A Black MacLeod at Colbecks – Susie Helme
‘Sally,’ I yell, the strain of it hurting my chest.
Finally, she appears.
‘Could you not hear me coughing, girl?’
Her face looks blank, the little b****.
‘Bring me some lemon tea.’
‘With rum, Miss?’ She never calls ‘Missa’ as she should.
‘What do you think? Of course, with rum.’
I have no slavegirl of my own. Sally was my father’s—I don’t know—bastard? bedwench? After bringing me my rum tea, a more dutiful servant would stay to fan me in this Jamaican heat, but little miss mulatto princess quickly disappears on some pretext.
It’s not the consumption that’s killing me, I am sure. It’s the shame of having this insolent girl under my roof. My father left Sally £20—can you imagine? £20—a fortune for a n*****—and room and board at Colbecks for the rest of her lazy good-for-nothing life.
What’s this? I feel my throat constricting. The coughing has ceased, but I’ve no voice. What has that little b**** put in the lemon tea? Not just rum.
As she fades, she hears: ‘There, Missa. That cured your cough.’
Bounds Green Book Writers 