Fortunate Son (38 page)

As the coach lumbered along, James and Laura sat close together, enjoying the mild spring air gliding through the open windows, slipping over them, delivering the scent of primrose and larkspur in full bloom. He held her hand and turned to her.

“Will Seán already be there?” she asked.

“Aye, most likely.”

Laura's hair was up under a small, straw hat, and her yellow and white linen dress rustled as she leaned close to James, whispering, “I love ya, husband.” He kissed the back of her hand, then looked out, over her head, watching the verdant countryside drift by. They left New Ross within the hour and were close now. The coach moved smoothly, the ruts shallow and dry. As they arrived at Dunmain House, James glanced at the giant mansion, its grey walls, the turrets on the corners. Each time he had seen it since the trial, an odd, distracted feeling came over him, making him look away. This time was no different. As the carriage rolled through the main gate, he kept his eyes on the garden walls, noticing they were plush with ivy and ferns. Seán would tend to them, he thought.

“Whoa, there.” The driver pulled the carriage to a stop on the gravel drive.

“There he is,” said Laura, pointing to the stable.

“Aye. I see him.”

She turned to James, grasping his hand. “Take yar time,” she assured him. “I'll be inside with Ann.”

He smiled, reaching across to lightly stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. They kissed, then he stepped out. Walking quickly to the stables, he looked for Seán, whom now he didn't see.

“
Cá bhfuil tú
,
Seán?” James called out.

“
Anseo
,” Seán replied, saying he was there. “
Tá anseo orm
.”

As James came around a corner, he saw Seán standing in a stall, grooming a horse.

“
Dia duit
, Seámus,” Seán greeted him. “I didn't expect ye so soon.”

“
Dia duit
,” replied James. “How are ye my friend?”

“As fine as can be, I suppose, and you?” Seán stopped brushing the horse.

“Good.” James patted the horse on the rump, then ran his hand across its back and patted it near the withers. “How's Bhaldraithe?”

“Ach, there's no doubt he's a splendid animal, Seámus. I can't thank ye enough.”

“‘Twas nothing. Besides, he has too much Connemara in him t' ever leave Ireland.”

“What do ye mean, leave Ireland?”

“Ah, well, Seán….”

Seán stepped close. “That why ye're meetin' me here today? To tell me ye're leaving?”

“Let's walk, shall we?” asked James, his voice yielding and kind.

They walked east along the carriage road, toward the tranquil hills and distant sheltering forests, fern-covered stone fences lining the way. Fynn's Hill, with its crowning stand of noble ash, was in the opposite direction. James would never go there again. After the trial, he spent one excruciating February morning sitting alone on that silent hill, under those wind-swept barren trees, weeping, wrestling with God, whispering to his father. No, he would never go back to Fynn's Hill. Certainly never with Seán. Thus they walked the other way.

“‘Twas good to see Mr. Mackercher at the wedding,” Seán said after a while.

“Ye remember anything about that night?” James laughed.

“Let's see, Mackercher was there, the ale was good, and something about you and Laura.”

“Ha! Indeed. Laura and I saw him again a few days later, before he left for Scotland.”

“He returned to Aberfoyle?”

“Aye,” said James, his eyes to the road, feeling a knot in his stomach.

“All right, Seámus,” Seán blurted. “We're walking. Where, I don't know. So tell me now. Are ye leaving?”

James looked up, away, out to an open field of meadowsweet in full yellow bloom. “Aye,” he whispered.

“Where are ye going?”

James hesitated, unexpectedly overcome with emotion. “This is much harder than I ever imagined, Seán. Telling ye this.” He felt his eyes tighten.

“The Colonies, eh?” asked Seán.

“Aye.” He sniffed the tears back, clinched his teeth and for a moment felt better. “We'll build a farm in Virginia. ‘Tis where we belong now.”

Seán stopped walking. “What do ye mean, Jemmy? What about—”

“Ah, ‘tis worthless, Seán,” James said quickly. “The court completed their survey. Seems I've inherited more debt than land. The proverbial wind, so ‘tis.”

“The wind, eh? Perhaps if ye'd been more meek, ye'd have gotten the earth.”

James smiled, shaking his head. “Ye're a funny rogue,” he said flatly.

They chuckled nervously, then fell silent again. After rounding another bend in the meandering road, Seán finally spoke. “What will ye do?”

James shrugged. “Sell the land. Pay the debts.”

“And the title?”

James stopped walking. “‘Tisn't mine, Seán.”

“What?” Seán stopped also.

“Nay. Never ‘twas.”

Seán came closer. “What the devil do ye mean?”

James reached in his pocket and pulled out the letter. He unfolded it, then handed it to Seán and looked away. Behind him he could hear the paper fluttering in the breeze. He walked to the stone fence and leaned on it, watching the sheep in the pasture beyond, seeing the wind caress the grass, remembering the Scottish Highlands, remembering Fynn.

“My God!” exclaimed Seán. “And the locket?”

James walked back to the road, took the letter, then handed the golden object to Seán. Realizing Seán couldn't open the locket with one hand, he took it back and popped it open. He held it out for Seán to see.

“M'God, Jemmy,” Seán breathed, staggering back from the mythic image. “So, this means….”

“Aye,
deartháirí
,” said James, gently pronouncing the Irish word for “brothers.” He snapped the locket closed, dropped it in his pocket, then carefully folded the letter along its worn creases.

“
Deartháirí
,” Seán repeated, incredulous, his eyes wide. “Does Laura know?”

James nodded, returning the letter to his pocket.

As they resumed walking, Seán asked, “And Mackercher?”

“He had his victory last November,” said James. “The estate was of no concern to him. I didn't feel the necessity of telling him.”

Seán looked at James. “Of course Richard doesn't know.”

“Nay. And he never will. I'm asking ye to keep this in yer heart…to yerself. Let it remain only between us. If ye tell Ann, it must stay between ye both, as husband and wife. Can I trust ye to that?”

“Ye have my oath on it. Is Richard still in France?”

“I suppose he is.”

They walked for a while without speaking, each immersed in his own thoughts. Until, over the smooth fertile pastures came the toll of a faraway bell, calling evening worship. “Remember being on this road before,” James asked, “when we were wee lads?”

“Aye. We played in those forests,” replied Seán, pointing off to his left.

“And Fynn…Da….” He waited for the Seán's nod. “He'd come fetch us, blowing his hunting horn.” James smiled, remembering him, seeing him riding across the Dunmain meadows. As they trod slowly on, silently crossing their ancient land, the lagging sun slipped behind the trees, its waning light gradually giving way, striping the fields with long reaching shadows.

“Seámus,” Seán said with a cracking voice, “I could never imagine having a finer brother.”

“Ah, now,” James muttered. They both stopped. “You were always my brother.” Looking away, he clamped his jaw tight, trying to control his emotions. Then a lone tear fell to his cheek. “Brothers…
Deartháirí
…I think I always knew that.” He set his gaze to the northwest, across the green hills speckled with red clover. “Da was born just over those hills,” he said.

Seán turned in that direction. “Aye. The cottage is between here and New Ross.”

James looked at the setting sun. “And he rests over there…on Fynn's Hill.”

“Aye,” whispered Seán.

James took a measured breath, then spoke forcefully, “This is Kennedy land, Seán—always has been. So it will remain in our family. I've ordered the rest of the Anglesea Estate sold. But I've kept Dunmain House and these lands around it.” He turned and faced Seán. “Ye're Ireland t' me, Seán. And Ireland is you. You should own Dunmain. ‘Tis Kennedy land. I want ye t' have it.”

“But I cannot possibly pay for—”

“I give
it to ye Seán. Gladly,” James said, cutting him off. “‘Tis yers,
deartháir
.”

Seán took a deep breath, then looked in James's eyes and thanked him, saying, “
Go raibh maith agat
.”

“
Go meádaighe Dia dhuit
,” replied James, nodding with a smile. “Ye're very welcome, indeed. I hope you and Ann bring life to Dunmain House. A family. Happiness. That's all I ask in return.”

“We will, Seámus. We will, indeed.”

As they resumed their walk, talking quietly, a Gaelic wind whispered over them, through the trees, riffling their infant leaves. Then came the harking screech of a falcon, and James looked up, seeing her there. She floated across that azure sky, calling her young to follow, to stretch their fledgling wings, to let go, to engage their faith, to cling to hope, to trust the unseen air will hold them—out beyond the hills and all the way home.

The great trial between James and Richard Annesley was, at that date, the longest, and sat the wealthiest jury in all of British history. Due to the uniquely-allowed testimony of Prime Sergeant Giffard, the famous Anglesea trial remains the basis of the modern “attorney-client privilege.”

James never officially assumed the title Earl of Anglesea, and never took his seats in the Houses of Lords. The Anglesea Earldom ended with Richard's death in 1761. Charity Heath served five years in prison for perjury.

Daniel Mackercher became near bankrupt from the costs of the trial and forever refused payment from James. He soon rejoined the Scottish military and led a division at the battle of Culloden in 1745, the ill-fated, final battle for Scottish independence.

James and Laura built their farm in Virginia, and there had two daughters, Joan and Mary, and a son they named Fynn. Fynn Annesley later rose through the ranks of the American Colonial Army and was killed in Yorktown, Virginia in 1781, at the last major battle of the American Revolution.

James and Seán never saw each other again, though they wrote many letters to each other. Seán lived to an old age, seeing two more generations of Kennedys come to live on the land surrounding Dunmain. Eight generations later, a descendant of that Kennedy family became the thirty-fifth President of the United States. Today, land that was once part of Dunmain contains the John F. Kennedy Arboretum, and near its center is Fynn's Hill.

Dunmain House was eventually sold and fell into ruins during the Great Irish Famine. Eventually, during the late 1800s, the house was restored. Today it is once again the home of an Irish family.

James Annesley returned only once to the British Isles. In 1759, James, Laura, and their children, traveled to Lee, Kent County, England for a special viewing of that year's appearance of Halley's Comet, and to visit the grave of his mother, Mary Sheffield, and the grave of Edmond Hillary, the famous astronomer for whom his discovery, Halley's Comet, was named. In 1742, both Halley and Mary had died within weeks of each other and were both buried in the churchyard of St. Margaret's of Lee.

After the visit in Lee, the Annesley family traveled to London, with plans to continue on to Ireland where they would visit Seán. But while in London, James fell from a horse and was severely injured. He died on January 5, 1760, at the age of forty-four. Seán and Laura laid him to rest in the churchyard of St. Margaret's, near his mother, finally reuniting them. Laura returned to Virginia and raised their children. She never remarried.

Though extremely well known at the time, these events were eventually lost to history, with only an occasional reference. The English author Tobias Smollett's novel,
The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle
, 1751, is most certainly based on Smollett's time with James Annesley in the Royal Navy. It is surmised that Smollett's earlier and more famous novel,
The Adventures of Roderick Random
, 1748 was also inspired by James. It is rumored that Sir Walter Scott's novel
Guy Mannering
, 1815, and Robert Louis Stevenson's novel,
Kidnapped
, 1886, were based in part on some elements of James's earlier adventures.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for taking this journey through the extraordinary saga of James Annesley. It was a unique pleasure to discover James, research the facts, and write this book. My only wish was that I may have added footnotes explaining, “Seriously, this actually happened!” throughout the pages.

Fortunate Son
is the premiere of a unique series of historical novels, each pivoting on the actual events encompassing a significant historical courtroom drama. I am an avid social historian, with a particular affinity for trials—perhaps as much for the dramatic stories as for their spectacle of colorful characters. Plus, reading transcripts from trials preceding audio or video recordings is enthralling and the nearest experience of time travel available.

Next up is
American Red
, centering on the 1907 trial of the deadly, one-eyed, union boss, “Big Bill” Haywood who was accused of ordering the successful assassination-by-bombing of the governor of Idaho (the first such in American history). Bonus: Haywood was represented by none other than the young Clarence Darrow. Today, few have heard of the case, though in its time it was above-the-fold from coast to coast and across the globe. It is a sweeping tale of murder, adultery, corruption, mountain mafia, the Pinkertons, domestic terrorism, government-sanctioned kidnapping, the last gunslingers, mining unions, and perhaps the greatest train race ever—all set on the backdrop of America's doomed thrust toward radical socialism as other countries such as Russia were embarking on their own “red” revolutions. Sounds like a outlandish adventure, right? I agree, and hope you will take that journey in late 2014.

For more information, to reach me, and to receive regular updates, please visit
www.dmarlett.com
.

Warmly,

David Marlett