“Yes, missis, Esha am in. Jes you go down dem steps inter de kitchen, an’ dar you’ll fine Esha, sure.” And taking the direction pointed out, Madame found herself in the presence of a large, powerfully built mulatto woman, who was engaged in preparations for breakfast.
“Is this Esha?”
“Yes, missis, dis am nob’dy else.”
“Esha, I want a few minutes’ talk with you.”
“Take a char, den, missis, and ’scuse my looks.”
“You look like a good woman, Esha, so no matter for dress.”
“Tahnk yer, missis. Esha’s like de res’,—not too good,—but nebdeless dar’s wuss folks dan she.”
“Esha, who is this young girl Mr. Ratcliff is after?”
Esha’s eyes snapped, and she looked sharply at her visitor. “Why you want ter know?” she asked.
“Are you a slave, Esha?”