Just because it's Twixmas, come and meet Jacob...

Hardwick Hall

 Jacob’s Learning Curve

“It weren’t my fault,” snapped Jacob. His jaw was set as tightly as his arms were crossed against his chest.

Mrs Tudor smiled. “Take a seat, Jacob,” she said indicating the chair on the other side of her desk. The boy plonked himself down, his face a picture of frustration and streaked with recently dried tears. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

“I got to the ’all and went up to the long gallery like wot I was told to. I went straight frough the door and there were all these toffs there. It woz a party. I ducked and dived me way frough but as I passed the fireplace one of the dogs caught a whiff ov mi and started growlin’. I just kept going but the dog follered and the servant wiv a big platter of food didn’t see ’im and tripped and there woz this right big clatter and…”

Mrs Tudor had her hand held up waiting patiently for Jacob to stop. “Thank you”, she said as he finally paused for breath. “I’d like to go through things in a little more detail if you don’t mind.”

“Righto Miss.”

“Let’s start at the beginning you were—”

“In the long gallery like wot—”

“Jacob!” Mrs Tudor clenched her fist around the long string of pearls resting against the bodice of her ornate dress. “I will ask the questions, you just need to provide a short and succinct answer. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Yes, Mrs Tudor.”

Jacob shuffled in his chair and nodded.

“Now, you were at Hardwick Hall yesterday. Why was that?”

“Well, it woz part of mi training. Frankie said I’d got to do work experience like, and that meant visiting places and doing stuff.”

“Frankie?”  Mrs Tudor adopted her sternest of looks.

“Sorry Miss… I mean Mrs Tudor. And it’s Sir Francis.”

“Better. So was this your first instance of a visit?”

“Yes, Mrs Tudor.”

“I see. As it would appear it did not go well, we need to find some positives, Jacob, otherwise, you risk failing the whole training module.”

Jacob frowned.  “Right.”

Mrs Tudor reached for her calendar. “Why did you visit yesterday in particular?”

“Frankie, sorry, err Sir Francis told me to.”

Mrs Tudor checked the calendar against the notes in Jacobs training record. “No.” She said. “Sir Francis told you to visit next Tuesday.”

Jacob shrugged. “This Tuesday, next Tuesday, wots the difference Miss?”

“A whole week,” said Mrs Tudor, her left eyebrow raised to such an extent it almost reached the edge of her gabled headdress. “This Tuesday was the AGHAST organisation's annual dinner and awards ceremony. Next Tuesday was when you should have paid your visit. It would have been the four hundredth anniversary of your death, Jacob. But we’ll put that little faux pas to one side for the moment.  Now,” she continued. “You arrived at the hall and went straight to the Long Gallery?”

“Yes, Mrs Tudor.”

“Did anyone see you as you walked through the mansion?”

Jacob shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Thinking isn’t enough, Jacob. You need to be certain.”

“Right, Mrs Tudor.”

“The door to the gallery. Was it open or closed when you got there?”

“Closed.”

“But you went through without any difficulty?”

“Yeah. Easy peasy Mrs T.” Jacob had a wide grin on his face. “Sir Frank told me his trick for getting it right first time every time. And I did.”

Mrs Tudor smiled. “Well, that’s a positive then.” She dipped her quill into the ink in preparation for adding a note to Jacob’s training record. Lifting her head from her work she looked straight at the young trainee. “You said one of the dogs caught a whiff of you?”

“Yes, Mrs T.”

“Jacob, here at AGHAST Incorporated we always address our seniors as Mr, Mrs, Mistress, Master or by their appropriate title. Am I making things clear?”

“Yes, Mrs Tudor.”

“Good.”

Jacob sat up straight and lowered his eyes. The change in his demeanour brought a slight smile to Mrs Tudor’s face. She didn’t really mind his use of the nickname. She’d known for centuries that it was widely employed throughout the organisation out of her earshot. But, there were standards to be adhered to. Manners to be respected and an orderly approach to training and induction to be maintained. These had been the principles that had gained Anne Tudor the most senior post as Head of Training and Resources.

She consulted her notes. “You were instructed to walk the full length of the gallery, to climb on the rocking horse and to set it in motion. If a dog caught a whiff of you then you must have manifested too early, Jacob. Is that what really happened?”

“’Course not Mrs Tudor.” Jacob set his shoulders back. “I know what I’m doing.”

Anne Tudor widened her eyes and stared at the trainee for a moment. She turned to the next page in the training plan. “Did you actually make it to the rocking horse?”

Jacob looked down. “No, Mrs Tudor,” he whispered.

“What was that Jacob?”

“No, I didn’t. Wiv all the palaver and the five bird roast all over the floor I legged it. Did smell good, though, that roast.”

Mrs Tudor pursed her lips as she shot Jacob her most penetrating look. “I see,” she said rubbing the back of her neck. It had been a stressful period at the training organisation, with one difficult interview after another. For reasons she couldn’t yet fathom there had been a number of trainees who had had to repeat modules and there had been a marked increase in incidents of insubordination, insolence and disrespect within the training rooms. Mrs Tudor had been thinking for a while that it was either down to the new intake of recruits being mostly children and young adults or perhaps the new master, Sir Francis Drake himself.  She let out a sigh and fingered her pearls.

“’Ave I passed Mrs Tudor?”

“I’m afraid not Jacob.  There are too many infringements.”

Jacob’s bottom lip began to quiver. “Are you sure Miss?”

Anne Tudor winced at yet another infringement. She pointed to the large portrait of the organisation’s founder that hung on the wall behind her desk.

“Our motto, Jacob, what does it say?”

Jacob looked at the picture and frowned. “I can’t read Mrs Tudor but it’s something about guide and accury… um or somefing.”

Mrs Tudor glanced at the Latin words displayed on an ornate scroll below the coat of arms for AGHAST.

“Accuracy is our watchword,” she recited. “And relevance is our guide. You visited on the wrong date, Jacob. This Tuesday you were neither relevant nor accurate. Next Tuesday you would have been.” She paused.

The Long Gallery, Hardwick Hall

Tears began to stream down Jacob’s face. Not again, she thought. Deciding enough was enough she got up from her chair and came round towards the boy. Regretting her harshness, she perched on the corner of the desk. Her tiredness got the better of her and, placing her hands under chin, she carefully lifted off her head and placed it beside her.

Jacobs’s eyes stretched. “Cor blimey, Miss can you teach me ’ow to do that?”

Mrs Tudor sighed. “Jacob, sweetie,” she said as she rolled her shoulders in an effort to soothe the ache that had been there for far too long. “Let’s chat as friends for a moment. You’re a very clever boy with a great future as an apparition within this organisation. But you must learn to walk before you can run. Patience is a requirement. At this Association of Ghostly Haunting, Apparitional and Spectral Training we pride ourselves on our accuracy and efficiency when it comes to frightening the living. In joining our group you automatically sign up to those rigours.”

Jacob snuffled. Mrs Tudor felt in the sleeve of her dress for a handkerchief and passed across a small white embroidered square. “Wipe your eyes and smarten yourself up,” she said. “You will have to repeat the last module but that doesn’t mean that we can’t begin the next one a little earlier than usual.”

Jacob strenuously blew his nose. “Fanks, Mrs Tudor,” he said handing back the sodden piece of cotton.

“Keep it.” Mrs Tudor stood and tucked her head under her left arm. “Come with me, I have some outstanding business at Hever Castle tonight.  It was an old stomping ground of mine when I was young,” she said as she swept out of her office. Jacob followed in silent awe.

This story first appeared on the UK Crime Book Club Facebook page on October 25th as part of the #ScaryShorts writing event.

Look out for another adventure for Jacob on December 29th...