‘I have seen this rash before,’ said Juanita in Portuguese, glancing over her shoulder at Harry. ‘It is a complaint suffered mainly by children and can sometimes kill, but the fever has broken and I have no doubt this woman will recover.’
‘How soon will she be fit to leave?’ asked Harry, taking coins from a pouch at his belt.
Juanita’s eyes fixed on the money. ‘Where would you have her go?’
‘She is seeking her father, a Callum McDonald, and she has heard that he has been seen on this island. As far as I am aware he has never set foot on Madeira, but I could be mistaken. I ask that you would keep your ears and eyes open in Machico. I will have a search made of Funchal, just in case he could have anchored there at any time this past year.’
Juanita stared at him from under grey, bristling brows. ‘You do that, Captain, but if her father is not here, what will you do with her then? She is young and no doubt beautiful when she does not have this rash, but she is also a foreigner. Surely you will not desert her?’
‘I have a cargo of sugar cane to get to Lisbon. She needs a woman to keep her company. If I were to leave her here in Madeira, will you stay with her? I will pay you,’ Harry offered.
Juanita shook her head and said firmly, ‘No, I wish to leave Madeira. I am getting old and I would return to my family home in Portugal. I still have kin there and would spend my last days with them.’
Harry frowned. ‘I understand, but would ask another favour of you. Have you heard aught of a slave–trader ship foundering anywhere off this coast or it may have anchored in Machico?’
‘I have heard nothing, but I will make enquiries for you.’
He thanked her and changed the subject. ‘Is there aught you can prescribe for her rash?’
The old woman fished in a capacious cloth bag and produced a phial. ‘You may give her three drops of this liquid if the rash itches her unbearably and keeps her awake.’
Harry took the phial and handed a coin over to Juanita. ‘When do you plan to leave for Portugal?’
‘When the signs are auspicious.’ She chuckled and patted his arm. ‘If you have need of me again, send Joseph to fetch me.’
‘I will bear in mind what you say.’ Harry glanced towards the bed as a thought occurred to him, but he remained silent and went downstairs. He called Joe to keep a watch over their patient and headed for the fields, knowing that he could not afford to change his plans to leave the island once the sugar–cane harvest was gathered in.
Bridget inspected the rash on her arms and frowned, turning over in her mind the conversation she’d overheard between the captain and Juanita. Unfortunately, she had not been able to understand every word spoken, but she felt certain that he had asked Juanita to make enquiries about her father and for that she was grateful. Hopefully he would also have a search made for the slave trader and his vessel. What if the slave trader was still alive and came looking for her? After all he had bought her. A chill ran down her spine. What was she to do if the captain were to sail for Lisbon, leaving her behind here on Madeira at the mercy of any unscrupulous person?
There was a knock on the door. ‘May I come in?’ asked Joe.
Bridget sighed. ‘Aye, please do.’
The lad entered the bedchamber, carrying a tray.
‘D’yer know that at one time me and the captain thought you might die, but here you are looking a whole load better despite your rash. The captain reckons it could be caused by the fever making you all hot.’ He beamed at her.
Bridget forced a smile, guessing why the captain had not been completely honest with Joe. She was also remembering that it was the lad who had put poppy juice in her drink the first day she was here. ‘I am much better so I do not need any potions, Joe,’ she said hastily.
‘All right. But the captain said you’re to eat this bread and cheese and then I’m to bring you a custard apple.’
‘Tell me about your captain?’ she asked.
Joe grinned. ‘He’s a hard man to please, but he’s fair. His ship is anchored in Machico harbour and he’s here to load and transport the bulk of Senhor Jorge’s sugar–cane harvest to a buyer in Lisbon. It’s the senhor who owns this house, but he’s gone off with a fleet of warships, led by the explorer Vasco da Gama. They’re going around the tip of Africa, hoping to find a swifter passage to the Indies. The captain intended going as well, but we were caught up in a battle with the natives at one of the Portuguese trading stations on the African coast.’
‘What happened?’ she asked, unable to conceal her curiosity.
Joe’s eyes took on a faraway expression and he did not immediately answer, then he said solemnly, ‘I don’t think the captain would like me to give you the gruesome details, but I can tell you that there were more of them than us. There were spears and arrows flying through the air with us managing to dodge most of them. Then it was hand–to–hand fighting. Unfortunately whilst the captain was fighting three of them at once and winning, a spear came out of nowhere and he got wounded in the thigh. The captain drew out that spear and stuck it in one of the enemy. He has a stubborn streak does the captain. Even so that didn’t stop him, but then something even nastier happened and we had no choice but to get him out of there.’
‘It sounds as if he was lucky to survive,’ said Bridget, admiring the captain’s bravery.
‘You can say that again,’ said Joe, his face alight with enjoyment. ‘It was the same when we sailed the northern seas and we did battle with pirates. We often ended up in hand–to–hand combat. The captain only ever used the cannon as a last resort. He’s always aware that there might be innocent captives aboard who could suffer along with the sinners.’
‘That’s very perceptive of your captain,’ said Bridget.
Joe grinned. ‘I’m not sure what that means, but he’s the best captain to work for that I know. Now I’ll have to be going or he’ll be wondering what I’m up to.’
Bridget would have liked to have heard more of the captain’s exploits, but did not wish to keep the youth from his work. ‘I would like some warm water, Joe, and if you could fetch my clothes I’d be very grateful,’ she said persuasively.
‘Certainly, the captain had me wash and dry them.’
She said softly, ‘You are kind.’
He flushed to the roots of his hair. ‘My pleasure, mistress,’ he mumbled, and hurried from the bedchamber.
Bridget ate the bread and cheese and drained the cup of wine and water, marvelling that the captain and Joe had survived such adventures. She wondered why, if the captain was English, was he staying here and plying his trade between this island and Lisbon instead of returning home? If her father and Captain Black Harry were not to be found on Madeira it was possible that they might not be because more than a year had passed since his ship had been seen here—then she must try to persuade him to take her to Lisbon. It was possible that she might find news of her father in that bustling city. She wished Joe would hurry and bring her clothes.
However, it was the captain who knocked at the door before announcing his presence and coming into the bedchamber when she bid him enter. He was carrying a basin and had a drying cloth over his arm.
‘Where are my clothes?’ she blurted out. ‘I want to get dressed and out of this bed.’
‘I am glad to hear you say that, mistress, but are you certain you are well enough to do so? I am having a search made