Now the thing is, Massa bedroom like the plantation. Him story all bout routine, routine, routine. Sheets get changed every second Saturday and Stella is the only one him let do it. She take them down to the river, beat them on the rocks. Wash them clean and fresh. Hang them out to dry, press them with a hot iron while them still damp. Is a happy time for me, because Stella let me sit close. Let me watch the steam from the iron rise.

And while Stella make the bed, she always complain bout not being able to use the good sheets, the ones Massa keep under lock and key in the linen cupboard.

‘Lawd, that man stubborn,’ she say, getting me to help her fold in the ends. ‘By the time him let me use the good sheets, them going be old. Why him do such a ting?’

I learn young, is best not to answer. Massa have a big writing desk that sit in the far corner with two small tables push up each side of him bed. Jonnie make them when him was still two-legged. Is up to me to rub with polish I make fresh every season, from citrus oil mixed up with beeswax. Last long time, make the whole room smell sweet.

When Mistress Margaret doing her inspection in the Great House, I have to stand by them tables while she wipe her finger along the edges.

‘Such pretty wood,’ she say, ignoring me, before she move to see if any dust collecting on the windowsill.

Sometimes when Massa come in from the fields. Pull out him books, make them marks. Words and numbers him call them. Me peep at him through a hole in the floorboards. Hear Mistress Margaret nagging him. Is like a game, because them always say the same thing.

‘When was the last time we purchased a new chair?’

‘Isn’t there enough clutter in the house, Mother?’

‘A new mahogany sideboard?’

‘Why is something new better than something old?’

‘It wasn’t like that in your father’s day. He was proud to display his wealth.’

‘Yes, and he left us in terrible debt.’

Mistress Margaret never give up. She complain again. Try to get Massa to change the carpet.

‘Thanks to his good taste, that carpet has lasted as long as it has, but surely it’s in dire need of replacement.’

The carpet is one Old Massa William bring with him from some place Mistress Margaret call India, when them was stationed there. Must be a long time ago because that carpet, it all worn down, stringy round the edge of it.

‘And when are you going to get rid of that painting? It’s a disgrace. There are so many eligible young women you could have painted.’

‘Leave things alone, Mother. Enough! Stop your meddling!’

Then I hear the door slam as Mistress Margaret march out the room.

One day, I ask Stella bout the painting.