The man took a moment to collect his thoughts before finally speaking. "I require assistance," he declared. "Those rioters seek me too. I have been safeguarding Mr. Witting from their clutches this while past, and certainly don't wish to face the ultimate penalty for my interference."

Mr. Darcy nodded in agreement, his countenance stern but resolute. "Should you take us to where Mr. Witting is, I shall offer whatever protection I can muster for your safety."

The man scrutinised the gentleman before him with suspicion, yet eventually yielded with a nod of assent. "Very well then, follow me."

Elizabeth felt her heart flutter as she and Mr. Darcy set off at the strange man's behest, trudging across the grounds of Netherfield until they reached the woodlands beyond it. She glanced anxiously left and right as they ventured onwards.

The man leading them through the woods would intermittently give furtive glances behind him, as if he was being pursued. Mr. Darcy seemed unhurried, his countenance exuding vigilance and assurance, which comforted Elizabeth.

As they advanced into the forest, her trepidation grew more intense until it felt palpable amongst them. Suddenly, a shocking sensation jolted her when a hand closed upon her shoulder from behind. Her wide eyes met those of Jane and Bingley, faces flushed from running to keep up with them. Jane had stumbled on a branch and escaped falling only by reaching out with an arm to grasp onto Elizabeth's shoulder for support. Elizabeth's relief was tangible, and she unconsciously edged closer to Mr. Darcy, who covered her hand on his arm with her own.

"I will protect you, Elizabeth," he whispered softly whilst they continued their walk. His nearness and tender words sent chills down her spine.

She nodded, believing that what he said was true.

The surrounding trees seemed to close in more and more with each step, a chill settling over them both. Elizabeth desperately clutched at her cloak, seeking warmth from the cold air; Mr. Darcy's step never wavered, his manner dignified and composed. At last, the man leading them halted abruptly and turned to face them.

"We are arrived," he said.

The others looked around in confusion, but then Elizabeth spotted a small structure in the distance, falling down with age. As they drew closer, she could see that it was slightly larger than a shack, with vines growing over it and broken slats of wood siding hanging from the roof.

The man rushed them inside and Elizabeth stood stunned at the sight before her. Mr. Witting lay motionless on a mound of ragged blankets, his face pale and gaunt, bearing the signs of deep suffering. Sarah knelt beside him, tears flowing down her cheeks as she battled to staunch the bleeding from a deep gash in his forehead. He remained still and silent, mercifully unconscious, as the searing pain of the wound would have been unbearable if he had been awake. Mr. Darcy swiftly hastened over to Mr. Witting and fell to his knees, his eyes quickly darting back and forth across the man's body as he assessed Witting's injuries. The air was filled with an eerie sense of urgency as he ran his hands over Witting, then stood abruptly, his face set in a grim mask. "He needs a doctor," he said firmly, almost growling the words, "and quickly."

Sarah wiped her eyes and stood up, her expression one of determination. "I shall go fetch the doctor," she announced, before quickly turning and exiting the shack.

The man who had brought them there looked conflicted, and his glance darted between them and Sarah before he said, "I cannot let her go alone." and dashed out after her.

"He needs more blankets," said Jane, noticing how the man shivered.

"There is a small stable," Mr. Bingley replied. "There might be horse blankets."

The silence between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy was palpable after the affianced couple had left to search for the blankets.

Elizabeth's heart surged with emotion as she felt the tension radiating off of Mr. Darcy. She observed the turmoil coursing through him as his gaze wandered in search of clarity. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, turning him to meet her eyes.

"We'll be able to move him somewhere safer once the doctor arrives." Her voice was filled with conviction, and he nodded slowly in agreement.

As they waited for the doctor, Mr. Darcy paced around the room, his mind racing and his fists clenched at his sides. Elizabeth could sense his distress and moved to stand beside him, offering her support.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Mr. Darcy?" she asked softly.

He turned to face her, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. "Thank you, Elizabeth. Your presence alone is a comfort to me."

Without thinking, she reached out and placed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her palm. She could see the surprise in his widened eyes, but he didn't shy away from her touch; instead, he leaned into it. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

Suddenly, Mr. Witting stirred and let out a low groan, jolting them out of the intimate moment. Mr. Darcy leaned in closer, his voice soft but commanding as he asked, "Can you hear me, Mr. Witting? You are safe now. We will get you the help you need."

The injured man's eyes flickered open, and he looked bewildered, as if he knew not where he was or what had happened to him. Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy, knowing that the man had been through a harrowing ordeal. Mr. Witting's breathing was laboured, and his eyes were unfocused. Elizabeth could see the pain etched on his face, and her heart ached for him. Mr. Darcy glanced at her, his eyes full of concern, and then back to Mr. Witting. With a quick nod, he stood up straight and turned to face the others.

"Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Witting asked, confused.

Mr. Darcy placed a gentle hand on Mr. Witting's shoulder, looking him straight in the eye. "You are safe, but you must see a doctor without delay."

A look of apprehension swept over Mr. Witting's face, as he comprehended the seriousness of his situation. "My Sarah?" he murmured fearfully.

"She has gone for the physician," soothed Miss Elizabeth, placing her cool hand on his brow. His eyes fluttered shut momentarily before reopening, and he gazed up at Mr. Darcy with heightened admiration in his look.

"Thank you, sir," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I owe you my life."

"It was not us," said Mr. Darcy, his expression grave. "Someone led us to you. He went with Sarah."

When the doctor finally made it to their location, Mr. Darcy gave a curt nod and moved aside to allow the physician to tend to Witting's injuries. Elizabeth watched as the doctor worked on the injured man with skilled hands, a sense of gratitude and relief flooding over her.

A few moments later, Sarah and the mysterious man entered the shack as well. They stood well away from the others, uncertain as to their welcome.

"I believe introductions are in order." Bingley's sudden statement to the mysterious man startled Elizabeth, who had been unaware of Jane and him returning.

"My name is Arthur Ravencroft. I am Sarah's elder brother, well, one of them," the man replied with a bow.

Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Ravencroft. "Do you know who did this to Mr. Witting?" he asked, his voice cold and controlled.

"I did it myself, foolish man that I am," Mr. Witting said softly.

All eyes turned to the injured man, but the doctor requested that he keep silent.

"Do you have an explanation?" Mr. Darcy asked Mr. Ravencroft.

Arthur hesitated before speaking. ""Have you an explanation?" Mr. Darcy asked Mr. Ravencroft.

Arthur hesitated.

"You must tell them Archie," said Sarah, using her pet name for her brother. "Tell them what you told me this morning."

"Luddites, they have some grievances against the manufacturers in the north and feel they must take matters into their own hands," Mr. Ravencroft began nervously.

"Luddites, they have some grievances against the manufacturers in the north and feel they must take matters into their own hands."

Elizabeth gasped at this dark revelation. She had heard of them and their violent protests, but had never imagined anyone she knew would be associated with them. They had become more prominent in recent months and seemed determined to stop all progress through force if necessary. But what could have led this man to join them?

Mr. Darcy's face hardened as he questioned Mr. Ravencroft further about his involvement. "So, how did you come to be entangled with this group?"

Arthur hung his head for a moment before speaking again. "I was an unwilling participant at first - I only wanted to help my family out financially."

Arthur's story unfolded slowly as he told of how he had got involved with the Luddites by taking a loan from a friend when the wages were first cut at the mill, but then he failed to pay back the money on time, which left him trapped in a spiral of debt and unhappiness from which he felt there was no escape until he was approached by his friend, who proposed that if he joined them they would forgive his debt and give him an opportunity to improve himself through the activities of a group of reformists. At first, Arthur was hesitant to become involved, but eventually, he allowed himself to be convinced. "Little did I know, however, that this group was, in fact, part of a larger Luddite movement, one that wanted to do far more than protest over the machines," he explained.

As time went by, Arthur became increasingly aware of the more radical plans being hatched by his new associates. He began to question their intentions and began to look for a way out of his involvement with them. Unfortunately, he was already too deeply involved before he realised the true nature of their goals and by then it was too late for him to escape unscathed from their machinations. He tried desperately to dissuade them from going ahead with potentially violent acts, but they refused to listen.

"I think when they found Mr. Witting and believed they had killed him, they thought to get me even deeper involved by having me dispose of the body. I would have agreed, too. I did, actually, but Witting wasn't dead. When I found that he was alive, I concealed him, the only place where I knew he would be safe: in the rag room. No one likes to go in there, since the stench is terrible. There is one boy who sorts rags, but a few extra shillings kept him silent. Then I learned who he was when Sarah told me that Mr. Darcy's valet was missing. I knew I was in great trouble then, for I could not back out without everyone thinking I had done this to him. I meant to put Witting on a ship to America after he had a few says to heal. It was to leave yesterday morning, but he again injured himself trying to escape and I did not believe he would survive the journey. I could not condemn him to death, so I took him and hid him here, and went to you so you could help him."

"He tells the truth," said Mr. Witting, but then the doctor reminded him that he ought to be silent.

Then, having already interrupted, the doctor then proceeded to inform the group of the extent of Mr. Witting's injuries. He had sustained multiple fractures, cuts and bruises, but more alarmingly, he had also suffered a severe head injury, which caused him to lose consciousness periodically and suffer from memory loss. As such, it was imperative that he be moved with extreme care for fear of exacerbating his condition further.

The doctor suggested that a number of pillows and blankets should be placed over a sturdy wooden pallet to protect Mr. Witting during transport, while also supporting his body in an upright position to minimise compression on internal organs. The physician proposed using one of Netherfield's carriages, which could be outfitted with additional padding and supports necessary for the journey should they choose this option; otherwise, they would need to hire a sedan chair or another type of conveyance.

"Of course," said Mr. Bingley. "We will send a carriage immediately."

He made to leave, but the doctor stopped him. "Whatever you send, it must be well sprung, if at all possible. We do not wish him to be jolted about and bring many pillows and blankets."

"I can help with pillows and blankets," said Sarah eagerly.

Mr. Witting turned towards her voice and smiled. "Sarah," he said, an odd smile on his face.

"I gave him some pain medicine, so don't mind him too much, Miss," said the doctor.

Witting turned towards Arthur and said, "Everyone is drugging me lately."

"Keep silent," reminded the doctor.

Sarah, Mr. Ravencroft, and Mr. Bingley left to fetch the needed items, despite Mr. Witting's protests that he wished Sarah to remain. They were not gone long, and when they returned, there was a number of servants with them to assist, along with all the supplies the doctor had requested.

As the group made preparations for Mr. Witting's transfer, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Arthur Ravencroft. She knew people were willing to go to lengths they normally would not when they felt trapped and helpless and that he had been in an impossible situation. However, she could not fully condone his actions - after all, Mr. Witting had nearly been killed. Even though he had tried to protect Witting, he had gone about it very wrongly.

"I will accompany Mr. Witting and the doctor in the carriage," said Mr. Darcy after Mr. Witting was secure in his makeshift bed, his tone leaving no room for questioning. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat. The thought of him leaving left a strange ache in her chest. What was she to do now? Just go back to Longbourn and wait to hear news?

"I've sent word back to Longbourn," came Mr. Bingley's voice as he spoke to Jane. "Your mother says your father will not be able to spare the carriage until near dusk. You shall have to return with us to Netherfield."

Both Bennet sisters were glad for this news, as they had no wish to be excluded from the happenings. For once, she was quite grateful that her mother was scheming to ensure her daughters spent time with single gentlemen.