Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery (2 page)

For
Archie, autumn was the busiest time of year. Grain would begin
arriving by the cartload, brought by farmers who were eager to have
it threshed and turned into flour to store for the winter months.
He thought of the long days sweeping the corn mill floor, filling
rough-hewn sacks with the husks, and dragging them out to the back
of the mill for the farmers to collect and store to feed the
cattle. The work was dusty, noisy and tiring, but he enjoyed it –
sort of. Although the money he earned wasn’t much, his family
needed everyone to pull their weight, and Archie’s contribution
helped to keep food on the table and a roof over their
heads.

Shifting
a bit as the hardness of the tree began to bite into his bottom, he
shuffled backward and paused. A little thrill of excitement surged
through him, that was immediately replaced by confusion.

Had
Edward returned?

Archie
tried to peer through the branches to see the spinney, and listened
intently. The heavy thump and crackle of someone moving through the
thick layer of old leaves and twigs that littered the spinney floor
was unmistakeable. It was too loud for Edward. Besides, Archie
could see his friend further down the track; he was nearly at home.
So who was in the spinney?

As far as he knew, nobody ever ventured into the small group
of trees on the outskirts of the village. It was difficult to get
into and besides climbing the huge oak tree, there was nothing much
to do in there. Most of the village children gave it a miss,
because there was a story going around that it was haunted. It was
ridiculous, of course; ghosts didn’t really exist, but Archie
wasn’t going to tell them that. He quite liked having a secret
place he could share with nobody else but his best friend. It
was
their
place.

Feeling
slightly put out at the thought of an intruder in his special
place, Archie tried to peer through the thick blanket of leaves. He
swallowed the scream that lodged in his throat when he leaned just
a little bit too far, lost his balance and began to topple
sideways. Flinging his arms wide, he wildly grabbed at the branch
above, just in time to stop himself falling several feet to the
floor below. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He was suddenly
very glad Edward hadn’t been there to see his
near-disaster.

He was
in the process of righting himself when he spotted someone moving
about directly below. Wriggling around until he was sitting upright
again, he froze and watched the man through a small gap in the
leaves between his feet.

Archie
couldn’t make out the face, especially as the man was facing toward
the hedgerow and cart track beyond. He was fairly certain that the
man didn’t know that Archie was sitting a few feet above him.
Archie scowled, and studied the man’s clothing. Battleflat was
small, only seventy or so occupants. Everyone knew each other, and
this man wasn’t familiar at all, even as a distant relative to
anyone in the village. Dressed as he was, he didn’t look like a
travelling labourer, and even the most desperate vagabond had never
smelled as bad as this one did.

So, what
was he doing? Who was he waiting for?

The
steady waft of unclean, overpowering body odour made Archie’s
stomach roll. His nose wrinkled in disgust, and he shook his head
chidingly at the stranger. Why anyone felt the need to smell like
that, he would never understand. Water from the brook was free, and
soap was easy enough to get. His mum would have a conniption if
Archie ever smelled like that. It was clear from the stench and the
grubby, straw-covered cloak the man was wearing, that he hadn’t
seen a bath, or water, for some time.

From his
lofty perch, Archie glanced up and down the track. Nobody was
around. In the far distance he could see Mr and Mrs Taylor with
Edward, walking down the track toward him. Archie smiled as he
spied Edward sneak several crafty glances at the tree as he
approached, clearly trying to see if Archie was still
there.

Just in
case Edward could see him, Archie waved, but was unsurprised when
Edward didn’t attempt to wave back. Clearly he was better at hiding
than he thought, Archie mused with a smug smile, feeling pleased
with himself.

As
Edward passed, Archie’s attention was abruptly drawn back toward
the man below as he began to move restlessly around the small
clearing at the base of the tree. Maybe it was a good thing Edward
hadn’t waved at him; that would have alerted the man below to
Archie’s presence and, at that moment, Archie didn’t want him to
know he was there.

What
would he do if the man happened to look up? He would be mighty
angry at being spied on. Archie didn’t like getting on the wrong
side of anyone, especially a complete stranger. He knew he should
go home, but curiosity kept him watching, to see what the man was
doing lurking in the undergrowth on a Sunday afternoon.

“
What
are
you doing?” Archie murmured softly, taking careful note of
the heavy woollen cloak the tall figure was wearing, topped with a
dark tricorn. Highly unusual attire for a Sunday afternoon in
August. Even in his shirtsleeves, sweat beaded Archie’s brow and he
was protected from the worst of the sunshine by the thick mass of
leaves. The man below, dressed in winter woollens and a hat, was
standing in the sunshine. Didn’t he feel the heat?

“
You can’t be a highwayman,” Archie murmured softly, his heart
beginning to thump heavily in his chest. Although highway robberies
still happened, they were rare. As far as he knew there were no
highwaymen operating in the area. The village was small. Nobody
could be a highwayman without practically everyone knowing about
it, especially his dad, who was the village constable and he had
never mentioned any highwaymen operating in the area.

Archie
watched the man stalk slowly around the spinney once, before
returning to the bottom of Archie’s tree and leaning against the
trunk in a casual pose that belied his agitated state.

Although
the man was dressed like a highwayman, Archie was certain they
didn’t strike during the daytime. He had never seen one in action
himself, but he had overheard enough gossip to know that they
always preferred to pick the victims, and claim their spoils, under
the cover of darkness. Sending a silent prayer heavenward that the
man below wasn’t waiting for darkness to approach, Archie remained
perfectly still, not even daring to lift his feet upward in case he
lost his balance again.

From the
road, Archie couldn’t be seen; from directly below he was visible
if you squinted a bit and studied the branches closely.

Time
ticked by.

Slowly.

So
slowly that Archie began to get worried that his dad would come
looking for him. Archie had no idea how long the man had been
standing in the spinney, but it seemed like a lifetime. He would
get a scolding for being so late now. His bottom had gone numb ages
ago, and now began to hurt fiercely from being pressed against the
bristly bark for so long. Numbness had captured his toes to the
point where Archie wasn’t sure how long he could stay on the branch
without losing his balance through sheer boredom.

Suddenly, the swift flurry of black made Archie gasp softly,
and grip the trunk between his legs tightly in alarm. He watched in
amazement as the man silently crouched down to peer through the
hedge. He remained there for several minutes looking toward the
main road that led to the other villages. Archie craned his neck
around the thick trunk behind him to try and see what had captured
the man’s attention. He felt certain that this, or rather who, was
what the man had been waiting for.

He
frowned as the man in black remained in his hiding spot, coiled and
waiting.

“
Mr Harriman.” Archie watched as the tall, thin man walked
slowly down the lane toward them.

Although
Mr Harriman was not the kind to spend much time talking to people,
everyone knew that directly after church he went to visit with his
sister who lived in a nearby village. He would remain there until
after tea, and would return to his home on the far side of the
village.

Was Mr
Harriman actually whistling?

Archie
sniggered, and listened to the uneven tune the old man was
whistling randomly as he meandered home; the man couldn’t whistle
to save his life. Usually, Mr Harriman was a dour man who rarely
spoke to anyone. When he did decide to speak, more often than not
he was grumpy and rude. His visit to his sister’s house must have
been enjoyable, because he almost seemed - Archie frowned as he
watched the old man’s almost carefree walk - happy? That was a word
he wouldn’t associate with Mr Harriman at all.

“
This afternoon is just getting stranger and stranger,”Archie
whispered softly, his eyes flickering between Mr Harriman and the
stranger below.

He knew
he should quietly clamber down the tree and head home while the
stranger’s attention was diverted, but he was too curious to move.
He wanted to see what happened.

Were
they going to argue?

Was
there going to be a fight?

Wincing
in discomfort, Archie wiggled his hips a little to ease the biting
pain in his bottom, but the numbness continued to grow until he
couldn’t stand it any longer.

With a
shake of his head, he carefully climbed down the tree as quietly as
he could. Within seconds he was gently rubbing his sore bottom, and
warily eyeing the back of the cloaked man now only a few feet
away.

He
should head home, especially if there was going to be fisticuffs,
but he just had to see what the man in black was going to
do.

What
would he do if there was a fight? Should he go and fetch his dad?
Or should he pretend he hadn’t seen anything, and just leave while
they were busy thumping each other?

He was
so busy contemplating what he should do that he almost missed what
actually did happen!

His eyes
popped wide in shock. Archie stared in horror as Mr Harriman drew
level with the break in the hedge. As quick as a blink, the man in
black lurched through the rough branches and threw himself onto the
old man’s back, dragging him to the ground with a heavy
thump.

Archie
stumbled forward in disbelief, peering through the hedge until he
could see both of the men now on the ground in the middle of the
cart track.

Were
they going to fight? If they were, Mr Harriman was at a distinct
disadvantage because the attacker was now sitting on his
back.

Heart
pounding, Archie watched as the band of black cloth around the old
man’s throat began to tighten. Archie couldn’t see any features of
the man in black, his face was protected by the large brim of the
tricorn hat and the high collar of his long cloak. All he could see
was the thin, pointy chin below almost invisible lips that were now
twisted cruelly. The brief flicker of dark, rotting teeth made
Archie grimace in disgust.

Everything within him screamed to turn around. To run home
for help. But something kept him still. He stood transfixed; his
heart hammering wildly in his throat, his horrified gaze locked on
the men before him.

Dare he
make a run for it, and make the man aware of his presence? Dare he
move?

Archie’s
stomach churned as Mr Harriman’s eyes met and held his in silent
pleading. The awful grunts and gurgling noises coming from the old
man became less frequent. His wizened face grew increasingly
mottled; he fought for breath, lifting one hand beseechingly off
the ground toward Archie, who stood in frozen horror.

Archie
stared, helpless to answer the desperate call in Mr Harriman’s
eyes! He physically trembled with the need to run. Fear had locked
him into its frozen hold and refused to let go. Archie’s stunned
gaze turned to the clenched fist Mr Harriman was holding out, a
tiny white piece of something was clenched tightly in his hand. Was
he trying to give it to Archie? Or was he asking for Archie’s help?
Archie wasn’t sure. He didn’t know, and daren’t ask. Words wouldn’t
come. Nothing made any sense.

Archie’s
gaze swung back to Mr Harriman’s now purple face. He watched in
stunned disbelief as the old man’s desperate gaze began to glaze
over. The gurgling noises grew steadily weaker, and the thin,
gnarled hand flopped lifelessly onto the dirt.

Archie
swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Panic like he had never
felt before swept through him. He hadn’t felt this frightened when
his brother had that horrid yellow fever last year. Sucking in a
huge breath, he jerked out of his trance when the man in black, the
murderer, cursed fluidly, his voice thick and husky.

Just
inside the hedge, Archie watched him begin to drag Mr Harriman’s
now limp body into the very spinney in which Archie was
standing.

Scanning
the area quickly, Archie jerked out of his daze, desperately looked
for another way out. But he knew the spinney well enough to know
that the undergrowth was too thick to climb through. The only way
in, or out, was through the particular bit of hedgerow the murderer
was shuffling through with Mr Harriman’s now lifeless
body.

Archie
swallowed.