Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery

by King, Rebecca

  “It’s Lord Brentwood to you,” the man snarled. The room was filled with shocked gasps, as Lord Brentwood snatched the mask off and slapped it unceremoniously on the table. Tugging the hood down, he seemed oblivious to his dishevelled state as he stared in almost hatred at Archie.

  “You have been enough trouble to me, boy. Give me that bag.”

  “Archie? What is this all about?” Jack demanded cautiously, edging closer to his gun resting above the fireplace behind him.

  “Touch that gun and you die.” The low snarl drew everyone’s attention to the wicked looking pistol nestled in Lord Brentwood’s hands.

  Although the words were aimed at Jack, the gun was pointed at Archie.

  Knowing that Brentwood was looking for a reason to shoot him, Archie had to think on his feet. “Do you think I am the only one who knows where the evidence is? Do you think that killing me will mean you are off the hook?” Archie taunted, his voice almost sing-songed.

  “Archie.”

  He could hear the tone of warning in his dad’s voice but refused to be cowed by it.

  “You aren’t going to get away with murdering either Mr Harriman, or Mrs Humble,” Archie continued. “Justice or not, you are still going to face justice yourself. There are men after you. Do you seriously think they will let you get away with it?”

  “You are forgetting, little boy,” Brentwood taunted. “I am the law, and I can do as I please.”

  “Not quite,” the new arrival drawled from behind Brentwood.

  Lord Brentwood spun around, swinging his gun around to point it at the stranger who now stood panting in the doorway.

  Edward sidled closer to Jack, dragging Ben and Sammy with him. All three boys looked amazed and intrigued at the drama being played out before them. For once both twins remained silently watchful. Archie had never seen them so still, and would have teased them about it, at any other time – but not right now.

  “We know who you are, Brentwood, and we know about all of your crimes.”

  “He killed Mr Harriman and Mrs Humble,” Archie added, his eyes turning to the man beside the door.

  “Oswalde? What the hell are you doing here? Go home,” Brentwood snapped, clearly unimpressed by the man’s status.

  “I am afraid that isn’t possible, you see the powers that be have sent me here to bring you to justice. They are fed up with your greed. You have gone too far. The game is up, Brentwood. It’s time to face justice.”

  Brentwood began to shake his head. “I’ve done nothing you can prove.”

  The man paused, knowing this was true.

  “We have lots of evidence,” Archie argued, glaring at Brentwood. “I saw you kill Mr Harriman with my own eyes.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You are a mere ignorant little mill boy who knows nothing,” Brentwood scoffed, casting Archie a look of pure hatred. “Do you really think people will listen to your word against mine?”

  “I think that his word, on top of the evidence we have back in London, is enough to bring you to justice,” Oswalde argued.

  “What crimes? What? What do you have that you think will bring me to justice?” Brentwood challenged.

  “We know all about your forgery operation.” Gasps fell across the room. Archie saw that another man had arrived in the kitchen and now stood in front of Marjorie, listening to the conversation from the shadows. Archie wondered where the third man was, and wondered if he had remained outside in case Brentwood ran.

  “Forgery? I don’t know what you mean,” Brentwood scoffed.

  “We know you are up to your ears in debt. There is a list of debtors in London who want to speak to you and have already given us evidence of extensive debts, billets and such that are still outstanding. Your bank has already confirmed that your coffers are empty. Although you did have a large amount of money deposited into your account a couple of years ago, it wasn’t enough to cover your luxurious lifestyle and there wasn’t enough to pay all of your debts. The robbery of the gold bars from the docks gave us a trail to the warehouse you used to store the gold until you could go down to London to fetch it in your luxurious carriage. After all, nobody would think of searching a Justice for evidence, now would they? Mr Harriman had a past history of crime, and you used that to your advantage, didn’t you? Although we cannot be sure, we think you crossed swords while Harriman was working as a blacksmith, and you enlisted his help. Paid him handsomely too, didn’t you? Or so he thought you were going to pay him for his services. What you actually gave him in payment for minting your stolen gold was that run-down hovel on the outskirts of a small village in the middle of nowhere.”

  Oswalde slowly inched forward, aware that Brentwood was watching him closely. He wished he could motion to Archie to stand behind his dad and away from danger, but daren’t draw Brentwood’s attention back to the brave young lad.

  “You have no proof,” Brentwood spat in anger. His lips curled arrogantly.

  “I do,” Archie piped up, grinning at Oswalde.

  Brentwood didn’t get the time to object to Archie disappearing into the front room. With a flurry of movement, he reappeared moments later, carrying his precious bundle. He hesitated, reluctant to lay it out on the table where Brentwood could grab it, and instead held it tightly.

  Oswalde made to move toward Archie to relieve him of the bundle, only for Brentwood to lift his gun slightly in warning. The last thing Oswalde wanted was for either Archie or any of his family to get hurt, so he reluctantly stood still, his eyes darting from Brentwood to the parcel Archie held.

  Archie dug into his pocket and glanced regretfully down at his hand. He had gotten used to the familiar weight of the coin in his pocket, and suddenly didn’t want to give it up, but it wasn’t his and if it helped to lock Brentwood up, then it was worth the sacrifice.

  Shooting Oswalde a grin, he flicked it toward the man, who snatched it from thin air and stared consideringly down at it for several moments. The grin he shot Archie showed he was impressed and pleased with Archie’s foresight.

  Archie’s shoulders straightened in pride and he dug into his pocket once more, this time removing the second, perfectly cast coin. Although this one had more value, it didn’t mean as much to Archie, who this time threw it across the room toward Oswalde. Brentwood tried to step in its path to snatch it first, but the coin sailed straight past his ear and landed with a plop in Oswalde’s fist.

  Oswalde whistled. “It’s a good fake,” he declared casually. “I can see why so many people have been fooled for so long.”

  “Fake? Forgery? What’s going on?” Jack demanded. “What has this got to do with Archie?”

  Oswalde sighed, knowing that he needed Brentwood to confess to a bit more - with witnesses. Jack and Marjorie Balfour, and Archie, would be more than enough if Brentwood confirmed to Oswalde that his suspicions were indeed correct.

  “Brentwood here spent all of the family money on luxury goods, gambling and parties, and spent practically everything. Eventually though, his greed caught up with him and the people he owed money to began to wonder if they would get their money back.”

  Oswalde glanced at Jack, who stood in rapt silence. “They couldn’t of course, because Brentwood here didn’t have the money to pay them. At the time there was a shipment of gold coming in from Africa. It should have been a secret, but, of course, word got out. Brentwood here used some of his erm, less refined contacts to arrange for the gold to be stolen and kept in a warehouse until Brentwood could collect it. We know that he took it to his hunting lodge in Shropshire where the blacksmith – Harriman - smelted it down and used the moulds he created to make guineas. Lots of them.”

  “Coins Brentwood then took to London and spent.”

  Oswalde nodded. “Only the more he spent, the more he wanted to spend and he suddenly found the coins weren’t being made fast enough to keep up with his demands. He insisted on more coins being made faster but, for some reason, Harriman refused. Then the gold supply started to run out.
”

  “Mr Harriman – a forger?”

  Oswalde nodded slowly. “Brentwood here employed Harriman, who used his blacksmith skills to smelt the coins. A mere blacksmith wouldn’t suddenly have a stash of guineas lying around, so they made a deal. When all of the gold was minted, Harriman would receive a house in lieu of payment, where he could remain for the rest of his days, or sell it and live off the proceeds.”

  “Mr Harriman’s cottage?” Archie’s brows rose. No wonder Mr Harriman had always looked unhappy. Spending hours and hours slaving over a hot furnace, casting hundreds of coins, and when you had finished you were left with a rundown old hovel on the outskirts of Battleflat.

  “No wonder Mr Harriman hated you,” Archie muttered, shaking his head chidingly at the man standing opposite.

  “But he was a labourer. He worked over at the farm. Was he casting coins as well?” Jack frowned, trying to envisage the shy and often withdrawn Mr Harriman being involved in anything so underhand.

  Oswalde shook his head. “Not while he was here, as far as we know. We found the casting equipment – or some of it, in Harriman’s lodgings at Brentwood’s house. But there are a lot of questions unanswered.”

  “Just because the man was involved in casting coins, doesn’t mean that I was involved in it too,” Brentwood protested. “I had no idea what he was doing. He was employed as a gardener, that’s all. You have nothing on me.”

  Archie took the opportunity to open the pouch and produce the rolled up parchments. Oswalde immediately moved forward to take the papers off him, and silence settled over the room’s occupants for several moments while the papers were read.

  “What does it say?” Archie asked, when he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

  “It confirms that although Brentwood’s bank account was empty, he managed to clear his debts – large debts – several times over. With money he supposedly didn’t have. He has no known source of income. People in London have been raising questions as to where the money and riches came from, but nobody was able to get any answers from Brentwood here.”

  “It’s nobody’s business,” Brentwood snorted arrogantly.

  “It is when it is breaking the law, and results in someone’s murder. There are also accounts of how much Roger Harriman made, and when the coins were handed over to you,” Oswalde muttered, lifting a grubby piece of parchment to read the back.

  “But why Mrs Humble? I mean, what did she do?”

  “Nothing, Archie,” Oswalde replied. “She was going over to Mr Harriman’s house for some reason – we think maybe to see if she could find anything that would identify Mr Harriman’s fictitious sister. Unfortunately for Mrs Humble though, she disturbed Brentwood here and probably started to ask questions he couldn’t answer.”

  “So he killed her.” All eyes turned accusingly on Brentwood, who glared unrepentantly back at them.

  Eyeing the parchment in Oswalde’s hand seemed to make Brentwood realise there was nowhere to go. But although his shoulders slumped wearily in defeat, his eyes remained locked on the rolled up papers held in Oswalde’s hand.

  “You have no evidence.” Although the words were defiant, they were weak, as though doubt had already begun to grow in Brentwood’s mind.

  “I saw you, along with another of my officers, Brentwood. We arrived just as you were dragging her body through the woods. When you realised someone was nearby, you dropped her in the woods and left.”

  “Leaving her body in the woods?” Archie gasped, staring in disgust at Brentwood.

  Oswalde nodded sadly. “If we had only been a few minutes earlier we probably could have saved her, but as it was -” he shook his head, regret clear on his face.

  “But why put her back in her cottage?” Jack asked, enthralled by everything that was being relayed before them.

  “Because we didn’t think she deserved to be left to rot on the forest floor and deserves a grave. We wanted to shake Brentwood up a bit – you know, poke him a bit into making a rash move that would reveal his identity, but we hadn’t anticipating Archie to step in and push things along a bit.”

  Jack puffed out his cheeks. “Who are you?”

  “We are Bow Street Runners. We have been sent by the Lord Chief Justice to ensure Brentwood here is brought to the Tower to face trial for not only being involved in stealing the gold in the first place, but for forgery.”

  “The Lord -” Jack gasped, slumping down onto his chair.

  Oswalde grinned. “The Lord Chief Justice is determined to bring this renegade down.” He turned toward Brentwood. “Brentwood here is being stripped of his title as we speak. Because of the debts he has once again run up, it looks like he will also be stripped of his estates and everything that goes with them, which will be sold to pay off his debts while he is in jail awaiting sentencing.”

  “Did Brentwood steal the gold all by himself?” Edward gasped, flushing brightly as all eyes turned toward him in surprise. In reality, he had been standing so still that everyone had forgotten he was there. He was still struggling with the thought of the snobby aristocrat skulking around at night, carry out such an audacious crime, and the question just couldn’t be contained any longer – he just had to know.

  “No. He paid some men from the docks to do it for him. Men who are now in the Tower awaiting trial.”

  “But how did he pay them if he didn’t have any money?”

  “They were paid when the gold was cast into coins. Brentwood borrowed from creditors and paid the men just enough to get them to do the job, with the agreement that the rest would be paid once the coins were cast. It was only the large amount of money involved that persuaded the dockmen to do it.”

  “So the gold was stolen, taken to Shropshire where Harriman cast it into coins. Has the gold run out completely now?” Jack asked, wondering how Brentwood had planned to support himself once the coinage ran dry.

  “We think some of it is stashed somewhere by Harriman, but we don’t know where.”

  “Brentwood has it,” Archie declared firmly, casting a spiteful glance at Brentwood who shot him a filthy glare.

  “Shut up, boy! You can prove nothing,” Brentwood snarled.

  “Check the parchment,” Archie replied wisely, rocking back on his heels and feeling inordinately proud of himself.

  “I have seen enough of the parchment’s contents, Archie, to know we have enough to send Brentwood here to trial and he will be found guilty,” Oswalde declared, rolling up the parchment officiously. In reality though, until he studied the parchments closely for any hidden clues, there didn’t seem to be any information on where the rest of the gold was stashed. Until then, the dates, times and quantities Harriman had detailed before his death were enough to send Lord Brentwood to the gallows.

  Archie frowned.

  “But if Mr Harriman didn’t have a sister, where did he go every Sunday?”

  “He met his contacts in Melton Mowbray and handed over a pouch or two of newly cast coins. We were able to follow the contacts back to London. It is how we have managed to crack the ring of thieves Brentwood here employed. They have told us enough about what they were paid, who their employer was etc. In addition to the information these parchments contain, we have more than enough to put Brentwood before a judge.” Oswalde glanced toward Brentwood. “You will be found guilty. The evidence is damning. There is nowhere to go, and nowhere you can hide, Brentwood, so you may as well give it up.”

  “I’m not giving you a damned thing,” Brentwood snarled, choosing that moment to lunge across the table at Archie and the bag still clenched tightly in his hand.

  The gun Lord Brentwood was still holding waved wildly around the room, holding everyone still. They watched in frozen horror as one long arm wrapped around Archie’s neck, dragging him toward the sitting room door.

  Brentwood’s eyes locked on Oswalde’s.

  “Get your man out there to come in here,” Brentwood demanded, nodding toward the front of the house where the third man mu
st be waiting.

  “You will never escape from us, you know that, Brentwood, don’t you? Give the boy up, he has done nothing to you."

  “He has been a thorn in my side for far too long and it is about time I shut him up once and for all.”

  “Why? So I can’t tell everyone that it was you who tried to break into our house the other night? That you have been watching our house for days, and waiting for us to go to bed so you can break in? Or that you have broken into Mr Harriman’s house to look for the evidence, and gold? Or that –”

  “Shut up!”

  The arm around Archie’s neck tightened painfully, lifting him just a few centimetres more off the ground. Archie refused to be cowed by the man behind him though, and stubbornly slumped against the arm, making it harder for the man to carry him.

  “Get the man in here now!” Brentwood bellowed, waving his gun toward Oswalde. Archie could see the blunt tip of his finger quivering on the trigger and felt a wave of panic begin to build. He knew in that moment that Brentwood wasn’t bluffing, he wasn’t going to drop Archie so he could make a quicker getaway as soon as they got out of the house. This was a stone cold killer, who was quite prepared to do whatever it took to ensure his freedom – including murder.

  Archie’s mind began to race and he stared at the end of the gun now faced away from him. He had one chance, and one chance only. Could he do it?

  He wasn’t sure, but he knew that if he didn’t take the risk, he could very well go the same way as Mrs Humble and Mr Harriman. It was the thought of the two bodies that gave him the strength. His arm was stiff from holding the heavy weight for so long. The heavy weight that everyone – including Brentwood – appeared to have forgotten about.