Fortunate Son: A Novel of the Greatest Trial in Irish History

Fortunate Son: A Novel of the Greatest Trial in Irish History

by David Marlett


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Meet James Annesley, son of 18th Century Ireland. Though you may have never heard his name before, his story has already touched you in profound ways. Now, for the first time, novelist David Marlett brings that incredible story to life.

Stretching from the dirty streets of Ireland to the endless possibilities of Colonial America, from drama on the high seas with the Royal Navy to a life-and-death race across England and up the Scottish Highlands, from the prospect of a hangman’s noose to a fate decided in the halls of justice, FORTUNATE SON is a powerful, relentless epic. Here nobility, duels, love, courage, revenge, honor, and treachery among family, friends and ancient enemies abound. And at its center is the most momentous trial in Irish history – the trial of Annesley v. Anglesea from which our modern “attorney/client privilege” was forged, and our concept of a “jury of one's peers” was put to the test.

Carefully researched, vividly evoked, and lovingly brought to the page, FORTUNATE SON is an unforgettable work of fiction based on fact, one that will resonate deep within you long after you finish it.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781611881592
Publisher: Story Plant
Publication date: 02/25/2014
Pages: 350
Product dimensions: 6.40(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.30(d)

Read an Excerpt

Lord Arthur Annesley, the Sixth Earl of Anglesea, was slopped. He had been sitting alone at his oak table in the dark back corner of the Brazen Head Tavern since half-past ten that morning. Now, nearly five in the evening, he could hear fresh rain blowing across Dublin’s Merchant’s Quay, tapping the tavern’s windows, dripping heavy in pools along Bridge Street. He was floating, his white wig askew, his fat fingers tracing the blood groove of his gold-hilted rapier lying on the table. “He’s mine, he is,” he muttered to no one. “B’god, James is mine! So he is. She’ll never take him to England.” He glanced up with his one eye, the other having been long ago shot out by his wife’s cuckolding suitor. “My son’s mine,” he boomed. “Damn you all!” A violent cough overtook him until finally he lowered his chin, rivulets of perspiration trickling down his brow.

“‘Tis well known, me lord, James is yer son,” the tavern keeper offered. “Would ye like another?”

“Ney!” Arthur shook his head, muttering, “No more boys.”

“Ach nay, me lord—would ye like another pint?”

“Ha! Ney, Keane. Best be on m’way.” He stood shakily, steadying himself on the dark wall, sheathing his rapier.

“Well den, g’night sire,” the keeper said, gesturing with his bar towel.

Arthur tapped the wrinkles from his blue, Italian cocked hat. “Keane?”

“Aye, m’lord?”

“What be the cure....” He stumbled sideways, trying to buckle his sword sash. “What be the cure for a hangover? I’ll wager you don’t know.”

“Sleep, most likely,” Keane answered, moving across the small room, delivering a dram to a large man sitting alone. “What do ye think, sir?” he asked the man.

“I have no reckon,” the man muttered, his Scottish brogue rumbling low. “Leave me be.”

“I suppose a pinch o’ snuff might do ye, Lord Anglesea,” Keane guessed, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Ney, goddamn you, Keane!” His words a lather of grumbled mush, his arm a terrier in a fox hole, fumbling through the twisted coat sleeve. He spun, shoving his hand through. “I knew you didn’t know, you damn thievin’ Irishman. ‘Tis t’ drink again!” He staggered backward to the door. “That be the cure, b’god!”

“Aye, me lord,” said Keane. “So I’ve heard.” Now the Scotsman was standing too.

“T’ drink again!” Arthur bellowed, throwing his arms up. “T’ drink again, ‘tis all you need!” Turning, he careened through the doorway, along the rickety boardwalks, lurching into the muck of Bridge Street. “‘Tis all I need!”

A large hackney coach pulled by six horses was crossing the Father Matthew Bridge, gaining speed in the pelting rain. The horses snorted against the driver’s whip as he yelled from the box, his cloak flailing in the wet wind. “Up with ye curs! Now! Up! Up!” Again and again he cracked the long leather across their backs. The loud roar and stirring commotion of the coach and six easily cleared traffic from the bridge, opening a wide swath up Bridge Street beyond, like a plow cleaving mud. When the horses reached the quay on the far side of the River Liffey they were pulling so hard and running at such a blaze that all four wheels left the ground before crashing back to earth to spin in the slurry sludge. Galloping past the Brazen Head Tavern, with nostrils flared and eyes mad wide, they would not and could not stop for anything in their path.

Against the whir of voices the ale had loosed in his head, Arthur heard charging hooves, people shouting, and through the stinging rain, he saw a maniacal blur rushing him. But he couldn’t move. A black surging wall, yet he stood, stammering something about God. Finally one step toward the side, but it wasn’t enough—the violent impact threw him back and down. Twenty-four hooves thundered over him, snapping his right leg like straw, driving it into the thick mud. Another hoof trampled his gut, his ribs shattering. Instant fire. Then the coach hit him, the splinter bar catching his chin, the front axle crushing his larynx, cracking spine, whipping his head into the path of the rear wheels which slammed over him, mashing his face into the filth and black ooze.

His one eye fluttered open, stinging, but he couldn’t breathe. To one side he saw muddy boots and spurs—some standing, others moving away. His bloody mouth sagged, convulsing for air. He felt warmth trickle from his ears. Life abandoning him. Then, between the clamoring shouts and splashes, he heard the massive bells of Christ Church Cathedral begin their solemn peel, announcing the time. He stopped moving, and there in the shadows of his mind he saw James, no more than five, standing on a rocky hill, laughing, the sea air tousling his auburn hair. Suddenly James sprinted off, through an emerald field, clambered over a low stone fence, then raced on, away, toward a man who was waiting, watching—a man Lord Arthur Annesley, the Earl of Anglesea had never been.

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Fortunate Son: A Novel of the Greatest Trial in Irish History 4.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 17 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book is a wonderful story of triumph and tragedy dating back to 18th century England, Ireland and Scotland.  It's so vivid and descriptive, you feel as if you are there. This truly is a story you never want to end. So you read slowly and savor every page, while rooting for the main character, Jemmy, to persevere. Kudos to Mr. Marlette and a great read.  Cindy F. 
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I was sent over the seas and kept there until I finished Fortunate Son. I am not someone who enjoys readying but I could not put this down. I can not wait for David's Marlett's next book. Thanks KarenP.
mummy-1_oshea More than 1 year ago
This book is simply unputdownable if such a word exists! I have only recently received this book and immediately I  felt I was transported back in time to the 18th century. It is written in such a way that the reader is part of what is written. This is my first historical thriller and eventhoough I have not finished reading Fortunate Son I am a;ready looking forward to future publications from David Marlett. Being set in Ireland also appeals to me as I am Irish and live in Ireland! 
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Fortunate Son', by David Marlett is a remarkable and special book. I was pulled in immediately to the lives of the Annesley family, and could visualize places in Ireland I have visited. It is written with such clarity and description, I could absolutely see a movie being made into this historically compelling tale. While reading I felt the love of family and friends, the hate of enemies, and rage at injustice. It was a journey of emotions and I loved the ride.
gtschantz More than 1 year ago
David Marlett writes of Ireland with the heart and the soul of an Irishman. The beauty, the spirit and the gentleness of the Irish people are a constant presence in his well written book, 'Fortunate Son'. This historically accurate, beautifully descriptive novel also challenges the reader to accept evil and tragedy as part of the books characters' fate. It was difficult to reach the books conclusion, I so wanted the story to continue. Thank you Mr. Marlett for an emotional and thought provoking time for those of us privileged enough to read your first novel. I look forward to the next soon!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Highly recommended!
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is a story of a life that was stranger than fiction! To think this all really happened is amazing. The ups and downs and twists continue to the end. I found myself on the edge of my bed reading while I charged my tablet because I couldn't put it down.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
An amazing story! I highly recommend this book!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Lots of action, adventure, and a good story. Well written and a good insight into Ireland and the early British colonies during this period.
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Mary-MK More than 1 year ago
Exceptional historic fiction, well researched and riveting.
quiltsalSG More than 1 year ago
I enjoyed this book so much. The fact that it was based on actual events was a plus.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book was difficult to get through.