Picking up a bucket, Archie disappeared out of the back door and went to give Grumpy and Bobbin their breakfast. Unfortunately, by the time he returned to the mill, he knew his prayers would remain unanswered. Even over the low rumbling of the millstones, he could hear Lord Brentwood deep in conversation with Mr Tompkins.
Determined that the man wouldn’t continue to corner him while he was at work, Archie crept silently up the stairs to the second floor, and walked over to the far corner, where it was dark and quiet. From his vantage point he could hide behind a large stack of sacks, in the dark corner where the stairs were clearly visible, but it was too dark to see anyone hiding. It also had a small window that afforded a perfect view of the front of the mill.
“Archie!” Mr Tompkins called.
Archie was stuck. Did he ignore Mr Tompkins and get told off later, or go down and face yet more of Lord Brentwood’s intimidation? His chin tilted pugnaciously, and he slowly slid down the rough stone wall until his bottom hit the floor. Bending his legs, he wrapped his arms around his knees and settled into the shadows. A telling off it would be, because there was nothing and nobody going to force him downstairs. He had nothing to say to Lord Brentwood – nothing at all.
“Archie! Are you up there?” Mr Tompkins called. After several moments of nothing but the deep crunch of millstones, Archie heard Mr Tompkins’ low conversation with Lord Brentwood. Clearly the man wasn’t prepared to give up that easily. Shaking his head, Archie dropped his head to his knees and tried not to fall asleep.
Several long minutes later, he almost screamed when Mr Tompkins’s voice came from directly above him.
“You can come out now, Archie,” he said ruefully.
Archie tipped his head back and stared up at his boss. “Has he gone yet?”
Mr Tompkins nodded, and waved him out of his hiding place. “Yes, he has. For today, at least but you know, you are going to have to talk to him at some point.”
“But I don’t have anything else to tell him,” Archie whined, using his best petulant voice. “I don’t know why he keeps asking me over and over, because there is nothing else to tell him, but he won’t leave me alone.”
“You had best tell your dad later, Archie, and be prepared for another visit because that man won’t be put off.”
“But I don’t know anything else,” Archie persisted, pleased that Mr Tompkins was still, for the time being at least, prepared to act as a buffer between the two.
Mr Tompkins placed a fatherly hand on Archie’s shoulder. “Then you need to tell your dad and maybe he can get my lord and master to leave you alone. Remember now, tell him tonight, you hear?”
Archie nodded and looked at Mr Tompkins. “Thank you.”
“You’re a good lad, Archie, but we have got work to do, so best get to it – eh?”
Archie nodded, relieved to be able to get back to work at last. With a grin, he grabbed the bucket from the floor and descended the stairs, feeling relief bubble through him.
It was late. Far later than he had ever worked before. Archie was tired, dirty and covered in dust, but he didn’t mind. The long day at work meant that Lord Brentwood wouldn’t be able to pester him. It had gone dark some time ago; the labourers having passed the mill at dusk, filling the evening air with raucous song and merry laughter. Although everyone was tired, all were grateful to be able to have a full day of uninterrupted harvesting that would benefit everyone over the winter.
The mill was full to bursting, with cart after cart arriving throughout the day, one after the other until there was now no room for any more grain until more space was cleared. Grumpy had been replaced by Thomas, another mill horse only used in busy periods. Thomas was a younger horse, who was full to bursting with energy and fizz, but unfortunately was a bit too wilful to be tied to the staves of the millstones for hours on end. As it was, today, even Thomas was too weary to object to the restriction and had succumbed to endless walking without a murmur.
He waved as his dad walked past with Emilie and Betsy.
“Are you going to be long, Archie?” Jack asked, glancing at Mr Tompkins.
“Just clearing up for the night, then we’re done,” Mr Tompkins replied, clapping Archie on the shoulders.
“He’s worked very well today, he has, Jack, you should be proud of the boy.”
“Aye, I am that,” Jack replied with a wave, and motioning the girls ahead of him.
“I’ll stack the sacks, Mr Tompkins,” Archie sighed with a yawn, rolling his shoulders to ease the sharp stabbing pain that had settled between them hours ago.
“Leave it for tonight. We can do that in the morning. Is the top floor swept?”
“Yes, I did it earlier, and the second floor, but the sacks up there have gone now,” Archie replied.
“Alright, we need those down from the top floor first thing, then we are ready for whatever tomorrow brings.”
Archie nodded.
Archie had been run off his feet all day, having spent many hours sweeping and filling sacks. His arms had stopped aching hours ago and were now stiff and uncomfortable. Despite the discomfort, he was happy and supremely proud of the part he had played.
“Bring the sacks down from the top floor, and then head off home,” Mr Tompkins said, disappearing into his office with a yawn.
Archie did as he was told, groaning as his sore legs protested at climbing the stairs for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.
He had no sooner finished the job than he glanced out of one of the small windows, into the darkness beyond. The tall spire of the church stood starkly in the night: the church containing the yew tree, which held the bag. A small thread of thought filtered through Archie’s mind and he considered for a moment just what he should do. Should he? Could he?
It was the perfect opportunity. It was dark. The streets were quiet because everyone was tired from the long day in the fields, and had gone home for a bath and food. The chances of being seen were extremely remote.
The man’s words of warning from the night before fluttered through Archie’s mind. He didn’t relish going into the graveyard alone, in the dark, but there was no other way to get that bag. But, what would he do if the bag was tied to the tree?
A glance at the second floor of the mill gave him no help. Slowly descending the stairs, he stood on the ground floor for a moment and glanced at the workbenches on the back wall that held a variety of tools the men used to repair machinery. There must be something there he could use.
Mr Tompkins was still in his office, shuffling papers and scowling down at something in his hand, and everyone other than Archie had gone home for the day. Scurrying over to the workbench, Archie snatched a sharp-looking knife from the bench and stuffed it into his pocket. He wasn’t stealing it exactly. It would serve his purposes for tonight, and he would return it in the morning.
As casually as possible, Archie bade goodnight to Mr Tompkins, smiling as the man raised a hand in farewell. Within minutes the solid thump of the mill door closing behind him, cast him out into the night. Archie shivered and stood with his back to the wall for several moments, breathing in the cool night air. He took the opportunity to study the area, scouring the darker shadows for any sign of movement.
His heart began to thump in his chest as the reality of what he was about to do began to sink in. Memories of being chased through the woods rose in his mind, warning him that he was entering onto dangerous ground. But he just had to know what was in that bag. He knew that it contained items that would prove useful in helping catch the murderer. If only he could do it.
Taking a deep breath, he glanced around him one last time and pushed away from the mill. As long as he was fast, he should be able to get the bag without being seen.
As quick as a blink he stuck to the shadows as much as he could and ran toward the graveyard. Archie winced as the huge iron gate squeaked in protest at being pushed open. Any moment now, someone was going to come out of their house to see what he was doing, he was sur
e of it. After several moments, when he could hear nothing but the gentle rustle of the breeze in the trees, he gathered the courage to walk into the graveyard.
The moon was valiantly trying to light the area, but the gravestones cast the old Norman churchyard into menacing shadow.
Nothing moved.
Archie could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Instinctively his eyes sought out Mr Harriman’s grave. With a shudder he quickly averted his eyes, only to find himself face to face with a huge, elaborately carved gravestone.
“Keep a hold of yourself, Archie boy,” he whispered to himself. Puffing out a silent breath, he kept his eyes firmly locked on the solitary yew tree – his goal. He daren’t look around – he was certain that he was being watched, but quickly dismissed the idea. Nobody was out and about, and he was being as silent as he could be. Unless someone was already in the graveyard, who was there to watch him? Dead people?
Shaking his head, he quickly dodged and darted around the gravestones and grave markers until he was standing at the base of the tree. In the darkness he couldn’t see the bag anymore, but he was sure it was up there. It had only been a few short days ago that he had climbed the massive oak in the spinney, but it seemed like a lifetime had passed since that horrible day.
The thought of Mr Harriman and what had happened to him on that afternoon should have frightened him, but instead it filled him with a strange sense of courage and purpose. He owed it to the old man to make sure justice was found, and the man responsible for his murder hung for his crimes. With that thought firmly locked in his mind, Archie gritted his teeth and began to climb.
He almost crowed with delight when he sat astride a thick branch, slightly above the bag that was tucked firmly against the tree trunk. Searching with his fingers, he couldn’t find any bindings tying it to the tree, and when Archie moved it, there was no restraint. The easy movement of the heavy bag nearly made Archie topple to the ground.
He sat there for several moments, willing his nerves to settle and thought about how similar this set of circumstances were to the afternoon of Mr Harriman’s death. He had nearly fallen out of the tree that time too. Only this time there was no murderer standing beneath the tree, lying in wait.
It was that thought that spurred him into action and within moments, Archie was standing on the ground with the bag in his hand.
He felt rather than saw the flurry of movement several feet away. His gasp of surprise was accompanied by the heavy thumping of his feet as he hefted the bag into one hand and began to scurry through the gravestones. He could hear the heavy thuds of the man behind him, only this time Archie knew he couldn’t stand still. There was going to be no conversation with his pursuer. One glance had been all that he needed to know that the man behind him had no other intent than to get his hands on Archie and kill him, before taking the spoils Archie now held in his grubby fist.
“Get here, now!” the low voice snarled. The low – and very familiar voice. Archie had only had one glance at the tall, cloaked figure but had instantly recognised the gnarled mask, and feral eyes barely concealed by the large hood.
One thing Archie did know, was that the murderer wasn’t the man he had spoken to in his garden the night before, and he suddenly wished the man was there to help.
Dodging around the gravestones, this way and that, did little to create any distance between him and the murderer. His heart began to thump heavily as Archie headed toward the gate. Once on the track, he could run at full speed, straight toward home. He briefly contemplated heading toward the mill, and Mr Tompkins, but quickly decided against it. Given what had happened to Mr Harriman, he couldn’t put anyone else at risk.
Dodging behind a particularly large mausoleum, his scream was silenced by the large hand that clamped firmly over his mouth. His wide eyes were filled with fear as he was lifted clear off the ground. His small feet kicked out into thin air in protest as he was carried unceremoniously behind the mausoleum, away from the main street – and prying eyes. Archie knew what the man planned to do. He could feel the bag being tugged from his hand, but refused to give it up. The man couldn’t strangle him with both hands and hold the bag. He clenched his fingers so tight that they began to hurt, but he refused to give his prize up.
The material of the gloved hand cruelly clamped over his mouth cut off all air, until Archie began to see spots. His gaze landed on the mound of earth that now contained Mr Harriman, and a sense of calmness swept over him.
Slamming his feet down on the ground, he swung the bag backward and was rewarded for his determination by the soft ‘oomph’ of surprise from the man behind him. The hand over his mouth and nose suddenly loosened, and it was enough to give Archie the space he needed to wrench his head to one side and take a much-needed deep breath. Fortified, he suddenly lurched forward, dodging downward as he went until his head was free of the man’s grip. Spinning around, he used the momentum of the bag’s weight to swing it wildly at the man’s head.
“Ow!”
Grinning in delight, Archie gripped the bag more firmly. For a moment, the dark figure disappeared from sight. He could do little but follow the weight of the bag right around as it spun him in a tight circle. Using the momentum, he swung the bag more forcefully at the dazed figure behind him. He fought the urge to yell with delight at the heavy thump that met his ears. The man swore and staggered backward, clutching his head.
The mask slipped to one side, revealing enough of Lord Brentwood’s face to confirm Archie’s suspicions.
The weight of the bag had begun to make his arm ache, but he refused to stop and swap hands. He could hear the volley of muffled curses behind him, and wondered if Brentwood would take precious moments to right the mask, or ditch it altogether now he had been seen.
Bursting through the graveyard gate, he kept hold of the metalwork for long enough to slam it firmly behind him, the metallic bang echoing hollowly through the night air.
Having no sooner cleared the graveyard, and all it contained, he almost screamed at the sight of a man approaching swiftly from the right.
“Run! Archie, go home and don’t stop for anything!” the man shouted. He held what looked like a pistol in his hand, and was motioning wildly down the track toward Archie’s house. “Go!” he shouted again when Archie hesitated.
Glancing down the track, Archie saw two other men heading toward them at a fast run. “Go!” the man shouted again, vaulting over the fence and disappearing into the graveyard.
Archie ran several steps forward, his gaze locked on the two approaching men. Were they going to try to snatch the bag? Archie gripped it firmly and braced himself. He watched in amazement as the men practically ignored him and sprinted straight past, heading toward the graveyard.
It was all Archie needed to lunge into action. Without hesitation he began to run as fast as his legs would carry him. Although his eyes were locked on the familiar reassurance of home, his ears were tuned to any sound of movement behind him, but there were no loud bangs, no shouting and no sound of anyone giving chase.
It seemed to take an age before he reached the kitchen door. Frightening his family was the last thing on his mind but a killer was on the loose. Whoever the men were who had gone to the graveyard, Archie was now convinced they were after the murderer.
Bursting through the door, he slammed it firmly behind him and swept through the kitchen, ignoring his mother’s startled gasp as he tore into the sitting room. His father was seated in his habitual chair beside the fire, and lurched to his feet as he spied his son.
“Archie? What the devil?”
Archie stood for a moment, gasping for air, the bag still clutched tightly in his hand. Edward came to stand beside him, one hand on each of Sammy and Ben’s shoulders as they waited.
“Killer,” Archie gasped, nodding toward the door. Now that the moment had come, how did he explain what had just happened? After all, he had no real evidence that the man who had ordered him home wasn’t working
with the murderer.
“What? What are you going on about?” Jack demanded, his voice thundering with menace.
Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open. Splintered pieces of wood showered across the kitchen. The loud blast of wood hitting the wall was accompanied by Marjorie’s scream as a cloaked figure with the macabre face invaded the kitchen.
Marjorie screamed again.
Jack took two steps toward the kitchen when the figure appeared in the doorway. Although Archie had seen the face twice more than he really wanted to, he had never seen it properly in full light before. The sight was something he would never forget. He winced as Betsy’s scream accompanied Marjorie’s.
“Get here you,” the unwelcome guest growled. “Give me that bag.”
Determined not to let the fear show, Archie wondered what had happened to the men who had gone into the graveyard. Surely they hadn’t all been murdered, but where were they? Were they on their way? Or had something happened to them?
Archie had no way of knowing, and couldn’t risk depending on reinforcements that wouldn’t be arriving. Instead, it was down to him and Edward.
“Brace yourself,” he whispered to Edward. Turning back toward the man in the mask, he shook his head slowly.
“You know something, Brentwood? Even if you took the bag, I still have enough evidence to send you to the gallows.”
The mask was white, with small round holes cut where the eyes lay. At first glance, the mask was twisted and gnarled, but now, on careful inspection, it appeared to be pigskin, stretched awkwardly into the shape of a face. It was almost luminescent, and Archie wondered if it had been painted. The thin lips Archie had seen on the afternoon of Mr Harriman’s murder, was in fact pigskin stretched over Lord Brentwood’s lips. The shadows of the mask made the teeth beneath look brown, although now he had come to think about it, he couldn’t remember seeing Lord Brentwood’s teeth – or had never really paid all that much attention to them to think about it. He suspected that Lord Brentwood’s teeth weren’t in all that good condition.
Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery Page 17