Norman said to me—oh, I say, Miss French, don't you know who the rosebud is."
"No," said Kitty, wondering at his sudden look of dismay.
"Well, I do! Oh, this is getting dreadful. Come outside with me and let's look into this idea. I hope it's only an idea!"
Throwing a soft fawn-colored cape round her, and drawing its pink-lined hood over her curly hair, Kitty went with Fessenden out on the lawn and down to the little arbor where they had sat before.
"Did you ever hear of Dorothy Burt?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"No; who is she?"
"Well, she's your 'clinging rosebud,' I'm sure of it! And I'll tell you why."
"First tell me who she is."
"She's Mrs. Carleton's companion. Schuyler's mother, you know. She lives in the Carleton household, and she is the sweetest, prettiest, shyest little thing you ever saw! 'Clinging rosebud' just fits her."
"Indeed!" said Kitty, who had suddenly lost interest in the conversation. And indeed, few girls of Kitty's disposition would have enjoyed this enthusiastic eulogy of another.
"I don't admire that sort, myself," went on Rob, who was tactfully observant; "I like a little more spirit and vivacity." Kitty beamed once more. "But she's a wonder, of her own class. I was there at dinner last night, you know, and I saw her for the first time. And, though I thought nothing of it at the time, I can look back now and see that she adores Schuyler. Why, she scarcely took her eyes off him at dinner, and she ate next to nothing. Poor little girl, I believe she was awfully cut up at his approaching marriage."
"And what was Schuyler's attitude toward her?" Kitty was interested enough now.
Fessenden looked very grave and was silent for a time.
"It's a beastly thing to say," he observed at last, "but if Schuyler had been in love with that girl, and wanted to conceal the fact, he couldn't have acted differently from the way he did act."
"Was he kind to her?"
"Yes, kind, but with a restrained air, as if he felt it his duty to show indifference toward her."
"Was she with you after dinner?"
Fessenden thought.
"I went to my room early; and Mrs. Carleton had then already excused herself. Yes,—I left Schuyler and Miss Burt in the drawing-room, and later I saw them from my window, strolling through the rose-garden."
"On his wedding eve!" exclaimed Kitty, with a look akin to horror in her eyes.
"Yes; and I thought nothing of it, for I simply assumed that he was devoted to Miss Van Norman, and was merely pleasant to his mother's companion. But—in view of something Miss Van Norman said to me yesterday—can it be it was only yesterday?— the matter becomes serious."
"What did she say?"
"It seems like betraying a confidence, and yet it isn't, for we must discover if it means anything. But she said to me, with real agitation, 'Do you know Dorothy Burt?' At that time, I hadn't met Miss Burt, and had never heard of her, so I said: 'No; who is she?' 'Nobody,' said Miss Van Norman, 'less than nobody! Never mention her to me again!' Her voice, even more than her words, betokened grief and even anger, so of course the subject was dropped. But doesn't that prove her anxious about the girl, if not really jealous?"
"Of course it does," said Kitty. "I know that's the one that has been troubling Madeleine. Oh, how dreadful it all is!"
"And then, too," Fessenden said, still reminiscently, "Miss Van Norman said she wanted to go away from Mapleton immediately after her wedding, and never return here again."
"Did she say that! Then, of course, it was only so that Schuyler should never see the Burt girl again. Poor, dear Maddy; she was so proud, and so self-contained. But how she must have suffered! You see, she knew Schuyler admired her, and respected her and all that, and she must have thought that, once removed from the presence of the rosebud girl, he would forget her."
"But I can't understand old Schuyler marrying Miss Van Norman if he didn't truly love her. You know, Miss French, that man and I have been stanch friends for years; and though I rarely see him, I know his honorable nature, and I can't believe he would marry one woman while loving another."
"He didn't," said Kitty in a meaning voice that expressed far more than the words signified.
Fessenden drew back in horror.
"Don't!" he cried. "You can't mean that Schuyler put Miss Van Norman out of the way to clear the path for Miss Burt!"
"I don't mean anything," said Kitty, rather contradictorily. "But, as I said, Maddy was not killed by any one inside the house—I'm sure of that—and no one from outside could get in, except Schuyler—and he had a motive. Don't you always, in detective work, look for the motive?"
"Yes, but this is too horrible!"
"All murders are 'too horrible.' But I tell you it must have been Schuyler—it couldn't have been Miss Burt!"
"Don't be absurd! That little girl couldn't kill a fly, I'm sure. I wish you could see her, Miss French. Then you'd understand how her very contrast to Miss Van Norman's splendid beauty would fascinate Schuyler. And I know he was fascinated. I saw it in his repressed manner last evening, though I didn't realize it then as I do now."
"I have a theory," said Kitty slowly. "You know Mr. Carleton went away yesterday afternoon rather angry at Maddy. She had carried her flirtation with Tom a little too far, and Mr. Carleton resented it. I don't blame him,—the very day before the wedding,—but it was partly his fault, too. Well, suppose he went home, rather upset over the quarrel, and then seeing Miss Burt, and her probably mild, angelic ways (I'm sure she has them!)—suppose he wished he could be off with Maddy, and marry Miss Burt instead."
"But he wouldn't kill his fiancée, if he did think that!"
"Wait a minute. Then suppose, after the evening in the rose-garden with the gentle, clinging little girl, he concluded he never could be happy with Maddy, and suppose he came at eleven o'clock, or whatever time it was, to tell her so, and to ask her to set him free."
"On the eve of the wedding day? With the house already in gala dress for the ceremony?"
"Yes, suppose the very nearness of the ceremony made it seem to him impossible to go through with it."
"Well?"
"Well, and then suppose he did ask Madeleine to free him, and suppose she refused. And she would refuse! I know her nature well enough to know she never would give him up to the other girl if she could help it. And then suppose, when she refused to free him,—you know he has a fearfully quick temper, and that awful paper-cutter lay right there, handy,—suppose he stabbed her in a moment of desperate anger."
"I can't think it," said Rob, after a pause; "I've tried, and I can't. But, suppose all you say is true as far as this; suppose he asked her to free him, because he loved another, and suppose she was so grieved and mortified at this, that in her own sudden fit of angry jealousy,—you know she had a quick temper, also,—suppose she picked up the dagger and turned it upon herself, as she had sometimes said she would do."
Kitty
