“Tommy, I’ve already told you—”
“Don’t, Christina—don’t say it.” He stood behind her and clutched her shoulders. “For God’s sake—think about it! You’re all I’ve ever dreamed about, ever wanted. You can’t destroy my hopes so easily. I love you, Crissy—I can’t help it!”
He turned and left the room without giving her a chance to answer him. A few minutes later, Molly brought in two meals, but had to take one back.
Christina ate at the gold-and-white marble-topped table before the couch, facing three empty chairs.
She felt stuffy and fat, lonely and miserable. Damn, why did Tommy have to make her feel so guilty? She didn’t want to marry him, because she just couldn’t bear living with another man after Philip. Why did Tommy have to love her? She was not going to marry him, or anyone else.
Pushing herself from the couch, Christina left the room and started up the stairs. She’d thought she could have her baby in peace at home, but she might as well have stayed in Cairo.
IN THE SLOW-MOVING months that followed, Christina busied herself preparing a nursery for Philip’s son. She chose furniture, and decided on a light-blue-and-gold pattern for the drapes and easy chairs, and a light-blue carpet. A doorway was cut to connect her room with the baby’s room.
The nursery was ready. All the little clothes that Christina had made were put away. And she was bored with nothing to do.
She couldn’t ride, she couldn’t help around the house. All she could do was read and take her walks. Her heaviness was becoming impossible to bear, and she wondered if she would ever be slim again. She turned her full-length mirror to the wall; she was so sick of looking at her rounded shape.
Tommy made her life miserable. He came to see her every day, and every day it was the same thing. He just wouldn’t give up.
She told him over and over again that she wouldn’t marry him, but he never listened. He always had new reasons why she should marry him, and closed his ears when she said she would not. She was getting sick of it.
It was late in the afternoon of a September’s day when Christina finally made a decision. She went from room to room in search of Johnsy, and found her in the nursery dusting the furniture where there was no dust. Christina walked in and stood beside the cradle. She flicked the colorful clowns and toy soldiers hanging above the little bed, making them dance merrily in the air.
“Johnsy, I’ve got to get away from here,” she said suddenly.
“Whatever are you talkin’ about, love?”
“I just can’t stay here any longer. Tommy is driving me crazy. It’s the same thing over and over again, every time he comes here. I can’t stand it anymore.”
“I won’t allow ’im to see you, that’s all. I’ll tell ’im ’e’s not welcome ’ere.”
“You know he won’t stand for that, and it would just give me more to worry about. I’m always nervous, waiting for him to show up.”
“Aye, that’s not good for the baby.”
“I know, that’s why I have to leave here. I’ll go to London and rent a room at a hotel. I’ll find a doctor to call when the time comes. But I’ve made up my mind. I’m going.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You’ll not go to London—to a place filled with people who ’ave no time for anyone but themselves—an’ you all by yourself,” Johnsy replied, shaking her finger at Christina.
“But I’ve got to—I’ll be all right.”
“You didn’t let me finish, love. I agree you should get away from Master Tommy. But not to London. You can go to my sister who works over in Benfleet. She’s the cook on a large estate belongin’ to a family of the same name as that man you love.”
“Caxton?”
“Aye, but that Philip Caxton couldn’t be no gentleman, not with what ’e done.”
“Well, Philip’s only family is his brother, and he lives in London.”
“Aye, so you can go and ’ave your baby there, at Victory, I think Mavis said it was called. An’ you’ll ’ave people there who will take care of you.”
“But what will the owner have to say about my staying in his home?” Christina asked.
“Mavis says the master’s never there—always gallivantin’ across the seas. All those servants ’ave that big ’ouse all to themselves, with nothin’ to do but keep it fit.”
“But you’ve mentioned Mavis before. I thought she lived in Dover.”
“She did, until seven months ago. The old cook at Victory passed away, an’ Mavis just ’appened to ’ear of the openin’. The master pays ’is servants ’and-somely. ’E’s a very rich man. Mavis said it was ’er porridge that won ’er the position. There was so many applied, she was lucky to get it. I’ll send ’er a message tonight to let her know you’re comin’. Then you can pack and leave tomorrow. I’d like to go with you, love, but this ’ouse would be in ’avoc if I left.”
