Posted on 2009-10-31

It was the end of October, not a good time to go haring off to Lyme, I thought as our carriages took us away from the Musgroves and towards that sea resort, but if Mary's bunions weren't complaining, how could I protest? I was only in the company of my hypochondriac sister, sweet but simple brother-in-law Charles, his two sisters, who had been good friends of mine up until a few weeks before, and one ex-fiance by the name of Captain Frederick Wentworth.

Handsome Captain Wentworth. Rugged Captain Wentworth. Could have been my husband these past eight years if I hadn't been such an idiot Captain Wentworth. Live and learn, I often say, and I have done both. Enough to realize that I was going to become Mrs. Captain Wentworth if it killed me. Or someone else. In fact, the idea of offing a bit of the competition was looking more splendid every day.

I hadn't much time to make plans so far, not with Mary hounding me day and night to pack for Lyme (her bags, not mine. I hadn't a fashion diva's sensibilities, had I? I could pack in five minutes flat.) Not only that, but the children must be attended to, Mary's bunions massaged and while I was at it, could I please see to Charles' needs as well?

I had to draw the line at giving Charles what I thought she meant, but I resolved to find him a comfortable wife in the near future, not one who wouldn't even sleep in his bed.

The trip to Lyme was full of moments, fortunately, when I could tune out Mary and dwell on my first victim. It had to be Louisa, as she was well on her way to receiving a proposal from Frederick, maybe as soon as that week. I could not take the chance of that happening.

But how…

In the end, it was easier than I thought. Frederick liked to walk the Cobb, and as Louisa was a blowsy, outdoorsy type, she was more than willing to accompany him. I was stuck with prosy Captain Benwick as a companion, always spouting off poetry and the like, and it was easy to throw in my own two cents and keep an eye on the other two, as well.

One day while we were in Lyme, I saw Frederick pay special attention to Louisa at breakfast. As this was also the same morning Mary stood gawking out the window at some man who may or may not have been our cousin, Mr. William Elliot, Frederick thought he could slip Louisa a couple of extra kippers above the table and play footsie with her below. I was not going to stand for such behavior – Frederick and his footsies belonged to me! It was a sign that I needed to make my move, so I did.

It was not easy to tear Louisa away from Frederick's side as we walked the street leading to the Cobb, but I finally found a shop window worthy of her attentions.

"Ooooh, bonnets!" I squealed, surprising everyone in the party except Charles, who took the opportunity to break Frederick off from his pack of sisters so they could compare the size of their guns.

Louisa, thinking herself the expert on fashion and always one to give an opinion on the subject, paused with me.

"That one would flatter you, Anne," she said. "It will make your complexion less sallow."

As the bonnet was yellow and white, I seriously doubted her, and that was when I knew that Louisa absolutely, positively had to die. Trifle with Frederick, sure, but make me appear even more of a non-entity than I already was? I didn't think so.

Still, I had her undivided attention, so I thanked her sweetly for the advice and tucked my hand under her arm.

"So," I asked conspiratorially as we wandered behind the crowd, "how goes it with your dashing sea captain?"

Silly Louisa giggled. "He is my captain, is he not? Yet I fear I have not yet gotten him to the sticking point."

"You could always claim he compromised you by playing footsie at breakfast," I suggested, "but I have a better idea."

"Do tell!"

"When we get to the Cobb, I want you to go halfway down the stone steps, and then jump. He won't be able to resist such a cute girlie gesture and you will have his attention."

Louisa seemed to consider the plan, and replied as I hoped. "Well, then what?"

"Then laugh like a carefree girl and climb back up the stairs until you reach the second one from the top."

"I have too do it again? That is a very long drop, Anne!"

Didn't I know it? "Precisely," I blithely continued. "Command him to catch you. He will protest, naturally, but you know he will not be able to resist the chance to hold you in his arms.

"Yes! Yes!"'

"And when he catches you, you will both tumble to the ground, with you, preferably, on top, and there is no way Charles will be able to deal with such a position except to demand the captain save your reputation."

Louisa crowed with delight, unconcerned with the fact that her undergarments, not to mention her ankles, would be on display for all and sundry to see.

Besides, I had a plan.

Louisa, the silly widgeon, did exactly as I said, and Frederick reacted exactly as I predicted. However, just as he was going to rescue Louisa from her second, very foolish jump (it truly is a high one), I cried out, diverting his attention away from her.

She fell with an audible splat that made Charles cringe and break off in the middle of a sonnet he had written to about one of his bird hounds, and Mary started to scream. I pushed past where Frederick stood, staring down at Louisa's still form, and immediately became Anne the Nurse, a role I excelled at, having had lots of practice. Just ask Mary's bunions if you don't believe me. I had to take charge – it was always expected of me. If I did not, everyone would become suspicious and I would not be able to ascertain whether or not Louisa was dead.

I was flummoxed when I bent over her and felt the vague fluttering of a pulse. Darn it all the Hades! She lived!

I told Charles to fetch a doctor and commandeered both Frederick and Captain Benwick to carry Louisa back to the inn, but that killjoy Benwick suggested the Harville place, as it was closer. I did not want closer, but at least I had the thought that jostling her about would finish the job, regardless of where Louisa was taken. At least everyone agreed I was the perfect person to remain by her side.

Everyone except Mary, who insisted she was in charge, as she was a married woman and Louisa was her sister, not mine. I wanted to slap that holier-than-thou expression off her face, but I knew how to bide my time.

After the doctor said it was a waiting game as to whether or not Louisa would regain consciousness, I contrived to be alone with her long enough to smother her with a pillow. No struggle from my victim meant no marks and no evidence that she did anything but not wake up. Ever.

It was a shame I could not be there to view the result of my handiwork, as I was shipped back to Uppercross almost immediately, where I was promptly collected by Lady Russell.

Rest in peace, Louisa, I thought smugly as I journeyed to join my father and sister in Bath.

Living with my father and Elizabeth was boring, as I knew it would be. And, frankly, having once had a taste of being an instrument of death, I was eager to stick it to someone again.

I decided against doing anything drastic to our cousin, Mr. William Elliot, because he was a distracting fribble of a man. I let him live because he flirted outrageously with me, and I had something very fitting in mind for his future. I thought Elizabeth would have apoplexy when she saw our cousin pay more attention to me than he did to her, and I really hoped she would succumb, because it would liven up my life.

The demise of Elizabeth did not happen from apoplexy, however, but through another bit of planning on my part. (Yes, I am patting myself on the back as I write this.) I had not intentionally planned for Elizabeth to die at all, actually. She and Father deserved each other and their continued co-existence was my idea of a living hell, which made it perfect for them.

However, one day, she, Mrs. Clay and I were seated in Molland's and I spied Frederick - my Frederick! – on the street. Elizabeth saw him about the same time I did, and she made a nasty comment about sea captains that had me seeing red. She capped her snide remarks off with the comment that Molland's had the best marzipan in the world, and in that moment, I knew she had to die, and how.

The official report was death from indigestion due to an extremely large quantity of marzipan. I knew better. I had bought bits of the overly-sweet stuff in small batches all over town, placed them all lovingly in a gift box from Molland's and then watched as my sister ate every last piece, the pig. And each and every piece was laced with poison. In particular, nightshade collected from Sydney Gardens on a walk with Elizabeth, who had ridiculed me for my interest in gardening.

The nasty witch would ridicule me no more.

If I thought Father would curtain his social activities to mourn the death of a beloved daughter, I was wrong. Dead wrong.

Now that he had one of the weights lifted (how Elizabeth would have shrieked to hear herself described that way!), he seemed more popular and more active than before. He and Mrs. Clay were often seen together about town, and it rankled that he kept her in the household ostensibly as a companion for me.

I did not have much time to deal with them, however, as Mary and Charles had come to Bath with the Musgroves, who were shopping for Henrietta's trousseau. She was going to marry Henry Hayter, become a farmer's wife and I could not be happier for her. Especially as she now left Frederick strictly alone.

The Musgroves were still in mourning for Louisa, and Mary told me she was glad she could do double duty with her black gowns and not have to spend a fortune on new frocks in memory of a fallen sister.

I wondered why not? After all, Elizabeth would have enjoyed spending money for fashionable mourning if Mary had died.

Hmmm... That made me think how much nicer the world would be if Mary was not in it. Charles would be free to marry someone sweet and kind, much like my good friend Mrs. Smith.

Hmmm...

So I was now Anne Elliot, Angel of Death, and matchmaker. Perhaps I could have both engraved on my calling cards.

The Musgroves brought terrible news with them, news I actually thought was humorous, although I could not laugh aloud. Capt Benwick, saddened further by the death of such a lovely creature as Louisa Musgrove, had died of a broken heart.

Well, finally! I did a little touchdown dance in the privacy of my own bedchamber later that day, enjoying the thrill of having pulled off another two-fer, no matter how unintentional. And now it was Mary's turn.

The night everyone went to hear that Italian opera singer (Italian, my arse!), Mary had a headache and I offered to go to the apothecary for her before attending the concert. At least everyone thought I had. Instead, I laced Dr. Feelgood's Headache Tonic with laudanum, chuckling with glee. Not only was I giving Mary the peace and quiet she had craved for so long, but she was ingesting her favorite drug. In spades.

I had found the tonic in my father's room on a tray cluttered with six bottles of Gowland's Lotion, and had discovered another small keg of the stuff behind the screen where he bathed. The man took a bath in it? Ewww! That was far more information than I wished to know. Still, it gave me food for thought.

Mary would have loved her funeral. I even arranged for the "Italian" opera singer to perform at her wake. Everyone thought I was the sweetest sister, coordinating such a send-off. And, oh, the attention!

"Poor Anne, the sole comfort of her father! Poor Sir Walter, to only have one daughter left," they all said.

If anyone thought it odd that my sisters had died in such a short period of time, no one said a word. Even Frederick, who seemed to be watching me through all this, did nothing. Had his wits gone begging, or did he seem to be waiting for something?

My father's time to join his Maker came soon enough, mostly because I was tired of the old goat bleating on and on about needing a new heir. Mrs. Clay seemed to be the one chosen to do this for him, and they became engaged. I could have left well enough alone, I suppose, but one little comment about men of the Royal Navy not only ticked me off (royally!), but told me it was time to get rid of the next impediment to my future happiness.

Perhaps it was because people were tired of the Elliots dying, or maybe they just didn't like Father after all, but no one attended his funeral. Perhaps it was just the stench of Gowland's Lotion (that's what the poor tortured soul had drowned in, by the way) that permeated the house for days after his death that turned them off. I was too busy to think about that, having already launched Project Meet Mrs. Smith.

I asked Charles to remain after father's funeral to tend to the legal paperwork, and introduced him to my friend. They hit it off, and by the time Charles returned to Uppercross, he took with him a new mother for my nephews. See, I am not adverse to happy endings, as long as they do not interfere with my plans. If Charles had ever said anything about Louisa and Frederick, he would have been toast, but, fortunately for him, he never mentioned the relationship again.

It was rather her misfortune that Mrs. Clay was nowhere around to play the grieving fiancee, but that's one body that'll never be found.* (Yes, I did seriously consider putting music to that line, but "The Night the Lights Went Out in Bath" made a terrible song title, so I let it go.)

However, with Cousin William Elliot now Sir William, I had no money and was unable to live with him anyway, without a chaperone. Even after he wed Miss Carteret, I let him live - after all, would you want Lady Dalrymple for a mother-in-law? Especially if she was the one who truly held the purse strings? Some people deserved worse than death, and my cousin was one of them.

Thank goodness, then, for Lady Russell. She took me into her house (which was nicer than the one Father had rented) and treated me as she always had - as a daughter.

There was one fly in that ointment and that was Lady Russell's continued dislike of Frederick. She was my godmother and I owed her something for all the good she had done in my life, so I reasoned her death must not only be attended with all due respect, but it must be practiced on first.

There appeared in Bath at that time a haughty man from Derbyshire. Lady Russell attempted to have us introduced at the Pump Room assembly one evening, as she greatly admired his ten thousand pounds a year, but I will admit I just liked the way he looked in satin knee breeches, and could not help but wonder how he would fill out a wet shirt.)

Yet he wanted no part of her machinations and I overheard him tell some other young man that I was tolerable, he supposed, but not handsome enough to tempt him.

Bingo! Here was my next victim/guinea pig. I would make darned sure he never used that line on any other female in existence.

I had to plan carefully for this one, but after hearing the gossip about how high in the instep this Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire was, I knew I had to make his death public. I also knew I was going to lay the blame for Lady Russell's copycat death at his feet. No one was ever going to suspect sweet, demure little me of orchestrating another two-fer. At this rate, I was going to move to America, open my own grocery store and have buy-one, get-one-free offers. I was ready!

(I thought, too, that BOGO was one catchy phrase. I might not make it to Nashville, but I had a future in grocery and retail merchandising.)

I had to come outside my comfort zone a bit for this one, forcing myself to befriend Mr. Bingley and his nasty sister in order to find out Mr. Darcy's habits. I discovered Mr. Bingley was easily befriended and easily persuaded to fall in with anything I suggested. The siblings and their friend were in Bath for the waters (big surprise there), as Mr. Bingley had taken a chill that summer and had developed a horrendous cough. Not only did he drink the waters for his health, but he dunked himself in that rotten-egg smelling water several times a day, Mr. Darcy often participating in the same activity as a gesture of goodwill. Or because he didn't dare let the gullible Mr. Bingley out of his sight. Or to hide from Bingley's sister, knowing she could not follow them to the baths. Or whatever.

Miss Bingley was more gullible than most people thought, thank goodness. Or she was desperate. Or whatever. All I know is that she fell for my idea of getting Darcy to drink a love potion without even batting an eyelid. I vow, if I had more time to devote to these little sideline murders, Miss Bingley would have been first on the list.

The best part of involving Miss Bingley in my scheme was getting to sit back and watch her do the work. It allowed me to free my mind and contemplate just how all of this equated to the demise of Lady Russell.

Like all my plans thus far, the drowning of Mr. Darcy was all too easy. Miss Bingley bribed one of the bath attendants to slip the "love potion" (really a large concentration of laudanum, my new best friend) into a glass of restorative water. Darcy drank the offered liquid, vile though it was, and before anyone knew it, he had set out for the deep end of the pool, fell into a deep, poppy-laced sleep and drowned.

Word had it that it was only when his body floated gently over to Mr. Bingley did anyone realize the gravity of the situation.

"I say, Darcy," Mr. Bingley was quoted as saying, "I can do the dead man's float as well or better than you." Actually, he could not, and when he came up for air and Darcy didn't, all Hades broke loose. I heard years later that Bingley, in his sorrow, rented a place in Hertfordshire, met a local girl, fell in love and named all his children – even the girls – after his late best friend.

Before that happened, however, his sister was found to have bribed the servant who had dosed Mr. Darcy, and was hauled before a magistrate. The old man took an immediate dislike to her disdainful expression, pronounced her guilty and sentenced her to hang. Looks like I got my wish after all. Which meant bribing a servant for Lady Russell was out. I was just going to have to do this one alone.

I gave Bath a few weeks to get over the death of the unfortunate Mr. Darcy before I made my move. After all, the bribed servant could not be allowed to live, so I knifed him one night in a dark alley, stole his livery and presented myself in his place the next day at the Pump Room.

It was his day to serve up glasses of nasty water to the upper crust of society, and I went about his business with the long practice of having to serve my late sister, Mary.

Lady Russell never even noticed me as she paid her penny, grabbed the glass I offered and then waltzed off to take the waters in a more physical way.

I let her waltz away and then abandoned my post and the livery in short order, slipped into a nice walking dress and not!yellow bonnet, and entered the Pump Room, making enquiries as to my godmother's location as I went. As I became more and more alarmed that she was nowhere to be found, a cry and hue went up in the baths that there had been another drowning. I couldn't wait until someone at Lady Russell's house found her "note," stating how she could not go on with life now that Mr. Darcy was dead, but before I could do more than consider such a masterful stroke of genius, a strong grip on my arm propelled me away from the brouhaha that ensued.

"You should get out of Bath now, Miss Elliot," a familiar voice said in my ear.

"But where shall I go?" I asked aloud, not looking at him, but smiling just the same.

"I thought perhaps you might like to see the world, now that your work is done."

I smiled even wider. "I take it this is an offer and not a one-way ticket on a transport ship?"

"After all the trouble you have gone through for us to be together? The least I can do, Miss Elliot, is offer you the position of captain's wife."

"In that case, I accept."

It was like the ending of a movie, the way we kissed and stroked off down a quiet street, never to be seen in Bath again.

Happy All Hallow's Eve!

* The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia by Bobby Russell