An elderly woman with a powdered face and heavily rouged cheeks sat stiffly in a wingback chair by the fire. Her white hair, now yellowed with age, was pulled back in a chignon and held captive by a beaded clip. Around her neck was a silver chain and a dangling cross. A gold-tipped cane rested against her knee. She gave a wave of dismissal and the woman, called Biney, scurried from the room.
She motioned for them to sit across from her on the sofa. “The priest told me all about it when he telephoned. No need to rehash why you’ve come.”
“We won’t take up much of your time,” Edward said. “But we do have some questions about the boy.”
“You think the body might be Bertram’s, my cousin?”
Edward said it was a boy’s skeleton they’d found. Not a body.
“Cousin?” Leslie asked. “I thought you were his aunt. We’re talking about someone I knew at St. Andrew’s called Bertie.”