She paced the horse, not wanting to run him into the ground. Breedon's team had not been entirely fresh when he had come to her. They had traveled from somewhere nearby, no doubt in the direction of Bath if they had wanted to lend credence to their story. The horses would have to be rested or changed before long. With any luck Henry and his friends would be able to follow easily. The only trouble was there was nothing to stop Breedon from harming or killing Alexander right now. If only she knew what he was after...
To keep her mind off her panic over anything happening to her beloved, she tried to piece together what she knew. Paxton had wanted all three of the Rakehells dead. For who they were, what they knew? What they owned? With Jonathan dead, he would have gained what?
Nothing, for their parents had been alive then. There had been three other heirs, three sisters, two already married, with husbands to protect the family interests. Sarah had been the youngest, of little importance in the whole line of inheritance. Only when Jonathan had inherited had he divided their fortune equally, instead of keeping it all for himself. So Jonathan could not have been the target.
But a Duke's wealth, a Duke's sister, would have been a far better catch. Jane and Elizabeth Eltham had been two lovely girls, both young and impressionable, independently wealthy, with access to vast estates throughout Great Britain and Ireland if their brother were killed. Elizabeth had been too young, but Jane... Poor Jane. She had ended up Paxton's victim, terribly treated when the family solicitors had refused to give her access to a penny of the Eltham wealth even though she was presumed heir.
It was easy enough to see why they wanted to kill the Duke. But what of the third Rakehell Clifford Stone? He was wealthy, a decent man, possessed of a good fortune, but with his brother Henry to inherit.
So her best guess was that the Duke had been the target all along.
The Duke's wealth was tempting enough. But was there something special about the lands, perhaps? Not really. They were all prosperous farms, worth a great deal in steady income from the rents and crops. But there had to be more to the game than just money.
Where did Alexander fit in? An honorary Rakehell, a friend of her brother's, and the Duke's? That was her best guess. If she assumed yes, why had he not been on the battlefield with them when they had all been in the breach?
How did she know he had not? She didn't, but she knew her brother had never once mentioned him. She knew Alexander had been unhurt after Cuidad Rodrigo...
"Because Jonathan sold his commission to him, after the next great battle, after Badajoz in April, three months later," she said aloud. "That's why Alexander was carrying the papers in a secret pocket in his trousers!"
So whatever had happened to Alexander, the torture, the blinding, had been after Badajoz as well.
To what end?
A person was tortured because they knew something worth discovering. Marielle had been his: wife, lover, sister? Wife. He remembered that much. And she had been killed, and him forced to watch?
Or not killed, at least not at first, she thought with a feeling of sick dread. They had tried to extract information from her, perhaps? And when that had failed...
Was that how the boys had died? Or had they killed them to get him to tell?
How had Alexander escaped? Had he told them and they had simply let him go?
But no, men like that would never have let him live. Or his wife. So if they had taken him now, it had to be because they still needed the information, or his help?
Help to do what? What were his special skills?
She galloped on, heedless of the darkening clouds overhead, and the gusting wind tearing at her jacket and scarf. Special skills, special skills... He was good with roses, gardens, crops, numbers, music, languages, the prices of things, fabrics, wine...
He was a merchant, who spoke many different languages, including Portuguese, Spanish, French. His wife had been French, supported Bonaparte. He had been a double agent, pretending to be on one side while he informed the English of everything he learned. So her best guess was that Alexander had been living in Spain, working as a merchant, spying. He had been friends with Jonathan, perhaps his liaison to whom he had passed his vital information. Had helped the anti-Bonapartists.
Jonathan had been at the siege of Badajoz, been promoted, sold his commission, then come home with his injured friends.
Alexander had remained behind, been attacked and tortured. Why? Because they knew he was a spy? Or because they knew with his intelligence and skills that he was a runner of spies?
The realization winded her. Of course, it seemed so logical now. He had been pretending to be an ordinary merchant, but actually helping the remaining aristocrats, or anyone persecuted under Napoleon, to get out of France.