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clothing.
    She slipped her feet into her new red shoes, turning her feet from side to side to admire them and delighting in their elegance. Whatever else she might lack, these shoes at least would surely be fine enough for any lady.
    She had barely finished combing and rebraiding her hair and placing a cap on her head when a horn sounded from somewhere below.
    “Come!” Lizzie cried. “To the great chamber! Follow me, and do as I do.”
    Bess nearly fell as she darted after Lizzie, for the soles of her new shoes were slippery on the stone floor. She followed Lizzie through Lady Zouche’s bedchamber and into the adjoining room, which was much larger. Audrey and Doll were already there, taking their places on benches along one of three long tables. At the head of these tables, a trestle table covered with a rich cloth was set parallel to the foot of a huge canopied bed, and beside it a smaller table was laden with gleaming gold-plated cups, bowls, and ewers.
    “Why is there a bed in the dining room?” Bess whispered as she seated herself next to Lizzie.
    “It’s not really a dining room. It’s the great chamber. The best chamber in the house—the duke will sleep here. All these tables will be taken down when dinner is done.”
    Ranks of men and boys in the Zouche livery filled the rest of the table at which they were seated and that on the opposite side of the room. These must be the pages and grooms her mother had told her about, Bess thought, the male counterparts to her position, boys and young men of gentle birth who, like her, were there to learn to take their places in society, and to move up as high as they could.
    The tramp of many feet sounded on the stairs. A liveried man bearing a staff swept into the room followed by another carrying a tall, footed gilt bowl of salt and still others with ewers of wine, pitchers of beer, a great basket laden with bread, and a tray of spoons and knives. They placed the items on the head table and stood as the salt bearer stepped forward, bowed three times to an empty tall-backed chair behind the table, and placed the bowl of salt slightly to the left of it.
    Bess was dismayed at the lack of any food except the bread. And why were Sir George and Lady Zouche not present at the table being prepared so carefully? She leaned toward Lizzie to ask her, but once more a fanfare sounded from below. Three more liveried gentlemen marched in, one of them bearing a great carving knife and another a golden goblet with elaborate tracery. The man with the knife stepped to the stacked loaves of bread, cut a small slice from one, took a bite of it, and set it aside.
    “What is he doing?” Bess whispered to Lizzie.
    “Taking says,” Lizzie answered under her breath, glancing warily at the man with the staff. “A caution against poison. Not so much danger of that now, but ceremony requires it still.”
    Bess’s stomach growled with hunger, and she hoped that no one had heard it. The steward who had greeted her and Jem marched in, followed by three more men with chains of office about their necks. The three dozen people in the room might have been made of wax, Bess thought, they stood so silently.
    Another fanfare rang out, followed by the sound of marching feet, and the tantalizing smell of roasted meat. Bess’s mouth watered and she swallowed. Good—food was coming soon.
    The steward called out, “By your leave, masters!”
    Everyone rose to their feet, the men pulling their hats from their heads. Bess scrambled to stand, catching her foot in her skirts, and only stopped herself from falling by stumbling into the boy next to her. He smirked as she righted herself and she heard other boys snigger.
    “Here are Sir George and Lady Zouche and their guests,” Lizzie murmured, and Bess turned to see Lady Zouche, on the arm of a richly dressed gentleman.
    “That’s the duke,” Lizzie hissed. He was old, fifty at least, Bess thought, with a beaky nose and bushy, square-cut beard that she