Hilda!" Henry Stone wheezed, waiving a letter above his head.
"Mister!" Hilda gasped, running down the stairs. "Mister Henry, please don't over-exert yourself!"
Hilda grasped the letter, and quickly wheeled her disabled foster father back to the living-room, and handed him his battered copy of the 1940 Guardian.
"That's very nice of you, Duckie, very nice of you." Mister Henry murmured, and he flicked back to the crossword that he had solved eighty years ago, when he was a little boy. "What do you think fifteen across is? Tool for cutting grain? Six letters."
"Mister Henry!" Hilda said exasperatedly. "You solved it eight decades ago!" She pointed to the answer, which was sickle.
"So it is." Mister Henry chuckled. He continued to mutter to himself, and Hilda just sighed, and walked to her bedroom.
Hilda hated being called Duckie, or being called Hilda. She was absolutely sure that her real parents would have never called her Hilda. What type of name was that? Why was her foster parent nearly ninety-five years old? Why was she stuck in the 60s with her foster father, and why couldn't she live in the present, 2019? Why did she have to call her foster father Mister Henry? Why couldn't she call him plain old Henry?
Frustration. A horrible feeling.
However, curiosity got over her, and she decided to open the letter.
Dear Ms Bathilda Stone,
Then, she promptly closed the letter.
"Mister Henry! Mister Henry!" She hollered, taking the steps two at a time.
"Eh?" He asked, slightly bewildered.
"You gave me a letter that is addressed to a Ms. Bathilda Stone! I think the postman got it wrong!" Hilda said.
"Oh." Mister Henry said blankly. "Oh. Erm, you see, your real name is actually Bathilda Stone."
"Huh? I'm not Bathilda." Hilda said.
"No, your name is Bathilda-"
"But it was never Bathilda! I'm Hilda!"
"No, your full name is Bathilda."
"HILDA!" Hilda screamed, fuming.
"No! It's Bathilda, after Bathilda Bagshot! Euphemia loved the idea of a slightly eccentric historian, as much as she loved Harry Potter!"
"Oh. Who's Euphemia?" Hilda asked.
"My wife. She died of heart disease just before you were born."
"Oh. So who's this letter from?" Hilda asked awkwardly, her brow furrowed.
"Go see. I need to retire to my easy chair. I need my sleep over this pointless argument over your name." Mister Henry sighed.
"Ok, Mister Henry." She sighed.
"Very well. Wake me up if you have a problem." Mister Henry yawned. He, there and then, dozed off on his wheelchair.
Hilda tiptoed up back to her room, closing the door without a single creak. Opening the letter, she read it once more -
Dear Ms Bathilda Stone
We are delighted in informing you that you have a place at Blackwood Academy for Girls, a prestigious school for the daughters of noblemen, business tycoons, celebrities and royalty. Your school term will start September 1st of this year.
Please buy the following from our array of shops on Privet Place, London.
CLOTHES
5 school blouses, cream
5 school skirts, tyrian, pleated
1 school jumper, cream
1 school scarf, tyrian and cream
3 school socks, white, knee length
1 pair school loafers, black
2 riding breeches, tyrian
1 horse saddle, brown
1 equestrian helmet, black
1 pair equestrian boots, black, knee-length
SCHOOL BOOKS
The Standard Book of Arithmetic and Algebra, Grade 7, James Urquhart (Mathematics)
Comprehension and Grammatical Theory, Grade 7, Emelie Morley (English)
An In-Depth History of our World, Grade 7, Jane Jones (History)
The Standard Atlas for Students, Grade 7, George Fauntleroy (Geography)
The Arts; A Tip Top Guide, Grade 7, Amelia Yaxley (Drama and Art)
SCHOOL SUPPLIES
15 fountain pens
1 box of ink
5 drawing pencils
1 eraser
1 ruler
2 glue sticks
1 school bag
1 pencil case
You are also allowed to bring a cat or a dog along with you. Dogs no taller than yourself when stood on hind legs.
Pack all this in a trunk, and arrive at Victoria Station, platform 6, no later than 10 am on 1st September. Please find enclosed your train ticket.
Signed,
Prof. Octavia O'Donnell
Deputy Headmistress of Blackwood Academy for Girls
Hilda's heart was beating faster than a hamster on its wheel. She was going to boarding school, and a prestigious one at that.
"Mister Henry!" Hilda screamed. "I'm going to Blackwood Academy for Girls!"
"Ah, I thought so." Mister Henry murmured.
"You thought so? How come?"
"Emily used to go there. Your mother."
"My mum?"
"Yes, and I suppose that Elizabeth will be there too. I think she is your - twin?"
"Twin?"
Then, Mister Henry seemed to wake up. "Yikes! You weren't supposed to know that until you turned eighteen!"
"Who's Elizabeth?"
"None of your business, just ignore it." He said, looking harassed. "Now, you go into the bank in Privet Place and ask for an Emily Spencer. They'll know what you mean."
"Who is Emily Spencer - wait, is she the same Emily that's my mother?" Hilda-Ellen asked incredulously.
"Ah, you see," Mister Henry mumbled. "Curiosity killed the cat." Then, he fell asleep, snoring louder than the most noisiest warthog.