Love in Every Season

by Charlie Cochrane

  Next thing I knew, before I could even get into a proper sort of a scrap, the constables arrived. I guessed I’d been spotted en route and they’d been tipped off. I pleaded mistaken identity, swearing that I couldn’t possibly be the Antonio they wanted, but they weren’t having any of it. I was a marked man, just as I’d told Sebastian, and I’d paid for my folly. I thought I might be able to bribe my way out—I’ve greased palms before and a powerful tool it’s proved. But when I asked Sebastian for the money I’d given, he played dumb. He made out like he didn’t even know me, and the best he could do was offer to lend me some small change.

  What makes someone turn like that? He’d been all lovey-dovey that very morning, and now it was heave-ho time. I could understand him not wanting to let on what we’d been to each other—that was just common sense—but to deny our friendship entirely? He was clearly watching his own back, distancing himself from a wanted man and, while I could understand the instinct for self-preservation, somehow I’d expected better of him.

  The tears stinging my eyes couldn’t stop me seeing the look on his face clearly enough. By God, he must have been a better actor than I’d given him credit for, because you’d have sworn he didn’t know me. Maybe he’d been pretending in our bed, as well, all his sweet words nothing but an act. To cover up that all he was doing was repaying me for saving his life. No fool like an old fool, eh?

  “Will you take what I can lend? It’s all I possess.” Sebastian again offered me a few pennies. He surely couldn’t have spent all I’d given him, not in that short a time, so I was sure that was another lie to add to all the ones he was using to build a wall between us. Unless he’d spent it all on a woman, of course. Easy enough to run through a mint of money on painted whores—I’d seen that often enough with my officers.

  I tried to argue, but he wouldn’t listen and I gave up trying. The Count’s men could carry me away to prison right then, for all I cared. I’d been duped by a pretty face—me, Captain Antonio, who’d been offered doe-eyed perfumed boys in the harems of the orient and said “no” to all of them, not wanting to pay for my pleasures or be beholden to any man for favouring me with them. “Hard-nosed Antonio” as my men thought of me.

  Well, I wasn’t so hard-nosed now.

  Act two, scene three

  I sat in my cold cell, dragging my cloak around me for want of other comfort, and cursing myself all ways to buggery for being such a naïve fool, letting a money grasping wanton of a lad get the better of me. I couldn’t see a way out—neither escaping my cell nor untangling the mess—so the only option I’d have was to throw myself on Orsino’s mercy. And I wasn’t sure he’d have much of that to offer.

  Escape didn’t seem an option. Even if I had been able to overpower the guard when he came to give me my broth, what could I have done? I was right in the middle of the town and would have had to skirt either Olivia’s or Orsino’s estates to get back towards the coast or an airfield. I considered taking my chances on the road, but that risked seeing him. By which I don’t mean Orsino: all he could do was break my body. I mean Sebastian, who was still playing on my heart like wind on rudder. I’d kept my ears open while I’d been frogmarched here and the constables had mentioned that my lad was staying with the Count. I knew he was a quick worker, but that was lightning fast, abandoning me at the inn and inveigling himself into the man’s service.

  At least he’d had the sense to adopt another name and hide his heritage, like he’d done with me. I’d heard them call him Cesario, so that was the third name I had for the lad. Or four: you could add “underhanded bastard” to the list.

  I even started wondering if he’d worked the same tricks on Orsino as he had on me, tormenting myself with the thought of Sebastian offering to warm the man’s bed while I lay cold and alone in my cell. But that was just my anger cranking itself up—the policemen had made enough lewd remarks about Orsino’s affection for the Lady Olivia to assure me that his interests lay on traditional lines.

  And I missed my lad. Like my ship misses the breeze when she’s down at the aerodrome, or tethered waiting to be reloaded. I dreamed about him, stuck in the cell, and I’d not cared a whit that I might have called out for him in my sleep. I’d got used to having him at my side to lie against, warm body on warm body. I’d missed seeing his handsome face by the morning light. The sweet smile when he opened his eyes. Being the first person he spoke to. I was beginning to think none of it meant anything to him.

  Still, I didn’t have long to brood—the constable was soon back, dragging me out of the cell and off to Olivia’s again, muttering about me being the only one able to sort some bloody mess out, even if I was filthy pirate scum. Only he put the last bit a lot less politely. Seems like my lad was in trouble again, and this time he’d sent for me to vouch for him.

  I fought back the overwhelming urge to tell the constable Sebastian could go fuck himself for all I cared. Maybe there was a speck of hope, after all, hull up on the horizon?

  Act two, scene four

  I’m not a melodramatic man and I’ve never been one for the theatre, but what greeted my eyes when we arrived at Olivia’s house was nothing short of a tableau. Everyone standing around open mouthed, as if they’d been frozen in position, waiting for me and the constable to arrive. We were greeted with a sudden thaw, all of them gesticulating and talking at once. It was clear which one was Olivia: she’d be reckoned a beauty by any man. The streak of water and his fat friend were capering about, while Orsino was standing looking thunder at everyone, especially at me, and my lad was looking pensive.

  “Antonio. Tell them I wasn’t in this place before yesterday.” Sebastian started, as if he wanted to come towards me, but Olivia held him back. The sight of her hand on his arm, proprietarily, made my blood boil.

  “Aye, that’s right. You can go and ask at the inn where we stowed our dunnage. Or the one we stayed at the night before that.”

  “I told them about our journey. They said I’d been here longer, staying with Orsino.”

  The Count looked daggers at everyone, as though they were all guilty of playing some trick on him “He’s been paying court to the Lady Olivia on my behalf, these last few days. Or I thought it was on my behalf. It seems like he’s been putting in some work on his own account.”

  The lady blushed, but she stared Orsino out. “Just because I’ve found his face and words more to my liking than yours!”

  Sebastian looked at her, horrified. “But I keep telling you—the first time I met you was but yesterday.” He turned to me. “My lady has some notion in her head that I’ve been wooing her. Even yester eve when I was at The Elephant, alone, she swears I was here, paying court.”

  I couldn’t vouch for that, as I’d been locked in my cold cell, although I’d have sworn my lad was telling the truth. Yet why should she lie? And why should Orsino back her up, inventing a rival when there could be none?

  Sometimes the bloody obvious stares us in the face but we don’t—or won’t—see it. Sebastian and I both had the key. We’d been staring the truth in the face and it had struck us blind. Now I could see clearly.

  “My lady. My lord,” I said, as politely as courteously as I could manage. “Will you send to your houses and enquire whether Cesario is still there at one of them?”

  “You mock us, sir.” Orsino’s voice was even colder. “We have the miscreant here.”

  “I don’t think you do.” I turned to my lad. “Sebastian. Your sister—didn’t you say she was your image?”

  “Sister?” Everyone spoke the word at the same time, in the same horrified way.

  All except my lad, who spoke it with reverence. “Viola? Can my Viola be alive?”

  We didn’t have long to wait to find out. The streak of water’s fat friend soon found her: she’d heard the news of her double appearing from thin air and was already coming to find us. And double it was. I’m not sure any of us could believe our eyes when we saw the pair side by side.

  “Sebastian!” She wa
s straight into his arms, full of wonder at his having survived, each of them sharing their story with each other and with the crowd. Or as much of his story as my lad dared reveal.

  Two of them stood, like mirror images, or—what was it my old engineer on the privateer used to say—as two cogs on a gear. She certainly was his image, her strength and diamond hard brightness reflecting his grace and gentleness. When they’d grown inside their mother, had their qualities mingled? And had each emerged neither boy nor girl but some strange fusion of both? No wonder she’d made a successful suitor and no wonder Olivia had fallen for her.

  Orsino seemed bewitched, too; he was looking from Viola to Sebastian and back again, astounded. I did wonder for a moment if he was going to try his arm with my boy—you can’t be too sure they don’t still have droit de seigneur or whatever they call the heathen custom in these parts—when I realised he was delighted at finding his page had been a girl all the time. I bet he’d had some troubled dreams, being attracted by her and feeling it was all wrong. Cursing himself for wanting something he could never—should never—have. He could have her now, if she wanted him, and then I could have my lad back

  As so often, I thought too soon.

  “Cesario…Viola. I see now that what I loved in you was but a foretaste of this moment. The fates meant it to be.” Olivia drew herself up, looking like a fine figurehead gracing the prow of an old-style sailing ship. She turned to Sebastian, gesturing with her hand. “What I would have given her but could not, I offer thee instead. My love, my fealty, my fortune.”

  My lad looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck. He’d his sister by his side and a lady, a rich and handsome lady, throwing herself at his feet, offering him half her estate, and the chance to get his shoes under her bed. I thought he was bound to shrug me off, and who could blame him?

  What had I to offer that might equally tempt a young lad? I’d made a tidy sum over the years, but not being short of a penny doesn’t compare to the sorts of riches she had. She had the advantage of respectability, too, whereas nobody was going to wed Sebastian and me in a church in the sight of both God and congregation.

  I kept telling myself I was nothing but a millstone around his neck. If Orsino’s position regarding Sebastian’s family might soften if he loved the maid, then perhaps he’d want double the revenge on poor Antonio, to compensate. What young man was going to risk making an alliance with me and thereby endanger his neck?

  But Sebastian surprised me, just as he’d surprised me in that bed in the inn.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing stiffly, as he must have been taught when naught but a boy. That put heart into me; I’d seen him like that before and it always meant he was about to deliver bad news, like that morning when he’d tried to lose me on the way here. “I may be my sister’s image but I have not her generosity of heart. I could offer you nothing that a lady of your great beauty deserves.”

  “I ask for nothing. I simply offer all. The rest will come.” Olivia had spirit. She wasn’t going to let him go that easily, now that she’d lost his sister.

  “You loved Viola and no man or woman would blame you, as she’s the rarest beauty this side of the ocean.”

  I thought he was sailing dangerous waters there, because the Lady Olivia was supposed to be the fairest in all Illyria. There was a sharp look in her eye which suggested she thought the same, but he pressed on.

  “Don’t fall for me, my lady. I’m a pale imitation of the real thing.” They were clever words, hiding a wealth of meaning, some of which maybe only I would catch.

  “Then I see I must lose twice over,” Olivia said, colouring. I thought he’d—we’d—won but she played her trump card. “But I won’t be the only loser. This pirate,” she looked daggers at me, as though she knew exactly why the lad wouldn’t have her, “is he not the same as caused such harm to your nephew, my lord?”

  Of course she knew the answer to that question—we all did, or else why had I been locked up? My bloody scar; it must have been the talk of Illyria. Well, that was it. All hope lost.

  Now, as you’ll have guessed, I’ve never been a great one for the ladies—known too many of them, high born or low, to be bitches—but young Viola hadn’t just got her brother’s face. She had his nobility of spirit, too. Maybe more noble than he was, considering how many merry dances he’d led me since I’d rescued him.

  “A man may change,” she said quietly. “This man saved my brother. In doing so he mended my heart. For that service, will you forgive Captain Antonio his crimes, my lord? For my sake?” She made as if to kneel before Orsino, but he caught her in time, shaking his head and refusing to let her demean herself.

  “You will not kneel to me, my lady. I will forgive both your family and this man for your sake.” He kissed her hand and drew her to him. In her man’s garb she looked naught but a boy in his arms. Nobody seemed to be bothered, even though they’d have had kittens if I’d done that to her brother. “They shall have their freedom, if you will give up yours.” He looked as if he was making a threat but we all knew by now what was likely to be coming next. “By binding yourself to me.”

  See? As I said, they have funny ways in these great courts. Posh words, barrels full of intrigue, girls dressed as boys and everyone playing tricks on each other like a load of children. Give me the skies and making an honest living any day. And I’d rather have my lad and the rough and ready words of courtship we’d spoken above all the so-called words of love I’d heard here.

  “I will, my lord.” Viola gave Orsino a resounding kiss, the sort of sweet, deep kiss that her brother had been kind enough to give me. Maybe he had learned that skill from her, after all.

  Epilogue

  In the months to come I found myself poacher not just turned gamekeeper but estate manager with it. Sebastian returned home and put me in charge of his fleet of trading airships: made me his own private pilot, too, for when the whim took us. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

  After Orsino and Viola made their promise, I knew for certain that Sebastian had chosen me. The pair of us were made guests of the Count, and I don’t mean put up in his prison. I had a room with the servants and Sebastian was housed with the family, although I didn’t mind. I was certain there’d be plenty of time for us to pledge our love to each other again. As often as the bed would take it.

  We had time for one short conversation before his sister whipped him away.

  “I’m glad at your choice,” I said, desperate to put my hands on him, but forcing myself to behave.

  “I’d not have been tempted by the lady,” he said. “I don’t believe in love at first sight.” I held my tongue—maybe in years to come I’d tell him the truth of things, how I’d loved him from the minute my eyes rested on him. “The next pretty face that came along would likely distract her.”

  I’d proved my constancy, unlike her, although he didn’t mention that. He must have realised love wouldn’t be changeable with me; he knows which side his bread’s buttered, my lad.

  I did wonder, in later years, what had happened about Olivia. For all I’d beaten her—fair and square—I didn’t like the thought of any fine lady ending up lonely. I shouldn’t have fretted. Viola kept us up to date with all the news and a year later we were celebrating jointly: the birth of Sebastian’s first nephew and the lady Olivia’s engagement to a lad—even younger than mine!—she’d met on a pilgrimage.

  All that’s left to be said is why my story doesn’t quite match what the Bard reported. Well, he always liked to beef the story up, did Shakespeare, and I’m not sure he wanted to make it that plain about me and the lad I’d rescued. See, he’d had his eye on a lad—a handsome lad, pretty enough to be a girl and flighty with it—and I’m not sure how close to home he wanted to play things.

  Still, my lad and I knew the truth, and that’s all that matters. What we will, not what you will, Will.

  About the author:

  Because Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jo
bs of choice—like managing a rugby team—she writes. Her mystery novels include the Edwardian era Cambridge Fellows series, and the contemporary Lindenshaw Mysteries. Multi-published, she has titles with Carina, Riptide, Endeavour and Bold Strokes, among others.

  A member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, Mystery People and International Thriller Writers Inc, Charlie regularly appears at literary festivals and at reader and author conferences with The Deadly Dames.

  Where to find her:

  Website: https://charliecochrane.wordpress.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/charlie.cochrane.18

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/charliecochrane

  Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2727135.Charlie_Cochrane

  Also by the author:

  Novels:

  Best Corpse for the Job

  Jury of One

  Two Feet Under

  Old Sins

  Lessons in Love

  Lessons in Desire

  Lessons in Discovery

  Lessons in Power

  Lessons in Temptation

  Lessons in Seduction

  Lessons in Trust

  All Lessons Learned

  Lessons for Survivors

  Lessons for Idle Tongues

  Lessons for Sleeping Dogs

  Broke Deep

  Count the Shells

  Novellas:

  Lessons in Loving Thy Murderous Neighbour

  Lessons in Chasing the Wild Goose.

  Lessons in Cracking the Deadly Code

  Collected novellas:

  Love in Every Season

  Pack Up Your Troubles

  Standalone novellas and short stories:

  Second Helpings

  Awfully Glad

  Don’t Kiss the Vicar

  Promises Made Under Fire

  Dreams of a Hero