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Gidley turned and walked away, head down. Executioners had more joy in their steps. She followed, a feeling of death grating in the hollows of her heart.
On deck, Warrington stood by Stubby, who’d perched himself at the edge of the ship, his hands sliding along the polished railing and his eyes inspecting the dark flecks inside the wood. He appeared entranced in some imaginary task. Warrington stared at the boy.
‘Where is it?’ she asked, standing an arm’s length from Warrington.
He turned his head to the cabin boy. ‘Come here.’
Stubby moved, taking two dragging steps to stop in front of Melina. He took a deep breath, but didn’t raise his eyes from staring at the deck. ‘I heard it were a treasure, so I went to see it. Like pirate’s gold and silver. But it were evil. I saw it and I knew. Just like the wave.’ He lifted his right hand, making a claw of his fingers, and his mouth moved into a snarl as if he had fangs about to pounce.
‘Evil?’ Melina asked. ‘The arm?’
‘Yes.’ He lowered his hand and raised his eyes. ‘White like a drowned body. The spirit who lost its arm is sendin’ storms and waves to pull us to the deep and drown us dead so it can have its hand back. Nearly took me and Capt’n Ben.’ His gaze, along with his upturned eyes and quaking chest, reminded her of the way her youngest sister had looked when their mother died. ‘You wouldn’t want us drowned, or sunk. I know you wouldn’t want to see me all guts loose and swolled up in my face...’ He puffed his cheeks and held out his arms to show how he would look. ‘I had to throw the rock back to the spirits.’
Melina turned and rushed to the cabin. She imagined the arm sinking, landing with a silent thud into the mud. The filth from below sweeping around it, locking it into a silted grave. Gone for ever. A new death. And it didn’t matter if the arm was exactly as it had been—a world of water prevented her from ever seeing it again. It existed, but was as lost as if it had been crushed into sand.
The arm could never be reunited with the marble woman who stood larger than a true female, with a covering draped low on her hips. The English museum would not want a statue of an armless goddess, even this majestic one.
She still wanted the statue and she’d return to it, if only to see her mother’s face. But her hopes of wresting it from the island were now at the bottom of the sea.
She could have stayed with Stephanos—given him marriage in exchange for the carving. But her mother would not have wanted that. She wouldn’t have wanted Melina to have been trapped by the rock.
Now Melina wished she could run her fingers over the statue’s countenance again. To feel her mother’s presence and the life behind the stone eyes.
The statue appeared so serene. Her hair pulled up into a bun. One shoulder raised slightly more than the other. Breasts free. The covering around her hips sliding low, about to fall. Unconcerned she no longer had arms to hold the draped cloth for modesty.
Melina concentrated on the statue’s face, trying to ease her own trembling limbs.
Freedom from Stephanos might have been more costly than she expected. At least the women on Melos who sold their bodies were able to return to normal when the ships left. Her life couldn’t return to the way it was. If she returned home now, penniless, her value would be nothing. A failure, and not just for herself. For her mother. And her sisters.
Melina had sold her body—something she swore she’d never do. She’d left her sisters, after promising her dying mother she’d care for them. And the dowry she’d hoped to gain for them was gone because now she’d have no proof of finding anything but dirt. The statue might as well be resting in the muck.
She didn’t have enough time to try again, even if she could lift the entire statue. Her sisters were too beautiful to be ignored.
She struggled to breathe, feeling the same silt and water choke her that now clasped the marble.
* * *
Warrington leaned against the door in Ben’s cabin and his brother sat in the berth. In hours they’d be docked. From a quick perusal of his brother, Warrington saw clear eyes. Now Ben yelped when he moved. A good sign.
But Warrington was more concerned about Melina than he was of Ben. Melina had not been the same since the arm was lost.
‘The quartermaster will bring the physician...’ Ben said. ‘Besides, I’m on the mend. Gid will see to the rest. Go meet with the Foreign Office. They’ll need to know of your negotiations. And don’t worry about me. Gidley knows how to take over my duties and he’ll watch me as close as he would his own son.’
