with an impatience to act, to rid himself of the man who obstructed his path to the Spanish hierarchy, but he knew he had to wait until Young had met his son and secured him as an agent. Only then would the duke be expendable.
‘In any case,’ he added genially. ‘For your safety I have ordered my entire household staff to remain in the house for the duration of your stay.’
Nathaniel nodded in gratitude, although Clarsdale’s assurances meant little to him. It was Clarsdale’s incompetence that had forced his return to England. Nathaniel felt nothing but apprehension when he thought of how much his safety and the success of his mission relied on the duke. Clarsdale bade him sit but he shook his head. Although he felt lightheaded with fatigue he still preferred to stand.
‘So, have you managed to secure an ally to our cause in the navy?’
A hint of a smile played across Clarsdale’s face before it hardened once more.
‘I have,’ he replied slowly.
‘Who is he? Is he Catholic?’
‘He is. His confessor, Father Blackthorne, recruited him.’
‘And you trust this priest?’
Again Clarsdale bridled at Young’s suspicions but he endeavoured to hide his anger.
‘He is also my priest,’ he explained, his voice trembling slightly, ‘and yes, I trust him.’
Nathaniel nodded and lowered his head in thought.
‘I need to meet this man. Can you arrange it?’
Clarsdale rubbed his chin and pretended to think. He glanced at Young. He looked tired. As the silence drew out Clarsdale decided it was time to play his opening gambit. He shook his head slightly.
‘It can be arranged,’ he said gravely. ‘But I have one concern. The meeting place is someway distant from here and the journey will be dangerous. Should anything happen to you, how do I send the agent’s information to Spain? Who can I contact there?’
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed slightly at Clarsdale’s request. The duke held his gaze. It was a reasonable request, given the danger Nathaniel was in, but despite Clarsdale’s logic, and the fact that he had worked with the duke for years, Nathaniel knew it wouldn’t be wise to mention Don Rodrigo de Torres’s name. The fewer people who knew the entire network the better. Clarsdale might one day be betrayed himself and captured by the Protestant authorities.
‘I cannot give you that name,’ Nathaniel said. ‘And I already have an arrangement with him. My ship will return for me in exactly one month. If I am not there then it is to be assumed that I have been killed or captured. Either way he will presume that this line of communication has been compromised.’
Clarsdale bunched his fists involuntarily. His face darkened in anger and he stalked over to stand beside Nathaniel at the window.
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘It is not a question of trust.’
‘But if you are killed … This source is too important,’ Clarsdale continued. ‘The information he can provide us with will be invaluable to Spain and our cause.’
‘I don’t even know if I can trust this man,’ Nathaniel shot back, angry that Clarsdale was questioning his decision. ‘You know him only through your priest. How many times have you met this man? Once? Twice? How do you know he is not working for that arch-fiend, Walsingham?’
‘Because of who he is,’ Clarsdale retorted, his previously determined strategy forgotten in anger. ‘Because of who his father is.’
‘Who is his father?’ Nathaniel asked dismissively.
‘You are,’ Clarsdale snarled.
Nathaniel blanched and took a step backward.
‘You don’t mean … Robert,’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ Clarsdale said. ‘Robert Young, son of Nathaniel Young, Duke of Greyfarne.’
‘But … I never thought …’
Nathaniel reached for a chair and sat down. His son, Robert. He had never forgotten him, the boy of twelve he had left at his brother-in-law’s house, but like every memory of England, the picture had been eroded by eighteen years of exile. Eventually he had come to think of his son as gone, lost forever to another life.
Nathaniel felt his throat constrict and he leaned forward to ease his breathing. So many times he had thought of the things he would reclaim when England was once more governed by a Catholic monarch. His lands, his title, his honour, and his family – his only son, Robert. Recovering these things was the driving force in his life, but they were also the substance of his dreams and he had long since learned to bury them deeply to ease his sense of loss. But now, suddenly, he was being given the chance to reclaim a part of his past.
‘I must see him,’ he whispered. ‘Does he know I am your contact?’
‘He knows,’ Clarsdale said coldly. ‘Although he does not know you have come to England. If you want to see him you must reveal the name of your contact in Spain.’
Nathaniel looked up, confused.
‘Now that you know who the agent is,’ Clarsdale continued, ‘you must realize that there is too much at risk should something happen to you. We will never find as reliable an ally as your son.’
Nathaniel stood up once more. His emotions were in turmoil but he was more wary than ever of Clarsdale’s motives.
‘How do I know this man is my son?’ he asked, knowing somehow in his heart that it was true.
‘Are you willing to sacrifice the chance to see him?’
Nathaniel looked past Clarsdale out the window. The sky was darkening under a rolling blanket of grey-black clouds. He looked back at the duke. Perhaps he should tell him of de Torres. As a man he might not trust Clarsdale, but his dedication to the cause was unquestionable. In any case, de Torres could come to no harm simply because Clarsdale knew his name, even if, one day, the duke might be forced to reveal that information to the Protestant authorities.
Nathaniel halted his thoughts, knowing they were leading him the opposite direction to his earlier caution. Clarsdale was blackmailing him, of that there could be no doubt. It was reason enough not to reveal de Torres’s name, and yet, surely such an act on Clarsdale’s part spoke to his belief that the information Robert could provide was more important than any one of them. De Torres certainly felt that way. Indeed King Philip himself considered securing an agent in the navy to be of the highest priority. Clearly Nathaniel should follow their lead, particularly now that his son was the agent and his intelligence would therefore be beyond suspicion. He nodded to himself, deciding that he was being overly cautious.
‘If I should die the man you must seek out in Spain is Don Rodrigo de Torres. He has the ear of the King and will ensure any intelligence finds its way to the right people.’
‘Thank you, Young,’ Clarsdale said earnestly, worried that his face might betray his inner triumph.
‘Now take me to my son,’ Nathaniel demanded.
Clarsdale hesitated for a second. It would be dangerous for him to personally take Young to the rendezvous point on the motte. But, it would expedite his plan. Once father and son had met and Robert Young was fully committed, Clarsdale could dispose of the Duke of Greyfarne at his convenience.
‘There is a small church outside Plymouth, Saint Michael’s,’ Clarsdale explained. ‘Beside it is a motte. Your son will be there at the rising of the new moon, three days from now.’
‘Three days. So we must wait.’
‘No, to avoid detection we must go there by a circuitous route. We leave at sunset.’
Nathaniel nodded. He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Clarsdale’s conduct in obtaining de Torres’s name had unnerved him. It had been forceful, unwavering, and Nathaniel wondered if Clarsdale’s motives went beyond his concern for the intelligence Robert could provide for Spain.
The thought of his son made him wonder if he would see the boy he had once known in the man he was soon to meet. That he was to be an ally in the cause to overthrow Elizabeth filled Nathaniel with immense pride. Nathaniel glanced at Clarsdale, his suspicions lost in amazement at how God, in his infinite wisdom, had arranged for him to meet his only son. He smiled, unaware that this very meeting would precipitate his own death.
Nichols stepped away from the door and walked quickly across the hallway, slipping round a corner and leaning heavily against the wall. His heart was racing. He had been standing at the duke’s study door far too long
