Emma.
I woke to the sound of Deborah’s voice again, coming into the tiny room I now called my quarters.
“Emma! Get up! You’ve got work to do, girl!”
I groaned, rubbing my eyes, feeling every muscle in my body protest as I sat up.
The stuffy air and thin bedding hadn’t done much to ease my exhaustion. Before I could even form a coherent thought, Deborah had already opened the door and stepped in, standing over me, arms folded and lips pressed into a thin line.
She looked as stern as she had yesterday and Emma wished she'd been sold anywhere else and not here.
“Get up! lord Roger needs his breakfast served early. You were expected in the kitchen five minutes ago,” she barked. “And make sure his tea is brewed just right, black, strong, no sugar. His eggs are soft but not runny.
