Horrible Harriet's Inheritance Read online

  Not for the squeamish, nor for the weak.

  You’ll not find it here, if a fairy story you seek.

  This edition published in 2012

  Copyright © Leigh Hobbs 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74114 985 2

  Cover design by Leigh Hobbs and Sandra Nobes

  Text design by Sandra Nobes

  Set in 14 pt Times New Roman by Sandra Nobes

  This book was printed in May 2012 at McPherson’s Printing Group,

  76 Nelson St, Maryborough, Victoria 3465, Australia.

  www.mcphersonsprinting.com.au

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Miss Horrible Harriet wishes to thank Erica Wagner, Elise (Eagle Eye) Jones

  and Sandra Nobes for their wonderful help with this book.

  Mr Leigh Hobbs was just a nuisance.

  CONTENTS

  A Word of Warning!

  from Mr Leigh Hobbs

  Introduction

  by Miss Horrible Harriet

  1 My Wondrous Surprise

  2 My Happy Childhood

  3 Museum Discoveries

  4 An Unexpected Arrival

  5 Long-lost Relatives

  6 I Prepare to Depart

  7 My Thrilling Journey

  8 Inheritance at Last

  9 My Stately Home

  A WORD OF

  WARNING!

  from Mr Leigh Hobbs

  Quickly, while there’s time! This may be my only chance to speak to you, the unfortunate people who’ve picked up this book…I assume by accident.

  Seeing that you have, I advise you not to proceed beyond this page, for if you do you will enter a worrying world, a disturbing place– that is, the frightening mind of Miss Horrible Harriet.

  Until now, she has been a very private person, comfortable on her nest in the roof of her school, busy keeping an eye on the teachers doing her homework in the cellar.

  Dear Readers,

  You are the lucky ones, and don’t forget it. For you are about to learn all about me (well, a lot – not everything, because some things must stay secret). Don’t expect rubbish like beauty tips or manners advice (yuk!) in this book, because I’m not interested in that stuff, and I’m the boss of what’s between the covers.

  Lucky H. Harriet, having her own book! I can hear you thinking. Well, just how many of YOU have had the truly amazing things happen to you that happened to me…the things you are about to learn about? And by the way, ignore the advice of that awful and nosy Mr Leigh Hobbs. He is but my lowly assistant.

  Read on! By Order.

  Yours Truly,

  Chapter 1

  It was the school holidays and no one was about. Well, I was here, of course, up in my room writing a brilliant poem. Suddenly my concentration was rudely ruined by a loud banging noise. It was coming from the front door. I flew downstairs in a great hurry. When I opened the door I saw a very strange sight.

  There, kneeling on the mat, was Fred the postman. ‘Your Majesty!’ Fred said. He was sort of smiling, and his eyes were wet with tears. Naturally I was surprised, for most days, after flinging my mail over the front fence, Fred fled. But today, he pushed a big envelope into my hand. It was addressed in fancy writing to ‘Her Royal Highness, Miss Horrible Harriet’.

  My fingers fumbled as I gently opened the precious envelope. I began to read (a skill taught to me by Mr Boggle, my teacher, whose glasses are very thick)…

  I studied closely the contents of the envelope. Also included were some keys. ‘Use only for stately home,’ said the attached instructions. I held aloft the chart with my family tree on it. This shouldn’t be TOO much of a problem, I thought, looking at the gaps that needed filling.

  Even though it wasn’t definitely decided that I would end up a queen, I could tell Sir Pooncenbury Splashback was hinting it would be so. I made a note to look up the word ‘inheritance’.

  I began training for my new royal life straight away. It was much more fun than homework, not that I ever had to do any – I left that to Miss Plume and Mr Scruffy in the cellar. I improved my vocabulary greatly, too, so that I would be able to speak nicely when launching a ship or opening parliament. After nearly an hour of mouth exercises and serious concentration, I sounded quite royal.

  As Queen I would surely be pestered to sign autographs and all sorts of other things, so next I practised getting my signature right. After that I was exhausted and decided to retire.

  Chapter 2

  I was keen to move into the palace as soon as possible, so I decided to look for clues immediately. My photo album was the obvious place to start. Here are some of the photos to share with you, lucky Reader…

  Now, many of you will have heard of Mr Chicken. I know you will complain if I don’t do this, so I am going to mention him in this book. You will see him a bit, but not too much – too much of him is not a good thing, for he can be a pest. (He certainly eats a lot. My fridge is always empty after his visits. Did you know he likes to eat sandwiches by the hundred5)

  You see, he has his own book, all about his trip to Paris, where I wasn’t invited, so I am not going to let him star in this book, do you understand? This is MY book, and I won’t be letting him take your attention away from me! So I have ordered that he be in disguise as much as possible.

  Don’t bother to write and ask why he appears and disappears in my book, because I’m not interested in explaining. Mr Chicken and me are friends for sure, but I have to keep him under control. Or else there will be trouble, and maybe even some tears.

  Chapter 3

  Now that you know the secret (of my friend Mr C.), here is the photo I mentioned before of a special trip – the clue I’d been looking for. The memories came back as if it were yesterday. (In fact, it had actually been the week before.) My class had gone with Mr Boggle to the museum. Looking back, I realised that was the first time I’d ever felt royal – so perhaps it could help me now in my thrilling quest to fill out my family tree…

  I was glad to be going somewhere that day, even if it was with Mr Boggle. I had never been to a museum before.

  I remember that Mr Boggle told everyone, ‘Do not touch things,’ which was a shame. A sign in every room said it, too. ‘DO NOT TOUCH!’ Over and over, in every room.

  Now, Mr Boggle can’t see very well, so it was a mystery how it happened but somehow, I got separated from him and my class. I searched for them in vain. It was no use, alas – they had disappeared, maybe forever.

  As I sat planning for my survival, an interesting thing happened – I was cast under a spell. Not a goblin’s work I am sure, or an elf ’s, but a spell nonetheless. I could tell, because I felt a little bit different.

  As if in a trance, I was led away. Along co
rridors, around corners, up lifts and down I went. I was on a tour, minus Mr Boggle and my dear classmates, who I was missing terribly – well, maybe not at all, now that I think back on it.

  I quite enjoyed my tour.

  I searched for Mr Boggle without success.

  I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, but with all these royals I felt so at home.

  On I went, moved by the mysterious power, all the time asking questions and taking notes in my head. ‘What’s it like being Queen?’ I asked, and received all the answers anyone could want.

  I saw a sign that said ‘Totem pole’. Who knows what that was? I thought then. But I did see a beautiful face halfway up. That alone made my trip to the museum worthwhile.

  ‘Ancient Roman coins,’ said a sign. How nice, I thought, to have your head on some money.

  From the distance, I heard a voice. ‘Harriet! Harriet! Where are you? We have a bus to catch,’ cried the voice of Mr Boggle. I tried and tried to answer his call but could not, for I was silenced by the mysterious power of the museum. But luckily for me I found a comfy spot to sit and wait.

  Chapter 4

  Early the next day, I was in for another big surprise. There was a Bang! Bang! Bang! on the front door. I thought it might be Sir Fred with another letter, so I raced downstairs to investigate. But there was no Sir Fred. And no letter. Just a big old chest on the path.

  I had a feeling that the chest and the treasures inside it held the answers to my problem.

  Though the photo of her was fairly faded, only a fool could fail to see how alike she and I were. We were both beautiful. (Me a bit more than her.) Written on the back in ancient hieroglyphics (which I am an expert in understanding) it said that her mother was Harrietanoonoo the Third, the beloved mother of Harrietutabooboo the First, second cousin of Harrietabanana’s half-brother boy-king, Hulubalooloo, who crossed the desert three thousand years ago on an elephant.

  I took careful notes and added each name to my family tree straight away, for it was obvious that these were my ancient cousins. How much proof did Sir Huckleberry Rucksack want? Who cares! I’m the boss.

  I worked out this was a relative of the ancient Egyptian empress I had seen in the museum. Just before I saw those Roman coins…remember? You’d better – there’ll be a test at the end.

  Filling in my family tree was going to be easier than I’d thought.

  Next, spookily, some ancient Roman coins with labels attached fell from an envelope. No wonder the spell had led me to the Roman coin department at the museum – all those empresses on the coins were my ancient Roman family!

  In the same envelope was a signed photo of another Roman, Empress Naughty in Extremus. She was having lunch.

  I was thrilled to be learning so much about history. My history.

  Dear Reader, just when I thought I’d had every surprise possible, I found a photo worn by time and chewed by rats.

  On the back, in ancient Norwegian, which by the way I am an expert speaker of, it said ‘Victorious Valerie the Viking Invader’. It showed her ready for action.

  Had Valerie the Viking led me to the helmet in the museum that day? Had she been trying to reach me from times long past?

  Well. I can hardly tell you what a thrill that was.

  I found another black sheep – Harey Mary, one-eyed pirate princess, scourge of the seven seas. She was born to royal blood but preferred to live a life of badness aboard her boat The Horror. Related by birth to Empress Dracularriet (second cousin), she was a member of the Royal House of Numee Poowah via her father King Bong Bong’s stepmother, the Queen of Phalompia.

  Chapter 6

  I was ready to meet my destiny. But even though it was the school holidays, I had my after-school chores to do. For instance, the teachers in the cellar needed to be fed. And they had to do my holiday homework. So I decided to cook them a pie to keep them happy. I spared no effort to get the best-quality ingredients.

  Here is the recipe, which I don’t mind sharing now that you are members of the H. HArriet FAn Club. You may like to try it on your friends.

  As well as a week’s supply of my pie, I threw Miss Plume a bone. She was thrilled with her treat. ‘Excellent for the teeth,’ she said with a snarl.

  Mr Scruffy began to sulk, so he got a treat, too. He wasn’t happy at all that I was leaving.

  Now that my chores were done, I was free to leave for the railway station to begin my journey of a lifetime. At last I was going to visit my stately home and claim my inheritance.

  Chapter 7

  As the train left the station I practised making people feel relaxed and at their ease. This is what I read someone who is royal is supposed to do. Anyway, this would be the last time I went anywhere with the common people. Next time I’d be aboard my own royal train. There’d be a royal cook, a butler, a lady-in-waiting (whatever that means…I must look it up), a wardrobe helper, ironing lady, hairdressers and probably an orchestra.

  And whenever I arrived somewhere…ANYWHERE… I knew everyone would want to have their photo taken with me. Who could blame them? There would be people lined up needing to be knighted. Oh, what a nuisance. But I was sure there would be many thrilling royal duties that I would enjoy as well, which others would enjoy seeing me do.

  Certainly there would always be people wanting an autograph. I’d already planned for this. I had a stamp to carry with me everywhere. It had ‘H.R.H. Miss HORRIBLE HARRIET’ on it.

  For now, though, I didn’t mind sharing a seat with some ordinary people. It was my way of saying goodbye to my old life. Soon I would be having a new, royal one. I thought about what wonders lay before me.

  When Queen, I would put my subjects at their ease by reading one of my poems.

  I’d ask them if they liked it, then look at them straight in the eye and ask if they were telling the truth. I am already an expert hypnotist, and I know from experience that this skill would be handy in difficult royal situations.

  Of course, for my coronation I would need a crown. I could borrow that from the museum. They wouldn’t mind, and even if they did, I’d be the Queen so I would issue a Royal Command.

  And I would have to get used to subjects kissing my royal hand, I supposed. If they refused, there would be BIG trouble. And anyone who dared BITE the royal hand – I’d have them locked up straight away.

  My trip in the royal coach for my coronation would be spectacular, with millions of my fans (including those from school) lined up outside waiting to catch a glimpse of the royal smile and the royal wave.

  There’d be the official photos of me with my crown and cloak and orb.

  As soon as I had the time, I would visit my old school in the Royal Harrietmobile. I would not necessarily get big-headed just because I was their Empress. I might boss them about a bit more than usual, but then, how exciting for my class to have me call and pose for a photograph with them and Mr Boggle in all my royal finery.

  Though I would probably leave my orb at the palace, as it’s heavy, I think.

  Naturally I would wear my crown always – well, most times anyway.

  Then I would go on a royal tour of the playground where I used to relax with the common people before I was Queen. I might call on some special friends to discuss old times and carry my train.

  In every schoolroom there would be a painting of me at the front, high up so no one could graffiti it.

  Of course there would be lots of souvenirs of me for people to collect. I would be loved. And in all corners of the land, people would have signed pictures of me, which they would understandably cherish.

  And what a thrill for people to open their purse or wallet and see my face inside. I could have as much money as I liked, because my picture would be on every coin and banknote. Which means that I would own all of it. Maybe.

  With so many official duties and public appearances opening buildings and smashing bottles against the sides of ships for good luck every day, I might get tired of being adored. Some days I’d need to just
feel normal, and would sneak away from the palace to visit the shops, incognito, for some chips.

  And sometimes I might slip in to the cinema unnoticed after the lights had gone down and see a movie. I wouldn’t catch a bus, because people would see me – I’d have the Coronation Coach wait for me round the corner.

  I couldn’t wait to move in to my stately home. I would make myself comfy, then make a speech of greetings to my servants. I would say that if they did their job well, I would cook a treat for them every now and then. Maybe that pie I told you about.

  When the train arrived at the station I looked for the crowd, but there wasn’t one.

  The Lord Mayor was nowhere to be seen (I’d imagined he’d say more than a few words of welcome). What’s more, I couldn’t hear a band playing.

  ‘They must have got the day wrong,’ I explained to a lady at the tourist information office. She was not much help when I asked where I might find my royal coach. ‘I am looking for my stately home as well,’ I told her.

  It had been a big journey and I was looking forward to a banquet. I was in no mood for waiting, so I set off.