A few moments more saw all the shopkeepers talking among themselves as the clerk calmly wrote down their names and amounts on a ledger, loudly saying the names, the amount, and the running total as he went.
A collective gasp went up from the crowd when the total exceeded a month's salary for a lieutenant. A louder one followed when it exceeded two and then three, and the line was still not exhausted.
Elizabeth was astonished, and the frown on Mr Follet's face became grimmer and grimmer, though whether that was due to consternation or increasing pain from his gout was unclear. For that matter, she wondered if he was distressed by the dishonesty of Mr Wickham, or the naivete of the shopkeepers.
She heard her companion muttering to herself, but she only understood broken phrases—now they understand… he won't get away this time… the mask is off… and similar sentiments. She concluded that her companion had vastly understated her interest in the affair, and she felt a dawning suspicion that the girl had not been the slightest bit surprised by descriptions of the boy who had acted as the town crier.
Colonel Forster appeared around the time the man's debts exceeded three months and bellowed in what he no doubt considered an authoritative manner, "What is the meaning of this?"
Mr Follet practically snarled, "The MEANING, sir, is that you have a scoundrel in our midst, who is under your command. There seems to be an open question of just how much of a scoundrel he is. Have you some idea of interfering?"
The colonel looked around at the townspeople who were staring at him in revulsion, and obviously concluded prudence was the better part of valour.
"I shall allow you first crack at him, though he will be subject to military discipline after that."
"YES," Elizabeth's companion hissed, which made her suspect that she had some vague idea of what 'military discipline' encompassed. Since the navy routinely impressed men who were guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, she thought his true military career might begin sooner than the man had hoped, and it would not necessarily be a plum assignment.
Another officer, Captain Denny Elizabeth thought, stepped up and said, "What about debts of honour, sir. We have vowels from the man as well."
Mr Follet looked like he would spit on the ground if women were not present, but he settled for laboriously dragging himself to his feet, leaning his knuckles on the table menacingly, and speaking as emphatically as an Old Testament prophet.
"Never was there a more inappropriately named encumbrance. So called debts of honour are nothing more than men engaged in inherently dishonourable activity while being unwilling to even follow their own rules. In the unlikely case there is anything left after all these good people, I may consider it, but you should not anticipate a good outcome, and quite frankly, any man foolhardy enough to both gamble and take a marker from a loser deserves what he gets."
"But, but, but…" the man kept asking.
Mr Follet bellowed, "Begone, you little pipsqueak. Consider this a valuable lesson in life."
Colonel Forster looked like he might have an apoplexy right on the spot, but wisely refrained from challenging a magistrate with ultimate authority, a bad temper, and a considerable amount of pain.
Elizabeth laughed slightly, and she had to think that having the officers called 'pipsqueaks' by a man who could barely walk a dozen yards might just take some of their shine off for her sisters. At least, she hoped rather than expected it would.
A moment later, Elizabeth's eye caught another group, and she gasped, "OH MY… I suspect his day is about to get even worse?"
"How so?" her companion asked with obvious excitement in her voice.
"See those boys conferring with Tom," but then slowed down when her friend (was she a friend?), looked confused, so she added, "the blacksmith's son who runs like the wind."
Her companion nodded enthusiastically and twisted herself around to see the boys in question, but they were too far to the right, so Elizabeth pulled her companion over to her side of the window to get a look.
"I see them."
"I do not know their names, but unless I am very mistaken, those are the sons of the blacksmith, the roofer, and the butcher. I suspect things are about to get very uncomfortable for Mr Wickham."
"What do you mean?" her companion asked. She looked quite puzzled, and Elizabeth thought that to be probably a good thing, since failing to make the association quickly indicated a level of innocence that was appealing.
"Unless Mr Follet takes pity on him, or Colonel Forster tries to pull rank, I suspect we are about to get a demonstration of tar and feathers."
The girl gasped, and Elizabeth watched her carefully to see if the fact that he was receiving his just deserts, perhaps at her instigation, was going to bother her. After a few minutes, she suspected that the man had done something very bad, either to the girl or someone close to her, because she did not flinch for an instant.
The younger thought about for a minute, and then straightened her back. "Good! He is long past due."
The fact that she could so nonchalantly shrug off what was likely to be an extremely painful procedure, indicated she either had no idea of how terrible it would be, or she did not care. Elizabeth had, of course, never witnessed such a spectacle, nor was she likely to as the magistrate would no doubt do it in private, if he allowed it at all—but it was a frightening thing. Tar and feathers hurt like the devil going on, and again coming off (eventually). Extreme pain was a given, survival was not.
They turned back just in time to see the boys run off in different directions, no doubt looking for their ingredients.