Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery (24 page)

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 sure 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.