We leaned against the port rail, Raphael’s arm around my waist as the ship moved ever closer to the sheltered harbour of Lisbon in the mouth of the Tagus. We had crossed the Bay of Biscay with no more of the autumn storms we had been warned of and so had made good time. The Linden would remain in port overnight while fresh water and provisions were loaded for the crossing to Jamaica together with casks of port destined for the officers of Fort Charles and the naval yard.
‘Captain Dunt suggests we stay ashore for the night.’ He turned to me. ‘It certainly has some appeal. What do you think?’
Oh, Jesu, yes.’ I clutched his arms. ‘We must. A night in a proper bed where the room stays still. And I can bathe … in a tub. With hot water.’
He hugged me. ‘Well then, that’s what we’ll do. Dunt sa
