Mandore Rose , livre ebook

The Mandore Rose
Cyril James Morris
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-08-30
The Mandore Rose About the Author About the Cover Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement 1700s Prologue 1950s Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24
About the Author
Born in Saundersfoot, Pembrokeshire, in 1940, Cyril James Morris joined the Royal Navy at the age of 15 as an artificer apprentice. He served 22 years and retired as a Lieutenant Commander and Helicopter Maintenance Test Pilot. In his new life as a civilian, Cyril worked as an Aerostat Flight Director for an American company in many different parts of the world. He retired back to the village where he was born to pursue his hobby as a writer of poetry and prose. Cyril has one previous novel published, entitled Morgi , which is about a Welshman who saves his pub from bankruptcy. He’s currently working on his new novel, The Herring Man .
About the Cover
A mystery story full of intrigue and set in the early 1950s about a young girl finding her way in life.
Riley, brought up as a Romany girl, having left the confines of her group and now seemingly alone, seeks the meaning of her persistent dreams. She is accompanied by her deceased friend and guide, ‘The Bangled Lady’, who comes to her in times of stress. She wears a golden ring with an inscription in a foreign language passed down to her from her mother. What does it signify?
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my wife, Mary, for her patience and the acceptance of my many absences while writing in ‘my cupboard’ as she so aptly describes it.
Copyright Information ©
Cyril James Morris (2019)
The right of Cyril James Morris to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528961448 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
I gratefully acknowledge the valuable insights and advice of lifelong friend Margaret Griffiths in the development of this book.
1700s
Prologue
There were finer castles in the north of the Principality, like Conway and Beaumaris with elegant, luxurious accommodations, and Caernarvon Castle where he was inaugurated as Prince of Wales. There where he first tumbled with the demanding, Baroness Fitzherbert fifteen years his senior with her insatiable lust for wanton, carnal delights. Three nights of pleasure was all he could stand before finding an excuse to return to London.
It was at Caernarvon that he first set eyes on the exquisite Lady Jane Llywelyn, not yet eighteen, and a jewel of the unruly Welsh Princedoms. Now there was a maid if ever you saw one, bursting with promise, green eyed with flaxen hair and a bodice as tight as a corset could be, delightfully displaying, and at the same time controlling with utmost difficulty the firm uplift of her generous, blossoming bosom. Gladly would he have tumbled her in place of the overly demanding, tit-less, Baroness .
Regrettably the opportunity did not present itself, the maid was not for bedding, not yet, despite his none too subtle suggestions. Surely at this age she must have tasted the pleasures of the boudoir and it was then that the plan formed, first as a glimmer of an idea.
Less than a year later, he found himself dispatched by a suspicious father, anxious to hold on to power, to the far west of the Kingdom. To Pembroke Castle in West Wales, an impregnable bastion of stone protected by a deep moat but with none of the comforts of the northern castles or of his London residence and no Baroness or Lady Jane to while away the long night hours.
Yet none was so strategically placed as Pembroke, protecting as it did the estuary of Milford, the greatest natural harbour on the approach to the Bristol Channel, which was why his father had sent him there. Also, higher up the estuary, the city of Bristol a major trading port just on the English side of the Welsh border, was but poorly defended and known as the soft underbelly of England by his father, King George II.
Lately King George had, as far as possible, kept his son, Frederick out of the political and court scene but the King knew that the young Prince, now in his early twenties, was restless. He’d heard of his jaunts in North Wales, and he knew too that his political opponents were attempting to form allegiances with his son in order that they be included in any future administration. He couldn’t hold him back much longer.
Queen Caroline, far wiser than her husband, pressed him into action. Which was why last year, her husband had bestowed on Frederick the title Frederick, Prince of Wales, and the lands and estates that supposedly went along with it after Wales, or parts of it had been conquered in 1282: a created English title to a strange land where people spoke a mysterious tongue, where Welsh Kings and Princes still thought, and did, and ruled even to this day and therefore could not be trusted.
His motive however was purely selfish: self-protection. It enabled him to remove Frederick from London and send him with a squadron of lightly armed, fast frigates to this remote outpost. His pretext was that his son with necessary forces would be immediately available to intercept any invader proceeding up the channel in support of the Jacobite cause. In addition to this he should dissuade the Welsh from supporting their Scottish cousins. There were also rumblings from Spain over Gibraltar and trade in the West Indies and the Americas. It was not inconceivable that Spain might again send another fleet of ships to wreak havoc in the Western Approaches as they and the Dutch had done in the past. It did no harm to take precautions, and at the same time to remove Prince Frederick from playing mischievous politics in London.
His son had a volatile temper, and a rift had already developed between him and his parents. Yet the King knew that Frederick was not ready to openly defy them, especially his mother, Queen Caroline. Perhaps he had enough sense to exercise caution when it came to decisions and actions which might influence his current lifespan or his future position as the next monarch.
Prince Frederick considered that this move to the west, though not of his choosing, nor to his liking, gave him command of both a naval and a land-based military force, that, in itself was a significant step forward and something upon which he could build.
He would garrison his men at Pembroke, as his father required, and his ships in the nearby estuary. But secretly and ostensibly for his own security he moved his private headquarters to a nearby, little known castle less than half a day’s ride from Pembroke, owned by Prince Llywelyn descendant of two of the last Kings of Wales, Llywelyn the Great and Llywelyn the Last.
From its semi‑elevated position yet concealed in a small river valley the castle overlooked the sea. To the east lay the high cliffs of Giltar, and the island of Ynys Bŷr that sheltered the fortified town of Tenbye. To the west was the open sea, the Atlantic Ocean, the only approach to the Bristol Channel. At short notice his ships could be dispatched from Pembroke and taking advantage of the prevailing westerly wind could make Ynys Bŷr in half a day. There they could hove to and anchor, remaining concealed under the lee of the eastern cliffs ready to pounce on any unsuspecting enemy fleet.
Prince Frederick had other plans too for his presence at the Llywelyn castle, plans that he had begun to formulate during his stay at Caernarvon Castle when he was invested as Prince of Wales. To woo, and wed the lovely Lady Jane Llywelyn, the beautiful, wilful Celtic princess, the only daughter of Prince Llywelyn [she who had ignored his earlier advances] though at that time all he thought he wanted to do was to bed her. Since then he had reached the conclusion that a marriage to her could be to his distinct advantage. She was not without influence in the Princedom, her father being a direct descendant of Llywelyn the Last. And if she wouldn’t be wooed, be damned he would wed her anyway. By doing so he would unite his future Crown and the unruly Welsh.
There were already signs of discontent that the House of Hanover was spending too much English money abroad. His father was a fool. Instead of consolidating his position here in Britain, he was attempting to forge marital alliances with Prussia.
He ignored the native Celts at his peril, a mistake that Prince Frederick was not going to emulate. There had been one Jacobite uprising already, and there could be another anytime.
With luck his father could not be expected to live more than a few years, and if he went on too long, there were ways to arrange his demise. Soon he would be King, and he needed this alliance to ensure the continued support of the Celtic lords. If there was another uprising from the north, he was not going to be stabbed in the back by the Welsh, while busy driving the Jacobites back to their lair in Scotland…
For now though he had located himself at the castle of the Llewelyns and of course she was there.
‘You look windswept, my Lady. I suppose you’ve been riding on the beach again. You should be careful lest it spoil