Jane Brown! Get down here, you worthless chit. Earn your keep, girl. This is Market Day. You’ve the hens to do, peas and lettuce to pick. Your master’s not yet seen hide nor hair of his breakfast. Must I shout my lungs out? Jane!” Flavia groaned. The straw-filled mat snapped crisply under her as she stirred. Surely she’d been asleep no longer than five minutes. She was bone-weary. Every muscle hurt. Even in her dreams she’d gone on stooping and bending, stooping and bending as she and Neddy planted the huge garden in green beans. She forced her eyes open. Blinking, she tried to get her bearings in the windowless attic loft. A dull gray glow illuminated chinks where chimney mortar had pulled away from siding. Dawn? Already? Flavia’s heart jumped in dread. She flung herself up, her shoulders twitching in sharp recall. She’d no desire to feel Mistress Byng’s switch once again. Swiftly, she threw on the ill-fitting muslin clothes that marked her as a bond servant. She grabbed a mobcap.
