Love Sonata 1784: An 18th-Century Mystery-Suspense Novella

By Troy Arrandale

This 18th-century novella is a mystery intertwined on the back of one old love and a new infatuation, a story of strange happenings. It opens at first with a Spanish judge's diary entry looking back at the strange events, and then a letter from the wife of the plantation owner who's accused of Treason and Murder in the superstitious judge's court in St. Augustine, Florida, at the end of the American Revolution. The penalty of death is on the table. Flora, the accused's wife, is frantic. The man's case comes at a bad time for everyone: the American Revolution is over, the rule of Florida is being transferred from the hands of the king of England back to the king of Spain and everything's in chaos. If anyone knew Flora's true identity or what she was capable of, Caribbean law states she'd be executed herself. What do you do when the love of your life no longer loves you and he's about to be executed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troy Arrandale
• Release date: Nov 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005014148

Troy Arrandale

Started my first novel at age 6. Didn't get anywhere with that one lol Am now writing Sci fi and realistic, edgy and or eerie short stories and novels. But please write me anytime for anything and let me know what YOU love to read! Gonna try writing enemies to lovers romance under pen name of Arin Dale, and perhaps an espionage World War 2 novel under the name of Odelle Aniston (Odelle is my beloved gramma's name. Above, Troygirl.com is not my author website. That's my site for receiving my free 10 part email/video course on "Fixing, Reversing and Preventing Health Problems at 40+" where I give you the info that reduced mine and my husband's aging and health problems by 80%. (At this writing I'm 60 and he is 77.) I'm a Beach and theme park groupie living in Cocoa Florida! Here are a few of my links all in one place: https://linktr.ee/TroysStories

Book preview

Love Sonata 1784

Being the history at the end of the American Revolution of a judge who's presented with an unusual Murder and Treason case who has to ask himself, "Is there such a thing as magick?"*

By Troy Arrandale

Copyright Troy Arrandale 2021

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords License Notes:

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

*18th-century spelling, phrasing and way of random capitalizing. Sometimes I use 18th century English style in the body of the text, which is harder for modern readers to understand (like me! lol), but it’s limited. This is a work of pure fiction and even though I use a couple of real historical figures, I mess with some of the dates, and their words and deeds are purely my imagination

For Bob, Sally and Dee. And my brother John who

expressed an interest when I told him the subtitle above but who doesn’t read

much anymore. Thanks for your support.

Table of Contents

Author’s Note: Warning

Chapter 1-Vicente’s Diary

Chapter 2-Flora’s Letter

Contact Troy Arrandale

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Reading Group Guide

Author’s Note: WARNING. Non-humanitarian practices, slavery and unequal rights of minorities, women and children may be depicted due to the historical setting and time period.

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Condemned Prisoner

(Digitalized illustration from the book Mystères du Palais de l’Élysée by Jules Beaujoint, courtesy of British Library via Flickr Commons, approximately 19th century. No known copyright restrictions,.)

Chapter 1

[Translated from the private diary of His Excellency the Viceroy Vicente Zéspedes, the governor who ruled St. Augustine, Florida, 1784 - 1790 after England gave Florida back to Spain at the end of the American Revolution.]

8 April, 1793. Havana.

I saw you again today, Consi. Mi amor, my wife, the smoke of your soul passed behind me again as I stood in front of my dressing mirror today. I don’t care that no one else in the palace sees you, or that they now think I’m crazy for leaving the heads of my fresh red carnations of love all around where I feel you.

What do ghosts of the heart remember? Do you remember the AmericanRevolution? Me ruling Cuba? Then afterwards when I ruled the town in New Spain called St. Augustine?

I crossed myself three times when I got off the boat because it was raining in the sunshine on the dock and so no poison fell on you and our daughters from the sky as you got off your ship behind me.

Out of all my glorious and despised diplomatic and ruler duties and cases in the province, there’s that one that still breaks my heart today. That lonely woman and the love of her life, as you and I were to each other until you died, Consi. You remember her.

And now that you’re not here to argue with me about it, I still believe as easily as there are ugly and dangerous black-haired hags who are witches, there might be lovely madonnas with blonde flowing tresses like her who conjure.

I can hear you arguing with me about it as we did throughout the years.

And I don’t understand why God would put them on His earth. But she loved, oh, how purely she loved, only that one man.

And oh, how she enchanted me at first sight when I met her outside my office the day after I arrived to rule Florida. There were so many things going on that needed my attention. The change in regime. Many Spanish subjects returning, many subjects of the British king leaving. So many requests. Denying so many of them where my hands were tied by King Carlos and the rule of our Catholick God, too: remember all the young British soldiers and farmers in love pleading me to join them and their young ladies in holy matrimony before they sailed away, scattering far and wide, back to British regions? So many begging for marriage they were like woods faeries flying at me. But it’s devil’s work for an official to marry non-Catholics to each other. I turned so many boys away and kissed my crucifix. I hear a rumor these days all the way from Spain that our new king will make it so that ships’ captains can marry passengers. Love between a man and woman is so precious, I hope the king makes it so.

Love like you and I had, Consi. Love like the lonely woman for her wrongly accused husband.

She’s the first British woman I saw after I got to our small walled fort and city that day, for everywhere was swimming with men.

Men on the dock, men marching around the fort, men milling around the barracks on the plaza between the town walls. Men bustling in the town center that I glimpsed down the street when the old gray-hair losing British ruler, Governor Tonyn, and I got out of his carriage on the back side of the Government House. And of course all the men on my ship for three days. I longed for the sight and sound of women, as they’d mingled in the city center of Havana. I longed for you and our daughters to hurry and disembark from your ship. Ah. So I never should’ve been a militar and statesman. I should’ve written Don Quijote’s love story myself. Or painted Goya’s Nude Maja. Perhaps these words I put down here will be my own beautiful love Flamenco. Or maybe I’m composing Love Sonata in G Minor, my own danse macabre, The Devil’s Trill.

The day I met her Flora Pinckney was surrounded by her entourage. As I came up the hall with my translator and personal attendant towards my office, she was there surrounded by them: a grown black slave man, a shorter woman, a white man in a formal frock coat and hat, and various children. This was the