Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery (15 page)

The
house was still and silent; nothing threatening there. It was
almost too still. Too silent. It had a feeling of expectancy about
it; as though it was waiting for something. Mrs Humble was a lady
of indefinable age, who was one of the village’s most active
busybodies. She spent most of her days going in and out of people’s
houses, seemingly to ‘check on them’. Almost everyone in the
village knew, and understood, that she probably did it because she
wanted the company – or was just so nosy that she didn’t want to
miss anything that went on in the village. Usually, she was the
first to spread the glad, or not-so-glad, tidings of the villagers,
and seemed to thrive on exchanging as much ‘news’ as possible, as
quickly as she could.

“
She could be out and about,” Archie reasoned quietly to
himself. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to; he was alone after
all, but it was reassuring to hear his own voice. It made him feel
as though he wasn’t the only person left in the village. Coming
from a house that was always full of hustle and bustle and arguing
children, he couldn’t understand how Mrs Humble stood living in
such solitude, and felt a strange understanding for the elderly
lady’s need to get out of the house.

Shrugging his shoulders, Archie turned to leave. He almost
felt as though something was holding him back. Some unseen hand was
telling him to stay and look around. He paused in the doorway with
a frown. Glancing up and down the cart track once more, he was
unsurprised to find nothing unusual, and still no sign of anyone
else.

“
Imagination,” Archie muttered, turning to grasp the door
latch. As he started to draw the door toward him, his eyes were
drawn toward the cupboard sitting beside the hearth. There, poking
out of a crack between the door and the frame, was a piece of
cloth.

He
stared at the cloth for several moments, feeling the hairs on the
back of his neck begin to stand up in alarm. Trying to keep calm,
he forced himself to think carefully. A tablecloth perhaps? A piece
of mending? Or, maybe Mrs Humble’s old cloak?

“
You have to get out of here,” he mumbled, puffing out his
cheeks. If anyone else turned up, it was going to be bad enough
explaining why he was in Mrs Humble’s house when she wasn’t there.
He couldn’t go snooping around her cupboards; then he
would
be in trouble! But
there was something strange about that piece of cloth. The room was
otherwise neat and tidy. There was nothing poking out of any of the
other cupboard or drawers.

‘
Everything has its place’
, his mum
always said. Someone who was neat and tidy would always take a
moment to tuck a stray piece of cloth like that back into the
cupboard. Curiosity, or a strange and unfamiliar yen for neatness,
drove him to march across the room, yank open the door, shove the
black cloth back in, slam the door closed and hightail it out of
the house.

It was
vaguely reassuring to hear the solid slam of the cottage door
behind him as he skipped down the step and headed back to the mill.
He had already been gone far too long as it was. He would be lucky
if Mr Tompkins didn’t tell him off, or dock his wages again for his
laziness. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. There it was
again, that strange feeling of being watched. Frowning darkly,
Archie slowed to a stop and turned around, carefully scanning the
area behind him.

The cart track was empty. There were no strange shadows
lurking in the trees and no sign of anybody else nearby. His eyes
turned to the cottage he had just left. Outside, everything looked
as it ought to – quiet and still. He was about to turn away when
his blood froze in his veins. The yellowed net curtain to the left
of the door, in the sitting room Archie had just left, slowly
lowered back into place. Archie didn’t need a mirror to know his
eyes grew round in shock. His heart began to hammer in his throat
as he stared at the now still curtain for several moments. He
couldn’t see any shadow, or even an outline of anyone inside. But
someone
was
there.

Was it
Mrs Humble? If so, why hadn’t she spoken to him? Or was someone –
someone other than Mrs Humble – in her cottage?

Archie swallowed, shivering at the memory of that black piece
of cloth poking out of the cupboard. He wondered if it was being
worn by someone when he had shoved it back into the cupboard, and
felt his stomach flip at the thought that he had been
that
close to someone
who was hiding in Mrs Humble’s house. Was it the
murderer?

“
Oh my God,” Archie swallowed. Possibilities of what might
have happened ran through his mind, and he fought hard to turn
around slowly and carry on walking. He struggled to hide the need
to run as fast as he could. He didn’t want the person in the
cottage to know that they had frightened him. More importantly,
that he knew they were in the house.

Walking
as casually as possible was in stark contrast to his racing
thoughts. He felt certain it couldn’t be Mrs Humble. She would have
taken the opportunity to ask Archie as many questions as possible
while he was there. So, where was she? If it wasn’t her in the
cottage, someone else was there. But who?

CHAPTER SEVEN

It took
every ounce of self control he possessed to walk casually back to
the mill. Although his ears were tuned to any sound of movement
behind him, his eyes were glued on the reassuring sight of the
three storey tower. Digging his hands deep into his pockets, his
fingers sought the round coin and parchment.

He took
a deep breath to stop the trembling in his hands. Fear made his
thoughts cloudy and jumbled. He knew that if he had any hope of
getting to the bottom of what was going on, he needed to be able to
think as clearly as possible and needed his wits about him. Turning
into a quivering wreck wasn’t going to help either him, or Mrs
Humble who, it seemed, was either acting very strangely, or was in
danger.

Once
around the corner, like a dog scenting a juicy bone, he headed
toward the safety of the mill door and was about to break into a
run only to come to an abrupt halt. A gasp of dismay hovered on his
lips and he eyed the back of Lord Brentwood standing mere feet away
in horror.

Mr
Tompkins flickered the briefest glance at Archie, yet his face
remaining impassive. It assured Archie that Mr Tompkins was
prepared to cover for him, and divert the Justice’s attention to
give Archie the chance to escape. Although he was unsure why Mr
Tompkins was prepared to face the wrath of Lord Brentwood, Archie
was, nevertheless, not prepared to look a gift horse in the mouth,
and slowly back to tiptoe back around the corner of the mill. His
mind raced frantically, plotting the layout of the mill and the
various doors he could use to get into the mill without being
seen.

He was
still visible from Mrs Humble’s cottage, but that was the last of
his problems right now. Sidling closer to the mill took him toward
safety, and away from the threat of Brentwood, but it also
increased the noise from the grinding millstones. He cocked his
head and listened to the low rumble of conversation between Mr
Tompkins and the Justice through the noise beyond.

“
How long is he going to be?”

“
He should be back soon, my lord,” Mr Tompkins replied,
annoyance lacing his voice. Although he was a law abiding man, Mr
Tompkins hated having his authority questioned and was clearly
rankled by the arrogant tinge of command in the aristocrat’s
voice.

“
I want to see the boy as soon as he shows up.” Lord
Brentwood’s voice dipped so much that Archie struggled to hear the
last couple of words. His skin crawled at the clear threat he could
hear in the deep rasp.

“
Then you will have to wait,” Mr Tompkins snapped.

“
Where did he go?” Lord Brentwood persisted, aware that Mr
Tompkins had ignored his previous question.

“
He’s gone to deliver some flour,” the mill owner replied,
clearly reluctant to furnish the man with the details.

“
I won’t have you hindering an investigation, Tompkins, I’ll
have you arrested if you try,” the Justice growled, clearly
determined not to be put off his quest to harass Archie again. “I
need to ask the boy some questions.”

“
I thought you already had, several times,” Mr Tompkins
replied dryly, unmoved by Lord Brentwood’s threats.

“
I’m leading a murder investigation, Tompkins,” the Justice
snapped. “I am sure I don’t need to remind you how serious it can
be to try to interfere with an investigation, do I?”

Archie
shivered. He didn’t need to peek around the corner to know the
Justice was scowling.

“
I’m not being evasive or difficult,” Mr Tompkins protested.
“He has gone to deliver several bags of flour and could be
anywhere. I didn’t give him any instruction as to which to deliver
first.” Mr Tompkins’s voice dimmed. Archie squinted at the floor
beneath his feet and strained to hear but couldn’t make out Mr
Tompkins’s next words. Shaking his head, Archie glanced up and down
the street.

With the
possibility of returning to the mill through the front doors now
impossible, Archie had to think on his feet. The last thing he
wanted was to be questioned again by the Justice and, for the life
of him, he couldn’t see what the Justice would want with him again.
But, if he loitered around outside for much longer, someone would
certainly pass by and want to know what he was doing. He was lucky
that the gossips hadn’t seen him as it was.

Casting
a quick glance up and down the road, Archie snuck around the back
of the mill, crouching low as he approached the window of Mr
Tompkins’s office, before creeping toward the rear doors normally
used for deliveries. Squatting down, he peeped cautiously over the
stone step toward the depths of the mill, pleased to see that
someone had thought to close the inner door. Taking advantage of
the opportunity to get inside without being seen, Archie jumped up
and dodged through the door. At the far corner of the room, the
stairs beckoned, summoning him toward safety.

Although
he had no idea what he could do up there, he didn’t hesitate to
head toward the steps. He tiptoed past the men taking a well-earned
break who were listening to the exchange between the Justice and Mr
Tompkins. They didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to
Archie’s arrival. One of the workers, Jim, saw him and jumped at
Archie’s swift and silent appearance, before looking quickly at the
others. While keeping a wary eye on them, he motioned with one hand
repeatedly toward the stairs, silently urging Archie to get out of
sight. Without hesitation, Archie leapt up the stairs, grinning his
thanks at Jim as he passed. He was breathing hard by the time he
arrived on the second floor, only to be greeted by
Sammy.

“
Arch-”

Archie
gasped and slammed his hand over Sammy’s mouth, silencing his
younger brother’s excited squeal. His dark scowl met his brother’s
rounded eyes in stern warning before he slowly removed his
hand.

“
Keep quiet,” Archie whispered directly into Sammy’s ear.
“Where’s Ben?”

“
He’s gone with Bob to fetch some more feed for Grumpy,” Sammy
reported, clearly bursting with questions.

Archie
sighed, but trusted Sammy enough to realise the seriousness of the
situation. “The Justice is downstairs and wants a word with me, but
Dad said I wasn’t to talk to him unless he was there. Do not, under
any circumstances, tell anyone I am here,” Archie warned. “Do you
understand? Or Dad is going to be mighty cross with
you.”

Sammy
immediately swallowed at the thought of facing his dad’s temper,
and nodded fervently. “’Course, Archie, I won’t say anything.
Promise.”

Archie
nodded. “I’m going up there. Can you come and tell me when Lord
Brentwood has gone?”

Sammy
nodded, staring up at Archie cautiously. “Why don’t you want to
talk to him?” Archie sighed. Sammy was always curious about
everything.

Thinking
swiftly, Archie gave him the only answer he could. “Because, he
keeps asking me about Mr Harriman’s murder, and I don’t want to
talk about it. Alright?” He sighed, watching Sammy’s eyes light
with curiosity. Wondering if he had just made matters worse, he
didn’t have to wait long until Sammy asked the question that had
been burning inside him.

“
Was it
really
bad? What was it like?”

“
I watched a man die,” Archie snapped. “What do you think it
was like?”

Sammy
thought about that for a moment. “Sorry, Arch,” he mumbled, clearly
regretting his enthusiasm.

Feeling
a heel for snapping at the sight of the despondency on his young
brother’s face, Archie clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll answer
your questions one day, but not today, alright? Now, go and see if
Lord Brentwood is still downstairs talking to Mr Thompkins.
Please?”

Sammy
nodded, and took off down the steps, dragging a pile of sacks
behind him. Archie shook his head and hoped Sammy would keep his
promise and remain quiet.

Within
minutes Mr Tompkins poked his head over the top of the steps at
Archie’s feet.