Elizabeth's escape was almost complete, and almost perfect, and she thought she might have gotten away entirely unscathed—until she bowled over a shopgirl who was hiding at the corner, peeking out at the altercation. After that, she thought it might be best to give up any boasting rights, as both her and the hapless young victim ended up spitting mud in the alley.
Instantly mortified worse than when her mother and sisters went into full flower, Elizabeth started apologizing earnestly and profusely enough to match her cousin, Mr Collins. She thought she was at least making a good go of that, except the young girl ignored her as if she did not exist. She jumped up and instantly ran back to the corner to peek around, saying, "Yes, yes, we can do apologies later, but I MUST see this! You are entirely forgiven."
Elizabeth thought that perhaps the girl found potential gossip to be more important than the state of her clothing and any possible injuries, but she had to ruefully admit that if her own sisters had to choose between losing a limb and missing some gossip, she was not entirely certain how they would decide.
Suitably chastened, and still very curious herself, she jumped back up to join the young girl in peeking around the corner.
In the lane, Mr Kendall and Mr Wickham had come closer together and she got the impression of a pair of bears facing off ready to tumble.
She spared a glance at her new companion and noted that she was a stranger. She was dressed like a shopgirl or modest tradesman's daughter—above a servant but below a gentlewoman. She seemed somewhere about Kitty or Lydia's age, and just about as interested in gossip, which was hardly surprising. This was shaping up to be the most excitement Meryton had seen in years.
She whispered, "Have you any particular interest in this altercation?"
Her companion stared at her a moment in apparent confusion, but finally replied, "No, but I should like to see the outcome."
Elizabeth doubted the sincerity of the assertion, but thought she at least owed the girl some restitution for bowling her over so violently.
"Come with me," she said, then grabbed the girl's hand and dragged her bodily down the narrow alley.
Her companion was apparently not expecting it, so she went along willingly enough, though who knew for how long. Elizabeth opened a door quickly, said, "In you go!" gave her a slight shove in the back, then followed her inside.
She could see the girl eyeing the door as if to make a run for it. "You may trust me. This is my uncle's office, but I happen to know he is at Lucas Lodge, so we shall have the best seats in the house."
Then, feeling like she was missing entirely too much herself, she grabbed her companion's hand and dragged her bodily though the back office where her uncle's clerk usually worked, into his law office, and over to the front window.
With that, she released her companion, knelt behind the curtain, and carefully pried open the window enough to hear.
With a grin, she held her finger to her lips for silence, and took up station on one side of the curtain, while her companion scrambled to the other. The two men were still facing off a dozen or so yards in front of them, with Mr Kendall becoming more and more vexed.
"If you do not have the funds on you right this moment, I shall accompany you to wherever they are. Your account is well past due!"
The other side of the street was filling up with more spectators, and then Elizabeth watched as one man broke free of the crowd to join Mr Kendall.
Since she had no idea who her companion was, (and with ladies' reputations being as vulnerable as they were she probably should not), she decided to just carry on and worry about introductions later (or never).
"That is Mr Gulliver, the owner of the haberdashery."
Mr Gulliver stepped up waving a paper that looked like a bill. "How about this account, Mr Wickham? I shall have payment if you please. If you do not have it all, I shall take what you have on you."
Mr Kendall grumbled at Mr Gulliver, but the man was not to be silenced.
Mr Wickham was starting to look cornered, and Elizabeth was simultaneously happy that she had escaped the drama, and extremely vexed that she had been with the man when it started. It was clear that something was not at all right about Mr Wickham, though she did not know what. The most astonishing question appeared in her mind. Why did Mr Wickham, a man who did not own a horse, owe the blacksmith money?
Her companion sighed somewhat dreamily, "This should be good."
Mr Kendall asked Mr Gulliver, "Did you have a visitor as well."
"Young boy of maybe sixteen?"
"That's the one!"
With that, the two men turned back to their adversary who had been slowly edging his way away from the altercation, when another man stepped out of the crowd.
Elizabeth automatically whispered, "Mr Sims owns the tavern… I think," belatedly realizing that was not something a gently bred woman should really be discussing.
"I imagine his bill will be substantial," her companion said, much to Elizabeth's curiosity and amusement.
The three men were waving around what were apparently vowels and comparing notes.
Elizabeth asked again, "Do you have any specific interest in this matter?"
The girl looked at her cautiously. "I like gossip as well as the next person," and Elizabeth had to be satisfied (for the moment).
Just as the three men put their heads together, another stalked out of the tearoom with his own paper, and Elizabeth observed, "That messenger seems to have been busy."
"Apparently," the girl said with a giggle.
They took their attention away from the spectacle to size each other up, and just as they might have said something they heard a gasp go up from the crowd, as Mr Wickham took off at a dead run.
Her companion gasped in what could easily pass for consternation. "He is getting away!"
Elizabeth joined her concern as did most of the crowd. A few started moving toward the altercation as if to give chase, but they all paused when Mr Kendall put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistled loud enough to raise the dead.
Elizabeth and her companion belatedly covered their ears, but it was too late.
They saw a burly youth of about sixteen come jogging up, wearing leathers like the blacksmith.
Elizabeth spoke quietly and found that her hearing had not been damaged by Mr Kendall's whistle. "Well, that contest is over."
"What do you mean," the girl asked, her voice indicating more than a passing interest in the outcome.
"That is Tom Kendall. I am fairly certain he can outrun a horse over a short distance. An officer is hardly worth his bother."
True to her prediction, Mr Kendall lazily waved in the direction Mr Wickham ran and Tom took off as if fired from a canon.
Elizabeth was amused to hear her companion gasp, and turned her attention back to the street, which was rapidly filling up with nearly everyone in Meryton. She ruefully thought about how fate placed her, the second-least-gossip-prone Bennet, as the one with the whip hand, since all the other Bennet ladies were at Longbourn.
Two more men stepped forward carrying papers, and she idly observed, "Mr Ramsbury and Mr Sempill—tailor and bootmaker."
She was just about to interrogate her companion more assertively when the crowd became noisier.
They both turned their attention back outside in time to see Tom Kendal leading a subdued Mr Wickham back by the ear like a naughty boy. Naturally, she could also see evidence that Mr Wickham had not come quite voluntarily, and furthermore, that he might not be quite so handsome and charming in future. She was not certain he had brought all his teeth back, and he did not have the type of face that was improved by a broken nose or black eye.
Master Kendall dragged the man up to a signpost that happened to be across the street in a good vantage point both for their window and the crowd. He pulled out a leather string from his apron, pushed Mr Wickham against the post, and tied his hands behind him, though it seemed unlikely the man would make another break.
"This is all a misunderstand…" the man continued to protest until Tom pulled out a rather filthy looking rag and held it up in front of his face with the obvious threat it could end up in his mouth, at which point he was silent, at least for the moment.
"That should shut him up for once," her companion said, indicating more than a passing familiarity with the officer, as Elizabeth had suspected.
"You sound like you know him?" she asked tentatively.
"I know of him," her companion said emphatically.
It seemed obvious she was not likely to be more forthcoming, so Elizabeth returned her attention to the street.