Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. He knew what he knew. Besides, this is an affair which no one but myself can settle. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say. ‘But you have told them that I have been disguised, no? That I have broken into Remenham House, and—’ ‘No, no, child, don’t be alarmed,’ said her great-aunt, her tone soothing.
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