Deborah may have made some kind of encouraging sound, he could not be sure.
But there was to be no question of pumping this witness. She had been keeping things to herself for too long.
"We brought her up decently. No one can say we didn't. It hasn't always been easy.
She did get the scholarship but we still had to feed her. She wasn't an easy child. I used to think it was the bombing but Mr. Proctor wouldn't have that. They were with us at the time, you know. We had a house in Stoke Newington then. There hadn't been many raids and somehow we felt safe with the Anderson shelter and everything. It was one of those VI rockets that did for Lil and George. I don't remember anything about it nor about being dug out. They never told me about Lil for a week afterwards. They got us all out but Lil was dead and George died in hospital. We were the lucky ones. At least I suppose we were. Mr. Proctor was really bad for a long time and, of course, he's got his disability. But they said we were the lucky ones."
"Like me," thought Felix bitterly.
"One of the lucky ones."
"And then you took Sally and brought her up," prompted Deborah.
"There wasn't anyone else really.
Mother couldn't have taken her. She wasn't fit for it. I tried to think that Lil would have liked it, but those sort of thoughts can't help you to love a child.
She wasn't loving really. Not like Beryl.
But then Sally was ten before Beryl arrived and I suppose it was hard on her after being the only one for so long. But we never made a difference. They always had the same, piano lessons and everything. And now this. The police came round after she died. They weren't in uniform or anything, but you could see who they were. Everyone knew about it., They asked who the man was but, of course, we couldn't say."
"The man who killed her?" Deborah sounded incredulous.
"Oh no. The father of the baby. The responsibility for Sally since her pregnancy and they had certainly succeeded in dissociating themselves from her death. He leaned forward to hear more clearly.
Deborah may have made some kind of encouraging sound, he could not be sure.
But there was to be no question of pumping this witness. She had been keeping things to herself for too long.
"We brought her up decently. No one can say we didn't. It hasn't always been easy.
She did get the scholarship but we still had to feed her. She wasn't an easy child. I used to think it was the bombing but Mr. Proctor wouldn't have that. They were with us at the time, you know. We had a house in Stoke Newington then. There hadn't been many raids and somehow we felt safe with the Anderson shelter and everything. It was one of those VI rockets that did for Lil and George. I don't remember anything about it nor about being dug out. They never told me about Lil for a week afterwards. They got us all out but Lil was dead and George died in hospital. We were the lucky ones. At least I suppose we were. Mr. Proctor was really bad for a long time and, of course, he's got his disability. But they said we were the lucky ones."
"Like me," thought Felix bitterly.
"One of the lucky ones."
"And then you took Sally and brought her up," prompted Deborah.
"There wasn't anyone else really.
Mother couldn't have taken her. She wasn't fit for it. I tried to think that Lil would have liked it, but those sort of thoughts can't help you to love a child.
She wasn't loving really. Not like Beryl.
But then Sally was ten before Beryl arrived and I suppose it was hard on her after being the only one for so long. But we never made a difference. They always had the same, piano lessons and everything. And now this. The police came round after she died. They weren't in uniform or anything, but you could see who they were. Everyone knew about it.
They asked who the man was but, of course, we couldn't say."
"The man who killed her?" Deborah sounded incredulous.
"Oh no. The father of the baby. I suppose they thought he might have done it. But we couldn't tell them anything."
"I suppose they asked a lot of questions about where you were on the night."
For the first time Mrs. Proctor seemed aware of her tears. She fumbled in her handbag and wiped them away. Interest in her story seemed to have assuaged whatever grief she was indulging. Felix thought that it was unlikely that she wept for Sally. Was it the resurrected memory of Lil, of George and of the helpless child they had left behind which had caused those tears, or was it just weariness and a sense of failure? Almost as if she sensed his question she said, "I don't know why I'm crying. Crying can't bring back the dead. I suppose it was the service. We had that hymn for Lil.*The King of Love my Shepherd Is'. It doesn't seem right for either of them really. You were asking about the police. I suppose you've had your share of them, too. They came to us all right. I told them I was at home with Beryl. They asked if we went to the fete at Chadfleet. I told them we didn't know anything about it. Not that we would have gone. We didn't see Sally ever and we didn't want to come nosing around where she worked. I could remember the day all right. It was funny really. Miss Liddell telephoned in the morning to talk to Mr. Proctor which she hadn't done since Sally took her new job. Beryl answered the 'phone and it made her feel quite queer.
She thought something must have happened to Sally for Miss Liddell to 'phone. But it was only to say that Sally was doing all right. It was funny though.
She knew we didn't want to hear."
It must have struck Deborah as strange, too, for she asked. "Had Miss Liddell telephoned before to tell you how Sally was getting on?"
"No. Not since Sally went to Martingale. She telephoned to tell us that.
At least I think she did. She may have written to Mr. Proctor, but I can't be sure. I suppose she thought that we ought to know about Sally leaving the Home, Mr. Proctor being her guardian. At least he used to be, but now she's over twenty-one and on her own it's nothing to us where she goes. She never cared for us not for any of us, not even Beryl. I thought I'd better come today because it looks queer if no one from the family's there, whatever Mr. Proctor may say. But he was right really. You can't help the dead by being there and it's only upsetting. All those people, too. They ought to have something better to do."
"So Mr. Proctor hadn't seen Sally since she left your house?" pursued Deborah.
"Oh, no. There wouldn't be any point in it, would there?"
"I expect the police asked him where he was on the night she died. They always do. Of course it's only a formality."
If Deborah had been afraid of causing offence she was worrying unnecessarily.
"It's funny the way they go on. You'd have thought we knew something about it by the way they talked. Asking questions about Sally's life and whether she had any expectations and who her friends were.
Anyone would think she was someone important. They had Beryl in to ask about the telephone call from Miss Liddell. They even asked Mr. Proctor what he was doing the night Sally died. Not that we were likely to forget that night. It was the one he had his cycle accident. He wasn't home till twelve and he was in a proper bad state with his lips all swollen and the cycle bent up. He lost his watch, too, which was upsetting as his father left it to him and it was real gold. Very valuable they always told us. We aren't likely to forget that night in a hurry I can tell you."
Mrs. Proctor had now recovered completely from the emotional effects of the funeral and was chatting away with the eagerness of someone who is more accustomed to listening than to getting a hearing. Deborah was making light work of the driving. Her hands lay gently on the wheel and her blue eyes gazed steadily on the road ahead, but Felix had little doubt that most of her mind was on other matters. She made sympathetic sounds in reply to Mrs. Proctor's story and replied, "What a horrid shock for you both! You must have been terribly worried when he was so late. How did it happen?"