They watched a few more merchants straggle up, and the clerk added up the final total.
As Mr Follet stood laboriously once again, Elizabeth noticed another pair riding into town.
"Oh, this should be… interesting. I wonder if Mr Wickham's day is about to get even worse… though to be fair, the tar and feathers are not a fait accompli just yet. It has rarely been used in this century, and it is more of a mob tactic than legal justice."
"What do you mean," she asked, not able to see the riders from her vantage point.
"That is Mr Darcy. Nobody likes him much, and he once boasted to me that his good opinion, once lost was lost forever. Mr Wickham has said some very uncomplimentary things about that gentleman, and I suspect his last hope of any sort of reprieve just evaporated like a puff of smoke."
Her companion gasped, and stammered, "Mr Darcy… Can… can… can he see us?"
Elizabeth noticed she looked pale. Considering she had shrugged off tar and feathers without batting an eye, she wondered if there was a second Derbyshire man on her disapprobation list and wondered what Mr Darcy had done to discompose her.
She replied calmly. "Be easy. He cannot see or hear us if we remain quiet."
Her companion breathed a sigh of relief and came across to join Elizabeth on her side of the window just in time to see Mr Darcy descend from his horse just as Mr Follet laboriously turned toward him with a questioning look.
She idly asked, "Why does nobody like him?"
"Because he is arrogant, conceited, rude, above his company, and generally disagreeable. He slighted me before we were even introduced by calling me not handsome enough to tempt him to dance, he asserted I was slighted by other men, just because I sat out a dance to give other ladies a chance for the partners. Beyond that, we have quarrelled just about every time we met since. I was stuck with him at Netherfield taking care of my sister for the four longest and most uncomfortable days of my life, and with a family like mine, that is saying something."
"Sounds abominable," she agreed somewhat shakily.
"I suppose the men probably find him an adequate companion, and his friend, Miss Bingley practically slavers in his presence, but I would just as soon never lay eyes on him again."
Then she paused a few seconds, but felt compelled to add, "To be fair, an hour ago I thought him selfish, arrogant, above his company, rude and dishonourable, but I now realize it was Mr Wickham's words painting him as dishonourable, so I suppose I must remove the last adjective from that list."
With a snort, her companion stated, "Not much of an improvement!"
Elizabeth chuckled, wondering whatever possessed her to speak so forthcoming with a complete stranger. She supposed that once you have discussed tar and feathers, and learned the girls was most likely some sort of avenging angel—minor gossip about a man neither of them was likely to ever see again was not very much worse.
Elizabeth considered introducing herself and asking for the same in return, but then thought better. They were doing well enough as they were, and it was time to let one story finish before she considered starting another.
During their discussion, the two Netherfield gentlemen had dismounted and joined the crowd.
Mr Bingley stepped up. "Mr Follet, I hate to interrupt your proceedings, but may I introduce you to my good friend, Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."
"A pleasure, Mr Darcy," the magistrate said, and shook his head at Wickham who looked even more frightened than before.
Before Mr Darcy could answer, Mr Follet turned back towards Wickham, and stumbled.
Mr Darcy, to his credit, moved like lightning and prevented the magistrate from falling to the ground (which would have reduced the dignity of the proceeding considerably). He restored the man to his feet then let go.
"I thank you sir. The gout is about to do me in."
"Too much meat —" Mr Darcy replied, and Elizabeth gasped and stared at her companion, who was quite busily looking anywhere but at her.
Much to Elizabeth's surprise, Mr Darcy sounded both serious and almost jovial as he continued.
"Gout is called 'the disease of kings and gentlemen'. My uncle, the Earl of Matlock, 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. A change in diet was all my uncle required to improve. Now his gout is much better, but he can hardly hold his head up in Parliament after admitting an Indian physician is superior to an Englishman."
Elizabeth stared at her companion, feeling all the suspicion in the world, and wondering if she should throw her from the office forthwith.
She stared at her for a moment, but the girl was still not meeting her eyes, and with a sigh, she turned back to the tableau in front of her.
Mr Follet asked, "Do you know this man?"
"I do, and I will assert he is right where he should have been long ago, much to my chagrin."
"I suppose that means you have no intention of defending him?"
"To the contrary, I have protected and supported him for years out of a misguided sense of loyalty to my father, who was his godfather. Meryton was to be his very last chance of reform, but I suppose he has failed miserably."
Mr Follet pointed past Mr Bingley to the three boys returning with their various bags, buckets, and braziers. "Those boys have tar and feathers in mind, and I am presently inclined to allow them their sport."
"You will have no objection from me, and since I was somewhat obliged to warn the townsfolk about him, I will repay half of his debts for anything save vice."
"You do not consider the tavern vice?" Mr Sims asked loudly.
Darcy looked at him sternly. "I do, Mr Sims. Loaning money to men for drink is pure recklessness, and I will not be a part of it."
"Good for him," Elizabeth said absently.
"Why?"
"Because he is right, for once in his life."
Mr Darcy had said it loud enough to be heard, but he added another warning in a voice loud and stern enough to compete with the blacksmith.
"This man is a profligate liar as well as cheater. When his long overdue punishment begins, he will slander everyone he has ever heard of. He will claim he compromised your sister, my sister, your maiden aunt, Queen Charlotte—anyone and everyone. It is good to remember that if his lips move, he is lying. I will expend every effort to protect anyone so slandered, but you would all be best advised to simply ignore anything he says, and you certainly should not repeat it."
Mr Follet said, "Oh, his lips will be far to busy to be spreading slander, but just in case, I propose I deliver judgement so these boys can get on with their work."
He looked around at the onlookers who seemed quite ready to enjoy the sight of torture. "Which shall proceed in a more private setting. We are not a mob!"
He nodded to Tom. "Master Kendall, take the prisoner somewhere more private and I will be along directly to supervise. Do not begin without me."
He turned to the rest of the onlookers. "I am certain the rest of you have other business to attend. I will give my list to Mr Darcy, and he will repay all or none of what you foolishly lent this scoundrel as he chooses. You may want to consider the other officers' solvency as well. I doubt he will be willing to bail out your imprudence a second time."
With that, he turned and hobbled off towards the blacksmith shop, while Mr Darcy unaccountably walked over to just in front of their window, apparently not that interested in witnessing Mr Wickham's punishment.