"Good morning, auntie! I hope you slept well."

That was, of course, Molly. Mrs. Bellew groaned. The girl swept into the room, opening curtains  and rearranging the bedclothes, all the time humming cheerfully. Young, healthy, quite pretty and plump  in a way that

men seemed to appreciate, she represented everything Mrs. Bellew hated.

Yet there had been no choice but to take her in, as she was an orphaned, distant relative. To keep her in her place, Mrs. Bellew had made her a white servant among Blacks, but even that did not seem to deter her overmuch.

"Molly! I've told you time and again that your witless exuberance is galling me, but you don't listen. So we'll try a different approach, this time. You go and see Jordan. Tell him to whip you for displeasing me."

Molly froze. The colour left her round, rosy cheeks, and her big, green eyes widened."Auntie??"

"I mean it. And tell him not to spare you. Now, go!!"

When the girl turned, a hand covering her trembling lips,* Mrs. Bellew called after her:

 "Don't even dream of not repeating all my instructions to him! I'll ask him afterwards to make sure. And, oh, he can make free with you if he feels so inclined. Tell him that, too." This she added as a parting shot.

Molly fled.

*