Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-01-11
CHAPTER ".
HOW WOULD SIZE PEAR LIZ

The public interest in the Denmark street
! murder gradually diminished, and finally ex-
| PRED before summer leaves were withered and
dead dying for want of nUtriment. The crime
| had made profound sensation, first because
the victim was a man of means aud position.
| and above ell man of unbemshed character
| Next. because 1t was a shock 20 society i'll gem
| eral to discover that man of undoubted cour-
| age and powerful physique could be assassillated
III broad daylight in a decent London street,
amidst the going and coming of respectable
! working people. and that his murderer could
escape unchallenged with his plumber.
| There were good many leading articles in
the newspapers upon the subject of Robert
Hatrelrs untimely fate. The Denmark street
mystery was served up to the British Public.
| which gloats over all such mysteries. with every
! variety of journalistic sauce, and the British
| Public were TOLD rs they had been very often
| told before that they were living in a corrupt
| and degenerate age. that such crimes as the
Denmark street murder were the natural out
! como of luxurious habits in the upper middle
classes. and unspeakablc corruption in TIE aris-
| tccracy, a depth of degradation under a veneer
| of refinement whereby was naturally fostered
! and developed the criminal instinct of the
| masses. The British Public was informed that
| a wavo of crime was passing over England. and
| that savage lust of blood and gold was in the
! air; and the British Public was furthermore
| called upon to take warning by these mon
| stTous developments of our nineteenth century
civilization, and in general way to mend its
manners.
| These voices crying in the wilderness of Lon
| don life the British Public heard with but Il
| lanSuid interest. The one fact that did in
terest them. after the natural curiosity as to the
| why and the how of Robert Hatrelrs death.
was the fact that London was not altogether a
| place devoid of danger to human life even in
! broad daylight that man might at any UNI
| guarded moment be lured within four walls and
stabbed to death. There were those who
| argued that there must have been some dark
| spot in Mr. Hatrelrs history or he would not
| so readily have followed an unknown messe niger
| on the strength of a woman's name. There
| must have been something in the dead mans re-
| lations with the woman called Antoinette which
| made 1t a matter of life and death to him to go
! wherever she summoned him. Otherwise,
| bearing in mind that he on his way 20 an
| important business appointment, and that he
| had four thousand pounds i'll his breast pocket
| 1t must needs seem strange that he should be
| so easily turned aside.
! SO argued Society. shaking its head sagely at
dinner tables, where men and women's natural
! interest in the tragedy of human life sometimes
| gets the better of that good taste which would
| exclude such subjects of conversation from re-
| fined assemblies.
| Summer was gone and it was late autumn
and the outside world had forgotten Robert
| Hattrell-had forgotten him Just when his
widow was waking from long, dull dream of
agony to the reality of her lrreparabe loss.
| The woods along the valley of the Thames
were clothed in russell and gold and Clieveden' s
! glades were strewn with fallen leaves. The
mlsts of autumn rose in the early evening. pale
and phantomlike, along the river meadows,
| and the tramp of the horses on the towpath
and the ripple of the water against the sides of
| the barge had ghostly sound in the obscure
| grayness through which boat and horses came
slowly, rs if moving in secret under the veil of
| night.
1t was n mild and lovely day at the beginning
| OF October when Clara Hatrell left the house
| for the first time since her husbands funeral
| on the 18th of July. She had insisted on follow
! ing him to his grave i'll Lamford church yard.
| and she had borne herself with extraordinary
| fortitude throughout the funeral service had
! stood by the grave till the last ceremony had
| been performed, the wreath of summer flowers
laid In its place, and then she had gone quietly
| back to the house where the happiest years of
| her married lite had been spent. She had gone
| to her room without a word, save one gentle
| murmur of thanks to the sister who had been
| at her side on that trying day. Her sister fol-
| lowed her upstairs heard her lock the door of
her room, and after listening outside for some
minutes went down to the drawing room. where
the clergyman of the parish. the family lawyer
| and Ambrose Arden were assembled.
II don't know what to do about Clara" she
| said anxiously, ''she has locked herself in her
| room, and don't feel that it is right to leave
her alone. Yet don't like to force myself upon
her. One cannot tell what to do for the best: 1t
with her grief"
"Mrs. Hatrell is a woman of deep religious
| feeling, said the priest, she will not be alone.
She has been borne up wonderfully this day.
The same Power will be with her in the soil
| tude of her room. 1t might be well to leave
her alone for an hour or two, Mrs. Talbot.
| After period of solitary prayer she will be
glad of the comfort of your sisterly affection -
''Yes. think you right. will leave her
to herself for time. poor dear thing"
Mrs. Talbot was an elder sister who had mar
ried six years before Clara made her debut in
society. She had married rising physician
| who had now risen to the fashionable level and
was one of the most popular doctors at the
West End of London. Mrs. Talbot had a nur-
| sery and a school room to look after. and a
| widely comprehensive visiting list beginning
with duchesses and dwlndling down to strug-
Cling young women in the musical, literary
and dramatic line. She had an exacting al
belt kind and generous husbands and she
had SO much to do and to think about at home
| that she had not been able to devote any con-
siderable part of her life to her sisters society
She came now i'll this hour of mysterious and
overwhelming calamity act of duty; but
she was not altogether in sympathy with the
household at River Lawn, had not altogether
grasped the full measure of love which had
ruled between husband and wife, and thus
could not fathom the depth of the widow q
! sorrow She had comforted a good many
widows in her time and her general experience
| nad Deen that, however they might distress
| their friends by the intensity of their grief
during the first half of the first year of widow
hood, they generally took their friends by sur
prise by their rapid recovery in the second
half.
! DIR. Talbot was one of the British Public who
opined that there was something more than
met the eye Of the coroner or the coroner 8
jury in the relations of his deceased brother
| in-law and the person called Antoinette. Cues
toned searchingy by his wife on the subject
OF his suspicious, he replied that the case was
| obvious enough to any one who could read be-
| tween the lines, and with this occult phrase
| Mrs. Talbot was constrained to content herself
| There was no family assemblage to which
| Robert Hatrelfs will had to be read He had
stood almost alone in the world, without any
relation nearer than second cousins. The sec
ond cousins expected nothing from him, had
made no sign since his death except in the way
| OF letters of coincidence to the widow
my unfortunate client made his will imme-
dately after his marriage-or, / should rather
say, that he executed his will after his mar
riage-for the will was drawn up at the same
| time AS the marriage settlement" explained
Mr.. Melladew, the family solicitor. "He leaves
! the bulk of his estate in trust for his wife for
her life, with succession to his children, share
and share alike. AS there is only one child she
will inherit all at her mothers death. The
will gives the trustees power to anticipate some
portion of the estate, with Mrs. Hatrells con-
| sent, for the marriage settlement of any son or
| daughter. BY codicil made in the beginning
| of last year Mr.. Hatrell leaves his house and
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