It was Kate’s turn to improvise when it came to Mr and Mrs Skidmore, the missionary couple. Herbert Skidmore, she decided, was a reformed bank robber dragged back to the path of righteousness by Barbara, his domineering wife. It was Barbara Skidmore’s voice that dominated talk at the dinner table. Well-educated, cut-crystal enunciation and the ability to make herself heard above the wildest storm made it impossible to ignore the lady, who constantly referred to her own upbringing in a vicarage and her sainted father, the late Reverend Lucius Skidmore. This always brought the conversation to a halt, and Barbara was quick to stress that her husband had chosen to take his wife’s surname. She had a habit of glaring at the puzzled faces of her audience, as if daring them to question the decision.

‘Of course,’ Kate said, managing to keep a straight face. ‘Barbara Skidmore’s father was really a ringmaster in a circus and when he was unable to perform his daughter took his place. I can just imagine Barbara with a top hat and a whip. I expect that’s how she makes people sit down and listen to her boring husband’s sermons.’

Annie clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a burst of laughter. ‘You are dreadful, Kate. I think you’re worse than me.’

‘It’s getting late.’ Kate stretched and yawned. ‘But we have yet to mention our heroic captain.’

‘I think he’s quite young,’ Annie said thoughtfully. ‘I imagine that he’s quite good looking.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Kate curled up on her bunk and allowed her imagination to take over …

Captain Francis Langhorne, a handsome man in his thirties, was hiding a deep secret: one of his legs had been shot off by a cannonball and he cleverly concealed a peg leg beneath his uniform. The rest of his infirmities were kept hidden from the world, and his deep secrets were revealed by Kate and exaggerated by Annie until they were helpless with laughter and quite exhausted.