Sir John showed a startled face, but swore readily enough that he had not so much as seen Sir Oliver for days. He was gentle with Lionel, whom he liked, as everybody liked him. The lad was so mild and kindly in his ways, so vastly different from his arrogant overbearing brother, that his virtues shone the more brightly by that contrast.
“I confess it is natural you should come to me,” said Sir John. “But, my word on it, I have no knowledge of him. It is not my way to beset my enemies in the dark.”
“Indeed, indeed, Sir John, I had not supposed it in my heart,” replied the afflicted Lionel. “Forgive me that I should have come to ask a question so unworthy. Set it down to my distracted state. I have not been the same man these months, I think, since that happening in Godolphin Park. The thing has preyed upon my mind. It is a fearsome burden to know your own brother—though I thank God he is no more than my half-brother—guilty of so foul a deed.”
“How?” cried Killigrew, amazed. “You say that? You believed it yourself?”
Master Lionel looked confused, a look which Sir John entirely misunderstood and interpreted entirely in the young man’s favour. And it was thus and in that moment that was sown the generous seed of the friendship that was to spring up between these two men, its roots fertilized by Sir John’s pity that one so gentle-natured, so honest, and so upright should be cursed with so villainous a brother.
“I see, I see,” he said. And he sighed. “You know that we are daily expecting an order from the Queen to her Justices to take the action which hitherto they have refused against your … against Sir Oliver.” He frowned thoughtfully. “D’ye think Sir Oliver had news of this?”
At once Master Lionel saw the drift of what was in the other’s mind.
“I know it,” he replied. “Myself I bore it him. But why do you ask?”
“Does it not help us perhaps to understand and explain Sir Oliver’s disappearance? God lack! Surely, knowing that, he were a fool to have tarried here, for he would hang beyond all doubt did he stay for the coming of her grace’s messenger.”
“My God!” said Lionel, staring. “You … you think he is fled, then?”
Sir John shrugged. “What else is to be thought?”
Lionel hung his head. “What else, indeed?” said he, and took his leave like a man overwrought, as indeed he was. He had never considered that so obvious a conclusion must follow upon his work so fully to explain the happening and to set at rest any doubt concerning it.
He returned to Penarrow, and bluntly told Nicholas what Sir John suspected and what he feared himself must be the true reason of Sir Oliver’s disappearance. The servant, however, was none so easy to convince.
“But do ee believe that he done it?” cried Nicholas. “Do ee believe it, Master Lionel?” There was reproach amounting to horror in the servant’s voice.
“God help me, what else can I believe now that he is fled.”
Nicholas sidled up to him with tightened lips. He set two gnarled fingers on the young man’s arm.
“He’m not fled, Master Lionel,” he announced with grim impressiveness. “He’m never a turntail. Sir Oliver he don’t fear neither man nor devil, and if so be him had killed Master Godolphin, he’d never ha’ denied it. Don’t ee believe Sir John Killigrew. Sir John ever hated he.”
But in all that countryside the servant was the only one to hold this view. If a doubt had lingered anywhere of Sir Oliver’s guilt, that doubt was now dispelled by this flight of his before the approach of the expected orders from the Queen.
Later that day came Captain Leigh to Penarrow inquiring for Sir Oliver.
Nicholas brought word of his presence and his inquiry to Master Lionel, who bade him be admitted.
The thickset little seaman rolled in on his bowed legs, and leered at his employer when they were alone.
“He’s snug and safe aboard,” he announced. “The thing were done as clean as peeling an apple, and as quiet.”
“Why did you ask for him?” quoth Master Lionel.
“Why?” Jasper leered again. “My business was with him. There was some talk between us of him going a voyage with me. I’ve heard the gossip over at Smithick. This will fit in with it.” He laid that finger of his to his nose. “Trust me to help a sound tale along. ’Twere a clumsy business to come here asking for you, sir. Ye’ll know now how to account for my visit.”
Lionel paid him the price agreed and dismissed him upon receiving the assurance that the Swallow would put to sea upon the next tide.
When it became known that Sir Oliver had been in treaty with Master Leigh for a passage overseas, and that it was but on that account that Master Leigh had tarried in that haven, even Nicholas began to doubt.
Gradually Lionel recovered his tranquillity as the days flowed on. What was done was done, and, in any case, being now beyond recall, there was no profit in repining. He never knew how fortune aided him, as fortune will sometimes aid a villain. The royal pour-suivants arrived some six days later, and Master Baine was the recipient of a curt summons to render himself to London, there to account for his breach of trust in having refused to perform his sworn duty. Had Sir Andrew Flack but survived the chill that had carried him off a month ago, Master Justice Baine would have made short work of the accusation lodged against him. As it was, when he urged the positive knowledge he possessed, and told them how he had made the examination to which Sir Oliver had voluntarily submitted, his single word carried no slightest conviction. Not for a moment was it supposed that this was aught but the subterfuge of one who had been lax in his duty and who sought to
