside.” Archie’s words met thin air, as Edward had already started to walk down the path. Clearly he was eager to get back into the warmth of the house and away from the looming threat.
Archie though, didn’t feel threatened. Maybe because he had met the man once before – he wasn’t sure, but he knew that he wasn’t going to turn and run. He had too many questions the man had clearly no intention of answering – yet.
A gentle gust of wind nudged him meaningfully toward the house and, with a shiver, Archie quickened his step.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The following day, Archie had just arrived at work and was putting his pouch of lunch down on the table beside the door, when he had the now familiar sensation of being watched. Hackles raised, he glanced up and froze when his eyes met those of the man from the night before. Although this was the first time Archie had seen him in broad daylight, he knew instinctively this was the same man. The man’s brown eyes met and held Archie’s meaningfully as he slowly wandered past. At first appearance, there was nothing unusual about him. He was walking amiably with the other labourers as they ambled toward the fields. Dressed just like everyone else in labourer’s clothing, he had his pouch slung over his shoulder and a keg of beer under his arm. Although Archie knew that he wasn’t one of the villagers.
Archie fought a smile as the man winked knowingly at him before turning the corner and heading down the main street. Archie’s gaze followed the stranger only to fall upon the tall, domineering figure of Lord Brentwood, seated atop a huge, chestnut horse. His dark, almost feral eyes stared hard at Archie for several moments before he turned in his saddle and watched the man disappear down the road. Archie took the opportunity to disappear back inside the mill, fervently hoping that Brentwood wouldn’t pester him with more questions.
Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery Page 16