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The Slanderley Curse: Nuns and Mayhem in Cornwall
The Slanderley Curse: Nuns and Mayhem in Cornwall
The Slanderley Curse: Nuns and Mayhem in Cornwall
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The Slanderley Curse: Nuns and Mayhem in Cornwall

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"Beautifully written and impeccably researched,.... the story is certain to captivate fans of both manor fiction and cozy murder mysteries, many of whom will not foresee the villainy that Stasz unveils." Kirkus Reviews

Fate sends young Kenal Gundry, who hoped to be a Cornwall fisherman, into service. Though strong and smart, he is also naive and overly pious. At his first placement, a nymphomaniac harasses him. Moving to Slanderley, he finds comfort in its isolated location and several members of the de Loverly family. When unexpected deaths follow, he searches for reasons. "It be the Nun's Curse," argue some. "It is just coincidence," claim others. Kenal himself becomes a murder suspect in one case.

The story is in Kenal's voice, from a memoir found decades later. Along with the mysteries, he details events familiar to Edwardian estates, such as an automobile rally, a May Day celebration, and Midsummer's Eve. He meets working artists, a Hungarian wine merchant, and an Oxford archivist. Exposed to new ideas and personalities, he grows to manhood with a broader view of life's opportunities. His new understanding helps him survive World War I, though not as a combatant. Framing his account are commentaries from an Oxford don, who leaves one wondering about the truth.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherClarice Stasz
Release dateFeb 28, 2023
ISBN9780996769396
The Slanderley Curse: Nuns and Mayhem in Cornwall
Author

Clarice Stasz

Clarice Stasz is the author of The Vanderbilt Women (1991) and American Dreamers (1990). She is a professor of history at Sonoma State University and lives in Petaluma, California.

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    The Slanderley Curse - Clarice Stasz

    The Slanderley Curse

    The Slanderley Curse

    Nuns and Mayhem in Cornwall

    Clarice Stasz

    Copyright © 2022 by Clarice Stasz

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

    Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

    Book Layout © 2014 BookDesignTemplates.com (Joel Friedlander)

    Book Title/ Author Name. – 1st ed.

    ISBN 978-0-0000000-0-0

    To the Reader

    Rarely do we find complete manuscripts composed by estate servants, let alone by Cornish servants. Herein, Kenal Gundry traces his southeast seaside origins to his service at Slanderley manor, perched on the rough northwestern coast. A pious lad, he shares his wonder at the lives of those to the manor born. Serving during the Edwardian Era, he comes of age during the rapid changes in society. His experiences in WWI are also unconventional, thus add to new information on that era.

    Of special note is Kenal’s appreciation of Slanderley’s past. Though much family history was lost in the mist of time, he explored the story of the Nun’s Curse, then watched its power snake through the manor during his tenure. I should warn you of some grim episodes ahead, lightened by the droll and eccentric ways of Slanderley Manor.

    Another warning: Some material may be inappropriate for youngsters.

    In editing this manuscript, I have retained hints of Kenal’s dialect. Despite being well-read, he was a terrible speller, so I corrected rather than sic him. For those who don’t speak Cornish, I bracket translations. At times I was tempted to add footnotes to correct Kenal’s factual errors, but I chose to keep them without comment. I also retain my British conventions in the U. S. edition, such as Mrs without a period; nor could I resist inclusion of favourite spellings common to our plucky little island.

    Dame Cecelia Scrivener

    Winterfield College, Oxford University

    A Fortunate Lad

    When the wind whines like an ailing witch as it does tonight, I canna sleep. Like you, I have tricks and games to calm nagging memories. Betimes I count back slowly from a hundred and on good nights drop off before hitting eighty-three. I imagine myself lying in a skiff, the soothing laps of the waves calming me to sleep. Tonight, I choose to remember my childhood days by the coast in Cornwall. Come along with me, to ken my worries. I promise the story, early dark, will turn to better humor.

    In case you have nae been here, peer at a map, and see that Cornwall is the big toe of Great Britain. The River Tamar separates us from Devonshire, and has long isolated us from the rest of the country. We donna consider ourselves English; we hold tight to our Cornish ways. Although the Romans came down, they little interfered, thus our ancestors kept fast to their ways and beliefs. We consider ourselves True Britons, for the great King Arthur were one of us.

    The coastlines of Cornwall are most inviting, the southern section balmy at times, with palm trees and bright flowers to greet the visitor. Inland, the old mining region, can be rough and hilly. Full of granite and poor soil, dozens of rivers and streams rush down to kiss the sea in congenial bays. Our history prides its tales of fishery and smuggling skullduggery. You know: the Pirates of Penzance, charming onstage, kidnappers and enslavers at their actual.

    I grew up in Mousehole [pronounced Muzzle] on the south coast, the fifth son of a fishing family, with two much older sisters. Unlike them, who were short and wiry like rats, I grew brawny and big-boned with navy black hair, olive skin, and grey-blue eyes. My Tas [Dad] used to tease me that some Portuguese infected the family line a long time back. The worm always do reappear, he'd chuff, but on you tis handsome, Kenal Gundry.

    With Tas being out on the boat, sometimes for many days, I little knew him. When he pushed in the back door, followed by my brothers, he’d hug me Mam before collapsing at the table to fill his very hungry stomach. After dinner, he’d go off for a time alone with her, or head out to the pub to meet his friends.

    Things changed when I turned about seven. Because I grew big for my age, he early had me sort the catch. Like all those living in the small harbors,

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