As Mr. Witting walked back towards Netherfield, he could not help but replay the conversation with Sarah in his mind. She had agreed. By God, she had agreed. Now he had only to hope that the carriage would be available on Saturday, or whenever it was that she had her next half day.
He veered off from the main path, seeking solitude to indulge in his pleasant daydreams, and followed the footpath meandering through the woods. Despite the encroaching darkness, he had a lantern. Even had he forgotten it, he wasn't afraid of the woodland creatures. They were all much more frightened of him than the reverse. The days of rain had left the path damp, but the pleasant evening air made it an enjoyable walk, nonetheless.
The sound of an owl calling out caught his attention, its unique voice echoing through the night. The sound of scampering filled the air as the smaller creatures frantically raced towards their nests and burrows, seeking safety from the talons of the hunter. A second hoot pierced the silence, but it was a poor imitation of an owl's call. Witting's heart raced as he heard a man's hoot coming from nearby, unsure of what was happening.
The sound of footsteps approaching made him step off the path and into the trees, the silence of the forest broken only by the rustling of leaves. He put out his lantern a second later, realising the light would give him away. He felt relieved that he had done so, since the men were closer than he had anticipated. Three people walked together, their faces obscured by scarves, and dressed in dark clothes, blending into the shadows of the forest. Once they had passed, he followed, curious. They were most likely either poachers or birders, searching for the owl or its prey. Despite his efforts, he couldn't shake the feeling that something more was happening, especially after the conversation at the inn.
He ducked behind cover twice more to avoid detection, as even more men joined the group. Just like the others, their faces were hidden, and they were all wearing dark clothing. His curiosity and caution grew with each new arrival. These people were more than just poachers.
He continued to pursue the last group he had observed, trying to be as quiet as possible. Each step seemed to pierce the silence like a scream in the night. He was certain he would be found out any moment, but no such occurrence came about. They arrived at a clearing in the woods and joined several dozen of their fellows. Witting found a hiding place nearby, and the thicket provided a prickly cover to hide behind. He surveyed the men from his hiding spot and concluded that he was well-concealed from their sight. Though his jacket had torn while concealing himself in the thicket, he considered it a small sacrifice for the chance to uncover something intriguing.
He observed the men as they chatted and moved about until one broke away from the crowd and began addressing the others,
"My fellow working men of Hertfordshire: We stand here today, united in spirit and in purpose. Our purpose is to fight against the tyranny of those who are taking our livelihoods and take back the power and security that has been taken from us. Hertfordshire's workers have suffered long enough from exploitation and injustice. Despite our hard work and dedication, we have been compelled to accept wages that are lower than what we deserve. The reward for our long hours of work is far from adequate. Now even that little reward has been taken from us as we are replaced with these lifeless workers."
"This is not a sustainable situation, and it cannot be tolerated any longer. It's time for us to rise up and combat this oppression, and take back what's rightfully ours. The sight of our fellow workers being replaced by machines is all too common in our area, as wealthy businessmen seek to maximise profits. They have done this for their own selfish gain, and it has been to the detriment of us all."
"We cannot let this continue. We must stand together and fight back. We must reclaim our rightful place in this world and take back the dignity and respect that is denied us. We have seen what has happened in other parts of England, where Luddites have stood up and destroyed the machines that were taking away their livelihoods. We have watched the French as they have taken back what was theirs and given themselves the power to make their own decisions, and live the lives that they choose. It is now our turn. We must destroy the machines that have stolen our livelihoods. We must unite with our fellow citizens across the nation and march towards London, demanding that our right to reclaim our livelihoods is recognised by the Prime Minister. If he does not lend his aid to our cause, we must be rid of him and install someone who will represent the common man. We will stand together, united in purpose. We will raise our voices and insist on being heard, demanding respect."
"All across the nation, others are meeting as we are, our brothers united with us. On the thirtieth, when the moon is at its fullest, we shall act. We shall not delay longer than necessary."
A general murmuring began, and several men asked questions. They were all told to bring what weapons they could, for they would need them. If they had no weapons, torches, large sticks, and whips could be used as such. Not one voice expressed dissent, but perhaps any with qualms would fear speaking in such a crowd. With the general plan in place, the people turned their attention to the details, like transportation and other logistics.
Witting watched nervously as they began to depart, hoping his hiding spot would keep him concealed. He was caught off guard when a man emerged and pulled him out of hiding, tackling him to the ground.
The pounding on the heavy oak door of Longbourn Manor was insistent and unceasing. It echoed through the house, shaking the walls and floorboards, jolting the Bennet family out of their beds.
Mrs. Bennet was the first to rise, quickly throwing on her robe and slippers before racing to the stairs. Her footsteps echoed through the empty hallway as she took the stairs two at a time, heart racing with fear. Her husband, Mr. Bennet, was right behind her, a heavy frown on his face. The door was thrown open and a servant from Netherfield stood there, red-faced and panting frantically.
"Please, sir! Please, you must come quickly!" the servant cried out. "The barns at Netherfield are on fire!"
Mrs. Bennet's eyes widened, and she let out a sharp gasp, her hand flying to her chest. Mr. Bennet's calm demeanour remained unchanged despite the news, with only a slight clenching of his jaw showing any reaction.
"Where is Mr. Bingley?" he asked.
"He is fighting the fires with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst. They need more hands! Please, sir, can you help us?"
Mr. Bennet nodded and moved to the stairs, calling for his daughters to wake. He did not wait for them to dress, but quickly threw on his coat and hat and dashed out into the night, the servant following close behind.
In the moments that followed, the five young girls hurriedly dressed and followed after their father, the urgency of the situation pushing them into a frenzy. They ran through the woods, their breaths ragged and their hearts pounding, spurred on by the fear and desperation that drove them.
When they arrived, the scene was a chaotic one. Flames licked at the walls of the structures, threatening to consume the buildings entirely. The sound of frantic hooves filled the air as men and horses worked to salvage what they could from the burning barns.
Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Hurst were struggling valiantly to organise all of the chaos, but it seemed almost impossible. The heat was intense, and smoke filled the air making it difficult to breathe and casting an eerie orange glow over everything. People shouted instructions over each other in a desperate attempt to save what they could as buckets of water were passed from hand to hand.
The Bennets immediately joined in with helping hands where needed. Mr. Bennet worked tirelessly on the bucket line, passing buckets of water along to those fighting the flames. Charlotte and Maria Lucas were joined by his daughters to help put out the fire by wetting blankets and using them to smother the small fires that threatened to set the countryside aflame. The flames continued to race up the walls of each building, like hungry beasts consuming everything in their paths.
Eventually, Mr. Bingley made the difficult decision to let the barns burn instead of putting too many people in danger. The bucket line carried on, and the air was filled with the acrid smell of smoke while water was used to douse the grass instead of the flames. As the fire continued to rage on for hours, the barns slowly but surely were consumed by the flames. None from the neighbourhood returned home until the last embers died, not wishing to abandon Mr. Bingley in his distress.
The sun was rising when Mr. Bennet walked slowly towards his family and motioned for them to follow him away from the scene. He did not speak as they walked, only pausing once or twice to take in a deep breath of fresh air before continuing on their way back home in silence. When they finally arrived back at Longbourn House, Mrs. Bennet immediately went inside, her sobs echoing through the halls as she collapsed into bed with exhaustion and grief. The five daughters followed her more slowly, their faces pale and solemn as they tried to process what had just happened at Netherfield.
"Jane," Elizabeth said softly, "are you well?"
Jane shook her head and allowed her sister to embrace her. "Did you see his face, Lizzy? He looked so dejected."
Elizabeth assumed her sister to be speaking of Mr. Bingley, but could not be entirely certain. "None of the animals were hurt, at least," she ventured.
"That is true," said Jane. "But he lost so much. The harvest, the thresher, even a carriage."
"Yes. It is a great tragedy," agreed Elizabeth. "We cannot worry about that now, though. We must sleep, Jane."
"I do not think I shall be able to," said her sister. "Not when I know Mr. Bingley is nearby and suffering so much."
"I daresay his friend and his family will see to his needs," said Elizabeth. "If I know him as I think I do, he would not wish you to exhaust yourself on his behalf."
While Jane acknowledged the likelihood of the statement, the thought of sleeping with soot covering her body was unbearable. Elizabeth conceded to her sister's request, and they spent the next half-hour wiping away the soot and grime and changing into fresh nightclothes. She convinced her sister to take a sleeping draught and carefully tucked her into bed before retiring to her own.