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“We are entertaining the Duke of Suffolk to dinner. Help her, Lizzie and Phoebe. Audrey, for goodness’ sake, see what you can do with my hair.”
    She waved an impatient hand at the pretty, dark-haired girl holding the jewelry box, and the girl set it down on a table of carved dark wood and beckoned Bess to follow her. Bess made to pick up the bundle of her clothing, which sat on a chair near the fire, but the girl who had been affixing Lady Zouche’s sleeves—a slight girl of about Bess’s own age, with freckles on her pale face—scooped it up with a shy smile, and followed behind as the first girl led Bess into a smaller room, which contained two beds and several chests.
    “I’m Elisabeth Brooke,” said the dark-haired girl, dimples forming in her plump cheeks as she smiled. “Everyone calls me Lizzie. This is Phoebe, who is our chamberer.”
    The pale girl bobbed a curtsy and Bess blinked at the idea that she would have a maid.
    “You’ll sleep with me, here,” Lizzie said, plopping herself onto the high bed to watch as Bess undid the bundle of her belongings. “And your clothes can go in that chest—no, not now, later—you must haste and make ready for dinner.”
    “Is there—where do I . . .” Bess didn’t know how to say that her need to urinate was now urgent, but Phoebe read the anxiety in her face.
    “Oh! There is a close stool just in there.”
    Bess went where the girl pointed. In a tiny alcove off the room stood a chair whose cushioned seat had a hole in it. The bottom part of the chair was boxed in, but as Bess hoisted her skirts and peered in, she saw that a pan lay below. There was even a basket with scraps of colored wool that seemed to be there for the purpose of wiping herself, and another for soiled ones. Much more comfortable than using a chamber pot and straw, as she did at home.
    When Bess returned to the bedchamber, the blonde girl who had been helping Lady Zouche had joined Lizzie.
    “I’m Doll Fitzherbert,” she said. “Where do you come from?”
    “Hardwick,” Bess said. “And you?”
    “Norbury.”
    Phoebe had unpacked Bess’s bundle, and her two new gowns and shifts lay on the bed, her red shoes set neatly below them. With an anxious peek at Lizzie’s gown of green silk and Doll’s of carnation, Bess wondered if her own would do. And which should she wear? The tawny velvet had been intended to be her best, and she had not expected to put it on so soon, but it seemed the household was in turmoil over the visiting duke.
    “Shall I wear this?” she asked, and was reassured by Lizzie’s little cry of pleasure.
    “Oh, yes! Very pretty. And such a good color for your skin and hair!”
    With Phoebe’s help, Bess stripped to her chemise. She was ashamed at the state of her shoes, covered with the dust of the road and their soles cracking with wear, and gave Phoebe a grateful smile as the girl took them from her and scurried off. She was dismayed to see that the feet of her stockings were black with dirt, and her legs and smock were mottled gray.
    “We’ll soon have you more comfortable,” Phoebe murmured, bringing in a steaming basin and linen towel. “Sit you down, mistress, and I’ll have you ready in a trice.”
    Bess perched on a trunk while Phoebe washed the dust from Bess’s face, throat, and hands, and then knelt to peel off her stockings and bathe her legs.
    “Surely you’ll be wanting one of your fine new smocks,” Phoebe said, shaking out one of Bess’s new chemises. She held it up like a screen while Bess pulled her dirty shift off over her head and shimmied into the new one before stepping into the skirt of her new gown. Phoebe tied it at the back of her waist and then laced the bodice over it. Bess wondered what she would do if the household was so grand that she had to wear her best gown every day. Would the green wool be good enough? She flushed with shame, knowing what sacrifices her mother had made to provide her with her new