CHAPTER IX
Priscilla’s father had a piece of news for her when they met at supper that night—the menage at the farm involved tea at six and supper at half-past nine.
“That young Wingfield, the grandson of the old man, has come to live at the Manor,” he said. “I heard all about it from Mr. Hickman to-day. Hickman is not his solicitor, but he knows all about it. A young scamp who will simply walk through that fine property which has been nursed for him by the trustees all these years.”
“I think you told us that the old man hoped that by preventing him from inheriting the property until he was twenty-seven he would give him a chance of gaining some sense to enable him to work it properly,” remarked Priscilla.
“That was the old man’s notion; but I don’t suppose it will prove to have been worth anything. It’s usually the case that an ill-conditioned puppy turns out an ill-conditioned dog. The young man is a wild young ass, kicking up his heels at all authority. He was turned out of Oxford in his third year. They couldn’t stand his ways any longer.”
“That must have happened several years ago if he is twenty-seven now. I wonder what he has been doing in the meantime.”
“Wild—he has been very wild, I hear; knocking about the world—India, Australia, the South Sea Islands, with America to follow. He has been doing no good anywhere. He has no head, you see; his father had no head either—allowed himself to be imposed on right and left. The old man had to pay his debts half-a-dozen times over before he died. The boy seems ready to follow in his father’s footsteps. It’s very sad. Twelve thousand a year at the least.”
“But are there not some farms still unlet?”
“There are three; but that would only make a difference of a thousand a year. I’m not sure that Dunning did his best in the matter of the big farm—Birchknowle. But the trustees thought no end of Dunning, and you may be sure that when they couldn’t see through him the young man won’t either. Dunning is a muddler if ever there was one. Wouldn’t allow Brigstock the year’s rent that he wanted when he was going in for market gardening. A man could make a fortune off a market garden at Birchknowle, since they brought the branch line there—a fortune. I told Dunning so; and I told Brigstock the same. And so they’ve lost a couple of thousand pounds to the estate when the year’s rent that Brigstock looked for only came to three hundred! Dunning’s a muddler.”