Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery (4 page)

Once
outside, the heavy thud of the door closing behind him sounded like
gunshot. He jumped, and swallowed harshly against the wave of fear
that swept through him. The cool night air did nothing to ease the
trembling in his limbs. For a moment he thought he might be sick in
the bushes. Through the solid wood behind him, he could hear the
low hum of conversation and wondered if this was the last time he
would hear them. He was suddenly very sorry for every ill thought
and dark wish he had ever considered should befall them. He loved
each and every one of them, and wanted to remain with them for as
long as possible.

The
distance between the door and the pig pen was only a few feet. The
pen was really an old outbuilding at the end of the garden and had
a rickety wooden fence around it. Archie could hear Basil and
Agatha snorting and snuffling in anticipation of their tea, but it
was so dark out that he couldn’t see them. The shadowy outline of
the pen sat in solitary menace. That wasn’t the problem. It was the
myriad bushes, walls and shrubs that lined the narrow path between
the door and the pen that seemed to loom menacingly before him, and
made the distance he needed to walk all the more dangerous. He had
to walk through the bushes to get to the pigs. Anyone could be on
the other side, and Archie would not know until it was too late. A
bit like – well, Archie closed the hovering image of Mr Harriman’s
face moments before death.

His
stomach churned. His knees felt weak. His heart hammered in his
throat. For a moment he wondered if he could do it. Every brush of
the gentle autumn breeze against his cheeks seemed to taunt him.
Even the rustle of the leaves on the trees across the road seemed
almost sinister.

This was
it.

He had
to do it.

He
briefly considered tossing the scraps into the small bush beside
him, but knew Basil and Agatha well enough to know that they would
create such a ruckus that it would be impossible to get any sleep
until they got fed. Then Archie would have some explaining to do.
The knowledge that he would have a stern ticking off if he didn’t
do as he had said he would, was enough to spur him into
action.

Squaring
his shoulders, he clutched the plate of scraps in one hand and the
small paring knife in the other. With his gaze firmly locked on the
outline of the pig pen before him, Archie left the solid comfort of
the kitchen door and stalked across the garden. As he walked, his
gaze flicked from one bush to the next, searching the deep shadows
for any sign of movement. Everything within him screamed at him to
run, throw the plate, and get back inside. Be quick. Hurry. Stay
safe.

The
short walk to the pig pen took longer than he had ever thought
possible. His cheeks puffed out in wary relief as he upended the
contents of the plate into the pen. The delighted squeals and
snorts of Basil and Agatha as they ate their long-awaited tea was
the only sound Archie could hear beside the nervous thumping of his
heart.

He
slowly turned around to face the house.

There!

Further
down the lane under the cover of the large oak tree; a furtive
movement of someone in the shadows. Archie’s eyes grew round as he
studied the trees, wondering if his imagination was getting away
with him. His heart hammered louder than ever before and, without
further hesitation, he lurched into action.

Tearing
down the path, he blasted across the gardens, cleared the small
stone wall next to the garden in one smooth jump and burst through
the kitchen door. He slammed the door behind him, and slumped
against it, chest heaving with a mixture of exhilaration and
fear.

He’d
done it!

He
couldn’t believe he had actually gone outside, in the dark, and fed
the pigs. The murderer was out there still. He was sure of it! Or
was he? He frowned at the wall opposite. Had it been his
imagination? Was he jumping at shadows because of what he had seen
that afternoon? Nevertheless, Archie slid the bolt across with a
satisfying thump.

As far
as he knew nobody needed to go outside again tonight so, for now,
they were all safe. First thing in the morning, he would tell his
dad what he had seen and then leave it to the grown-ups to decide
what to do. They could look for Mr Harriman, and try to find the
murderer.

“
There you are, Archie!” His mum shook her head at him sternly
as she bustled about the kitchen. “What are you doing with that?”
She nodded toward the small paring knife still clutched in Archie’s
hand. “Here, give that to me before you hurt yourself.” She
snatched the weapon off him and slapped it back onto the dresser in
her usual bustling manner. “We have finished supper already, but I
saved you a plate.” She ushered him into the sitting room,
motioning for him to sit at the square table in the middle of the
room. Her voice faded as she disappeared into the kitchen,
reappearing several moments later with a plate of bread and butter,
a piece of pie and an apple.

Archie
watched as she placed the feast before him with a thump.

The
blood drained out of his face. Bile rose in his throat. For a
moment he stared at the bread as though it was about to lurch from
the plate and crawl off.

“
Go on then, eat up,” his mum motioned toward the plate
encouragingly, waiting beside him. Archie knew she wouldn’t move
until he had started to eat. They hadn’t food to waste, and it was
a house rule that everyone ate what was put in front of them. It
didn’t matter if you liked it or not, there was nothing on offer
until the next meal, so you had to accept what you were given and
like it. No questions asked. Archie knew that he couldn’t choke the
food past the lump in his throat for anything. He also knew that he
should tell his dad what he had seen, but the words just wouldn’t
come. He couldn’t seem to think, and instead sat dumbly looking at
the food before him without moving.

“
Archie?” His dad’s voice penetrated the thick fog that
settled in his head. Archie jumped nervously. “What’s the matter,
boy? You sickening for something?”

Archie
stared absently at his father for a moment. The enormity of the
afternoon’s events, and his bravery a few minutes ago was finally
beginning to sink in, and he fought the urge to cry. He wasn’t
usually a crier - that was Sammy’s job. He was the mardy baby.
Blinking back the unfamiliar sting of tears, Archie shook his head
solemnly, reluctantly picking up a slice of bread and took a bite.
The thick slice of bread slathered in a rich layer of creamy butter
exploded in his mouth. Whether it was the familiar taste of his
favourite tea, or the comfort of the mundane behaviour of his
family Archie wasn’t sure, but he immediately felt something inside
him begin to ease and calm. He realised just how hungry he was, and
tucked in. While he ate, his mind began to settle and work again.
He was able to think about what he had seen a little bit more
clearly, and began to consider what he needed to do
next.

CHAPTER TWO

As he
ate, Archie studied the various members of his family. Although he
couldn’t see her, Archie could hear his mother bustling around in
the small kitchen at the back of the house like she usually did. He
often wondered what she did in there that needed her to be in there
practically all day, every day, and strongly suspected that she
messed about in there so she didn’t have to supervise Ben and
Sammy’s antics.

Not that
he could blame her, Benjamin and Samuel were a pair of scallywags;
always getting into trouble. If they weren’t bickering and
fighting, they were getting up to scrapes and japes that inevitably
got them a sound scolding from Dad. The problem was, they never
seemed to learn. Even now, under the increasingly stern gaze of
Dad, they were still pushing and arguing, completely oblivious to
the impending scolding. Archie knew that even once they had been
told off and sent to bed, they would be up in their bedroom, still
bickering and throwing the punches.

His gaze
turned toward Betsy, his eldest sister and Emilie, his youngest
sister. Emilie was so much like himself, Archie had often wondered
if she was really his twin. They thought alike, and had the same
interests. In that moment, as though Emilie sensed his disquiet,
she glanced at him in silent enquiry. He knew from the look in her
eyes that she had realised something had happened, and would be
asking him questions later. She smiled gently at him in silent
sympathy, quietly offering her support as she usually did. He knew
that whatever he told Emilie, she would always stand beside him.
She would listen to what he had to say, think about it and then
tell him what he should do. More often than not, her advice was
right.

Martha,
on the other hand, was his oldest sister and was the most distant
of all of his siblings. She worked as a scullery maid at the big
house owned by Lord and Lady Brentwood, and spent most of her
waking hours fetching and carrying for them. Although he knew
little about what scullery maids really did, he knew that Martha
left just before dawn every day and would be gone until just after
dark; sometimes later than that. If she wasn’t back by the time it
went dark, Dad often went up to Battleflat Manor to wait to walk
her home. She spent very little time at home and, when she was
there, was busy either helping Mum or catching up on gossip with
Emilie, who worked in the buttery and knew everything practically
before everyone else did.

Archie
finished the last slice of his apple with a sigh. He was suddenly
glad that he had decided to eat. His stomach felt pleasantly full,
and the fear that had held him in such a ruthless hold had begun to
ease. Unfortunately though tiredness began to take its place,
clouding his thoughts and making his movements slow and clumsy.
With his meal finished, he carefully carried his plate to the
kitchen, unsurprised to find his mum scrubbing an already spotless
table.

“
I’m off to bed,” Archie announced quietly, watching his mum
drop the scrubbing brush and turn to him with a frown.

“
Are you alright, Archie? You are not coming down with
anything, are you? You’re looking a might peaky.”

The
words that longed to burst out hovered temptingly on his lips.
Instead, he slowly shook his head.

“
I’m just tired, that’s all.” Archie didn’t protest as his mum
swept him against her chest for a quick hug. The brief kiss she
dropped on his forehead would usually have made him squirm
uncomfortably, but tonight it brought forth the unfamiliar sting of
tears.

“
If you are sure? It is still early, but you do look a bit
pale.” His mum buffed his cheeks affectionately, nodding toward the
sitting room door and the hallway beyond. “Go and get a good
night’s sleep, you will feel better in the morning, I’m sure of
it.”

Archie
merely smiled weakly and did as he was told, calling out,
“Goodnight,” as he swept through the back room. He ignored the
close scrutiny of Emilie and his dad, and closed the hallway door
behind him with a dull thud. His mother’s words rang in his ears
and made him frown.

After
this afternoon, he didn’t think anything would ever be all right
again. He was certain that poor Mr Harriman would never be the
same.

Guilt
immediately swept through Archie at the thought of the old man
lying cold and alone in the secluded spinney. Once in his room, he
closed the door and savoured the silence for several moments. It
was a relief to get away from his dad’s watchful gaze. He hoped his
dad wouldn’t send Emilie up to find out what was troubling him just
yet – this wasn’t something he could tell his sister. He couldn’t
recount the gruesome details to his sister, or his mum. The only
person he felt he could tell was his dad. First, though, he had to
wait until everyone had gone to bed.

Archie
frowned and opened his eyes, only then realising that the room was
unlit; the open shutters cast the room in an eerie, half-light that
made him swallow nervously. He shuddered and studied the shadowed
outline of the large bed he shared with his brothers, sitting
against the wall to his left. Beside it sat a small, rickety table
that held a solitary tallow candle. To his right a small washstand
held a wash bowl and jug of water, and a threadbare
towel.

It was
as familiar to Archie as the back of his hand, but the more he
stood with his back to the door, the more the darkness seemed to
creep up on him until it became difficult to breathe. Suddenly the
far corner of the small square room had a far darker edge to it,
and seemed to loom toward him menacingly.

Scurrying across the room, he froze and stared at the old
tree a few feet away. The image of himself sitting high in the
branches watching the murderer swam alarmingly before him. One hand
was resting on the shutter closest to him when he paused, thinking
about what he had seen in the garden. Inching to one side, he stood
partially hidden by the wooden shutter and studied the trees
opposite carefully. It was pitch-black outside. Near impossible to
see anything except the vague outline of the larger branches, but
Archie knew.

The
murderer was out there – watching.

With a
shudder he quickly slammed the shutters closed and flipped the tiny
latch across to lock them. Lighting the candle, he hurried over to
the bed. Tiredness was beginning to make him clumsy, but he knew
that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he had told his dad
everything he had seen.