Doubly false

Mrs. Lander had taken possession of her brother-in-law’s estate under the will, and for the first time in her life began to enjoy the power of wealth, the sublime egotism of possession. True, all this fortune gave her no additional comfort, nor insured to her a luxury not hitherto her own, for since her husband’s death she had been denied nothing by his generous brother. But this, to a nature like hers, or indeed to any nature capable of ambition, was the smallest result of wealth. She wanted its power, its influence among men—the reputation it conferred—the envy it created. Having been dependent all her life, these things took a mighty value in her estimation, and no queen ever mounted a throne with more pride than this woman felt in seizing upon the estate which seemed to have fallen into her possession by a miracle.

Up to this time, Mrs. Lander had been very liberal in her social ideas and luxuriously extravagant in her personal habits, having gorgeous tastes by nature, and that coarse hankering for display which women of low birth and inferior associations in early youth are liable to acquire. Beyond this the woman could not go, and a vast capacity for intrigue lay useless and buried in her life which was likely to find room for display now. She was not very old either; the years that carried her beyond forty were hardly worth mentioning. A fresh complexion, robust but symmetrical form, and rather juvenile carriage, made her seem even younger than that. With great wealth added to these attractions, there was much in the future for a woman like that to expect and hope for.

Mrs. Lander went into deep, deep mourning at once. Crape folds a yard in depth covered the skirts of her bombazine dresses; crape veils, with hems that made them almost double, fell from her bonnet; not a gleam of white was allowed to appear about her person. The very handkerchiefs wetted by her tears had a black border one-fourth of an inch wide running under the broadest of broad hems. She stripped her fingers of their jewels, and sent to the city at once, for chains and bracelets and lugubrious brooches of jet, which gave a shimmer of brightness to the volumes of English crape that clouded her mournfully from head to foot.

The woman mourned for her daughter, undoubtedly. This elaborate show of grief was not all pretence. She would have been delighted to hear that Cora had escaped the shipwreck on any terms; doubly delighted if the rescue of her child could have been achieved without disturbing the will which made her mistress of everything. No doubt she would have been a generous and munificent mother in that case, proud of her child and ready to push her interests to the utmost; but she would have shuddered a little at the thought of depending on Cora Lander for subsistence, though a thought of this kind never took force with her now. Poor Cora was gone with the rest, and ten thousand perfections hovered around her memory. Still the wealth was a consolation.

Five or six weeks after the sad news, Mrs. Lander sent for Joshua Hurd, who came in from the stables walking after his usual heavy fashion, and seeming half ashamed of a new suit of clothes, which gave a certain appearance of neatness to his ungainly person. Joshua’s manner was a little singular when he came into the presence of his mistress. He looked around for his sister, and seemed relieved that she was not there. Then he sat down on the very sofa which held Mrs. Lander and her voluminous skirts, planting his heavy shoe on the crape folds of her dress, and sat still, looking stolidly into her face.

Mrs. Lander did not rebuke or attempt to repulse this familiarity, but she gently extricated her dress from his foot, and smiled sweetly in doing it.

“Joshua,” she said, “I have been thinking a good deal about the horses.”

“That’s exactly in my line,” he answered. “What about ’em?”

“The pair of chestnuts don’t exactly suit me.”

“They’re splendid critters as ever drew a carriage,” interrupted Joshua, bluntly. “What on arth can you want better?”

“They are too bright—too showy for my mourning.”

“Mourning! Why, who ever hearn of putting hosses in mourning, I’d like to know?”

“But they disturb its sad harmony.”

“Never was a better or a purtyer team of hosses druv. Darn’d if I believe you know what a good hoss is!”

“But they put me in mind of him—of them.”

“In course they du! Why not?”

“The truth is, Joshua, now that I’m mistress here, I’d like to choose my own horses and carriages, and everything, and have the credit of good taste in myself.”

Joshua lifted one foot, laid it on his knee and nursed it for a whole minute in thoughtful tenderness.

“Well, I reckon that’s nat’ral,” he said at last. “So you want ter sell them chestnuts? How much do you ask for ’em?”

“That is what I wanted to talk to you about. Of course I shall defer to your judgment.”

Joshua dropped his foot cautiously and drew himself up, blushing to the temples.

“I’ll sell ’em or trade ’em off for you—but what kind of critters du you want now?”

“Black—I think we will have black.”

“Not one of them ’ere Black Hawks?”

“No, nothing of that kind, but a pair of fine, well-matched blacks, if they can be found.”

Just then Eunice came into the room, excited, fiery, and dressed with incongruous magnificence. She saw Joshua sitting close by her mistress, and pounced upon him with a vengeance.

“You dolterhead, get up. How dare you?”

She seized Joshua by the collar and almost lifted him from the sofa, gave him a vigorous pull and planted his feet in the middle of the room.

“I’ll teach you!” she cried, shaking her fiery locks at him. “How often I’ve told you!”

“Look-a-here,” said Joshua, dashing the cap on to his head, “it won’t be worth your while to do that ’ere agin! I ain’t a going to stand it; so you look out!”

“Be quiet, both of you,” said Mrs. Lander, with dignity. “I cannot be annoyed in this way.”

“You sent for me, or I shouldn’t a come,” said Joshua, sullenly.

“And I wanted you, Joshua, not only to consult about the horses, but to say that hereafter the entire control of the stables shall be yours. You shall account to no one but me, now that I am mistress.”

“That’s something like,” said Joshua, brightening up. “When that critter lets you alone, you’re a trump, and no mistake. But that evil spurret that went down into the swine and druv them into the sea wasn’t nothing to her. She’s wuss than a hull drove of hogs, if every one on ’em had a spurret of his own.”

“Josh!”

“Now jest you keep away, Eunice Hurd. I’m a speaking to her, and not to you by no manner of means. Don’t come anear me, I warn you, or I’ll bust right out afore everybody. You’ve trod on me long enough. Now I mean to stomp on you if you don’t behave yerself.”

Eunice, who had been threatening violence, drew back in blank amazement; her face grew red in spots, her eyes flashed strange light, like the green tints in an opal. She was quivering from head to foot with a vicious desire to box her brother’s ears.

“Oh! you snake you—”

“Eunice, I will have no more of this. You must learn that I am mistress here,” said Mrs. Lander.

“You!” exclaimed Eunice, turning upon her mistress with intense scorn. “You, and setting there side by side with Josh!”

Mrs. Lander took no heed of her insolence, for she was a woman of wonderful self-possession when the occasion required it. Her voice was quiet and calm as a summer’s morning as she once more addressed Joshua.

“You can sell the chestnuts and buy the blacks, as I directed. Use your own judgment in the whole matter,” she said.

“So you are a going to buy black horses, are you?—Deep mourning, animals and all,” said Eunice, spitefully. “Hadn’t you better have a span of white ones ready for the half-mourning. It ’ed be mighty handy—or grays, to shade off into white. I hate such airs!”

“That would be a contrast worth thinking about—I am much obliged to you, Eunice. I will take day to consider it. White or black. Go now, Joshua, and remember that hereafter you are master out yonder.”

“And who mistress in here?” demanded Eunice.

“I am,” answered Mrs. Lander, with calm firmness, “and this scene must never be repeated, Eunice. Understand me clearly—must never be repeated.”

“Jest say that agin!” said the virago, going off into a fit of hoarse wrath. “I understand you; you want to get the blind side of that soft-hearted creature, and so be one too many for me if I should cut up rusty. But let me ketch him in here agin, or you in there, and I’ll show you what’s what!”

Mrs. Lander was very pale; every vestige of color left her lips, they were pressed so firmly together. She seemed about to say something defiant, but the strain upon her nerves had been too great, and she fell into a chair, faint and trembling. What was she, with all her wealth, but a slave?