While Tom had been chasing the miscreant, which nobody paid much attention to since it was a contest as exciting as sending a tiger after a kitten, more people had entered the street. Elizabeth examined the crowd, happy to still be invisible, and noticed more and more were coming out holding papers.
She noticed a small murmur as some in the crowd moved aside for a man of about fifty who hobbled in leaning heavily on a cane.
"I suspect Mr Wickham's day is about to progress from bad to worse. That is Mr Follet, the magistrate."
"Why is he limping?" her companion asked.
Elizabeth suspected the question was either a sign that she had some curiosity beyond Mr Wickham, or more likely she just wanted to know precisely why the man's day was about to get worse. She was feeling more and more foolish over her early championing of the soldier just because he was charming and polite while Mr Darcy was demeaning and rude—and once again doubly happy she had never mentioned his supposed troubles to her mother or sisters.
"He suffers fiercely from gout," she replied.
"Too much meat —" the girl muttered.
"Pardon me," Elizabeth said, not quite having heard or understood.
"Gout is called 'the disease of kings and gentlemen'," the girl said in a lecturing governess' sort of voice, then continued more calmly. "My uncle suffered terribly from it until he consulted an Indian physician. He claims it is too much meat and alcohol, and not enough vegetables and water. I do not know if he is right, but a change in diet was all my uncle required to improve. Now his gout is much better, though he must live with the embarrassment of admitting that an Indian physician was right while his English compatriots were wrong."
Elizabeth smiled at the longest and most interesting speech she had gotten out of her erstwhile companion and determined she would try to know her better if possible. From the girl's dress, it seemed clear she was not gently born, but having an uncle who consulted Indian physicians suggested otherwise. A glance at her hands showed she was no servant. She seemed entirely middle class—perhaps the daughter of a tradesman, since she knew perfectly well her Uncle Gardiner could consult any physician he wanted. Her speech had a familiar cadence, though she could not place it. It was neither servant's cant, nor the waspish tone the ton espoused. Though younger than Elizabeth, she was taller and blonder, more like Jane, and quite handsome if she was truthful.
Elizabeth briefly considered proper introductions, but doubted her companion was quite ready, and besides that, Mr Follet was leaning down and handing some small coins from his pocket to two young boys who took off running down the street towards the tavern.
She wondered what they were about, but it only took a moment to find out as the magistrate started talking to the knot of people before the boys came back dragging a small table while another dragged a chair and set them up right in the middle of the lane.
"Mr Follet is generally considered a good magistrate, and he likes to get things over and done with. It looks like he is planning to do a full investigation right here and now."
"I never heard of such a thing—but then, I never would have," her companion said.
Elizabeth wondered if that was because she was of a class where she was not very involved with the local villages. That supposition conflicted with her professed interest in gossip, so Elizabeth was about half-certain the girl had some interest in this specific transaction, despite her earlier assertions to the contrary. The fact that she knew nothing about how magistrates worked was no surprise, as most girls of her age, and in fact, most women in general did not.
Mr Follet sat down heavily at a table, followed by another man who sat in a different chair and brought out a sheet of paper.
"I believe that is Mr Follet's clerk. It seems likely they are planning to do a full accounting."
"That is far more than I expected —" her companion muttered under her breath, given even more credence to Elizabeth's supposition that she was more heavily vested in the outcome than indicated.
She wondered about the girl, but then a disquieting thought occurred to her. Mr Wickham was charm itself, charm personified in fact. A man did not get that charming without practice, and she began to wonder who he practiced on. She did not actually know what rogues and rakes did in any detail, but she had read enough to know they mostly preyed on the vulnerable. Servants were in the worst positions, though governesses were not much better. She had no idea how the middle or lower class girls comported themselves but had to assume that at least some of them were as silly as her own younger sisters. Since she herself had been susceptible to the man's charms, a younger and even more sheltered girl might be even worse.
Perhaps, she thought, her companion was one of his victims.
A noise from outside interrupted their conversation, which Elizabeth thought might be for the best, because she felt like she had to be cautious in her approach.
The shopkeepers were being chivvied into some sort of line by the clerk, when Mr Wickham tried once again to protest his treatment, and assert his innocence. He did not get far before Tom Kendall returned to stuff the rag into his mouth, grumbling, "I will not tie this thing in this time, but —" and left the man with the vague threat.