Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; varying license taken with historical persons. Victorian universe courtesy of Sequitur.

A/N: It's been so great to get all the reviews and alerts and favorites on this story – every e-mail from FFN makes me grin all over, especially for this attempt in a whole new (old?) universe. Thank you all for reading and letting me know that you've enjoyed things so far. It's such a boost!

A seriously heartfelt thanks to the internet, from which I have learned an incredible amount about Victorian England, its customs and trappings, its royals and royal kin, and everything else that goes with it. There's no way I could have written any of this without all the information available out there on these topics. Phew!

A PERSON OF SOME CONSEQUENCE

Chapter 3

When Timothy emerged wearing his one, "presentable" day coat, as Anthony had called it, with the cravat he knew would pass the man's fiercest scrutiny, he came downstairs to the first landing to find Anthony pacing restively in dress that, for him, was surprisingly understated – not funereal, of course, but nonetheless serious and understated and, McGee noted, quite elegant – as if Anthony had something lying about just waiting for his summons for a morning audience before royalty. Gibbs stood slightly apart from his second, waiting as well, but for what, Timothy suddenly was not wholly certain.

As Timothy's foot hit the last step to the landing, Anthony pivoted back to look at him. It was apparent that even Gibbs had bowed to Anthony's protocol directives, as he now stood by with his own topper in hand, clad in suitable day wear of his own. McGee grumbled to himself that if he remained in Gibbs' employ much longer he would need to build his own wardrobe fit for so many different places and times and events it would rival even Anthony's. Hearing that, Gibbs spared him the smallest of smiles, albeit an understanding one, but clearly the business had his senses alert for whatever it was that apparently raised some foreboding in him. Feeling for the world like a child lined up for a paternal inspection, McGee readied himself for Anthony's tense scrutiny, understanding that if this was his appointment, for an acquaintance of such eminence, then he had a right to feel nervous upon the presentation of his associates. But to his surprise, after a brief moment of consideration, Anthony's dark expression lightened for a moment in a slight, appreciative smile.

"Let's have a look at you, McGee," he said, almost formally, coming closer to straighten McGee's cravat. "My apologies if you already know this, McGee, and I've some hope that the information will not be needed at all – but should the Prince or Princess or any of the royal siblings actually appear whilst we are there – it's 'your Royal Highness' on first meeting then 'sir' or 'ma'am' from that point onward. Understand?" He finished with McGee's cravat around the younger man's nod and added, "now then – you do know how to bow, do you not?"

Any protest McGee might have raised in normal circumstances died on his tongue, seeing the change in Anthony's manner and the lack of his usual high spirits as they readied for their appointment. Another quick glance to Gibbs found the older man as inscrutable as ever: not tense, but unsmiling; not worried, exactly, but as alert and watchful as he'd ever seen him. Once again not quite sure of what lay behind it all, Timothy managed a smile for the man who could never let him leave the house without fussing at his neckwear. "I do, Anthony."

Something in his response made the man pause and consider him again, seeming now to look more on the inside of him than the outside, and, possibly finding McGee's questions reflected back at him, Anthony seemed to relax marginally and offered a small nod of approval. "Right, then. Good man." With a step back for a final appraisal, he nodded once and turned toward the stairs.

Without a doubt, Anthony was all business and, to Timothy's continuing surprise, apparently rather in dread of the appointment. He'd have thought that a summons to the palace, and a chance to show off his connection with and importance to royalty, would fill Anthony's head with insufferable pride. McGee suddenly frowned to himself. Admittedly he was not experienced in the matter of being summoned by one's sovereign, but Anthony's manner was most assuredly not what he would expect of anyone called upon by the crown. Anthony had indeed said the summons came from an "acquaintance," did he not? Timothy considered now. And the missive was written in the most familiar of tones ...

Even though the matter had clearly been placed in Anthony's lap by the nature of the summons, Timothy was not expecting to see Gibbs hang back as he did to allow Anthony's lead, both down the stairs and on to the appointment. Even more unexpected was how strongly Anthony took to the role, as focused and serious as Gibbs had ever been. With a quick mental nudge to himself, McGee fell into step behind Gibbs as they both followed Mr. Anthony to the entryway, where the 'coachman,' still simply standing in the hall, watched them approach.

Coming closer to their visitor, Timothy determined he would get a better look at him now, while they were all still in the calm of their own home, and was given the chance as the man turned to face them a bit more fully at their approach, any pretense of being a simple driver gone from him. He appeared to be of an age somewhere close to Anthony's, but spoke and bore himself as if decades older, and had a bearing not at all unlike Gibbs's own, making McGee think he might be a military man. It was his eyes, though, that were most telling; they held intelligence and the sort of quick-witted appraisal that one rarely saw, again reminding Timothy of Gibbs and even Anthony, ever on watch for the slightest bit of intelligence to be gleaned from the world around them. Not only an important personage, but a clever and dangerous one as well? Timothy wondered. At the very moment of his thought, the man shifted his glance to McGee's own and, with only the moment to take the measure of him, the faux-driver offered Timothy the smallest nod and smile. McGee tried to return it in kind while swallowing the start it gave him as he cautioned himself, and one just as adept as is Gibbs at reading my mind...

"Your Highness." Ahead of him, Anthony was speaking again as he tipped his head to the man, and his sudden use of the title drew McGee's eyebrows up yet another inch. "Your appearance, both in our hallway and in the costume in which you present yourself, took me by enough surprise that it was several moments before I could place you, and for that I apologize. I do hope you won't take offence by it."

"Not in the least, Mr. Anthony, and I daresay that I could almost say the same." In the man's tone and in the small twitch at the corner of Anthony's eye, Timothy sensed an undercurrent of meaning that passed between them, but before he could wonder further at it the man spoke again. "And I hope you all will forgive the unannounced intrusion and abrupt nature of the summons, but I assure you that all will be clear soon enough."

Anthony nodded once, soberly, and turned slightly to include Gibbs and Timothy, still standing apart, behind him. "Sir, may I present Mr. Gibbs, my employer, as you know, and Mr. Timothy McGee, of Mr. Gibbs' recent employ as well and my newest associate. Mr. Gibbs, Mr. McGee – this is His Serene Highness, Prince Louis of Battenberg."

A prince as their driver? McGee simply stared until Gibbs' slight bow led him to do the same. Timothy wasn't exactly sure the what or whom of Battenberg, and although he was fairly certain that such royalty wouldn't typically serve as servants to the English royal family, he did know that there were connections and family ties amongst the crowned heads of Europe and that the Queen herself had a European lineage. Even coming on the heels of his newest revelations that morning, in this household full of kindness to its servants, the idea was nearly too preposterous to consider – until he looked again at the eyes of this 'coachman' that seemed to miss nothing, and Timothy sensed that he would be just the sort to step in when matters were very grave indeed.

No wonder then at Anthony's sobriety and concern.

The "Prince" met Gibbs' eyes as well as Timothy's again, in brief acknowledgment, before turning back to Anthony, who wordlessly nodded and followed the man outside to the street. The clarence awaiting them at the curb was a fine one, to be sure, but one without the appointments and finery one expected of royalty, without coat of arms or any sort of markings to inform the public of its owner. After only a moment the reason dawned on McGee, as he chastised himself for even wondering. If a prince was sent to fetch us in the guise of a coachman, then surely discretion, as Anthony had cautioned him, was of utmost importance. What would be the point of clothing a prince as a driver if the carriage itself told the world of our destination?

And with that thought – as he climbed into the nondescript but nonetheless luxurious carriage – McGee realized he had no idea exactly where this Battenberg Prince intended to take them.

Once the men had settled into the fine leather upholstery, Prince Louis remained standing at the carriage door and looked to his passengers. "The purpose of your visit is somewhat ... sensitive," he explained, "so I will have to ask that you allow the screens to remain in place as they are." McGee involuntarily let his eyes wander across the back window and the doors on either side, suddenly understanding the purpose of the thin, loosely woven fabric through which he could see a ghost of things beyond them, but which in all likelihood made them invisible to the outside world. "It is not to prevent you from seeing the path to our destination, but to avoid the curious stares of those who might be along the way from seeing you." Without more, and without a moment's delay to allow his 'guests' an opportunity to question him, the Prince shut the carriage door and the three passengers were left looking at each other in the slightly dimmed interior.

As they sat back for the ride, McGee looked to Anthony as a thousand questions turned over in his mind, not the least of which was what possessed Anthony to ask that he come along. He supposed it could be in response to their discussion over breakfast about his being left out of the planning to assist Ms. Dawes and her sister, but he realised right away that even if Mr. Anthony had taken his complaints to heart, which he may well have done, it was not likely that he would bring him along in such circumstances merely to make amends. More likely it was the untold nature of what they might find ahead; just as Anthony had said, better to bring all their assets into the mix to see what might be seen. His face must have shown his puzzlement, because, as they pulled away from Gibbs' home, his employer said quietly, "McGee, if you have any hesitancy in joining us you'd be advised to say it now rather than further on into the affair."

Timothy blinked, first in surprise at Gibbs' words then in an effort to shake off any appearance of uncertainty. "No; I am glad to come along for whatever use I may be. I am simply ... unsettled, I suppose ... at the speed of these sudden events and the apparent identity of our new patron."

"'Apparent' identity, McGee?" Timothy was unable to interpret Anthony's tense expression or his clipped response. "Whose word do you doubt – mine, or the Prince's, or the heir to the throne?"

"None," Timothy replied immediately, rising to the bait, whether it was unintended as such or not. While Anthony's response to the unusual circumstances might have been unfamiliar, quibbling with the man had become more and more easily done the longer McGee remained under Gibbs' roof. "It is simply not what I would have expected on a lazy Saturday morning, which was how my day began not an hour ago. And I had not expected to learn, that same morning," his eyes narrowed as his voice dropped to a quieter but more challenging huff, "that I was sharing breakfast with an 'acquaintance' of the future king of England! That in itself is something I would have expected you to mention in one of your many lengthy stories of your adventures abroad."

"I might have, McGee, had I understood that he knew me as more than yet another face among the many at the theatre, that he actually knew my name and my employment," Anthony hissed back, no doubt to avoid being overheard by the driver, even over the clatter of hooves and wheels outside. "The prince is at the theatre nearly as often as I, possibly even more, but that hardly means he would take note of my comings and goings."

"I don't know why not," McGee grumbled. "Everyone else in London seems to do just that. They certainly knew of your long held plans to attend a certain play on the night we met."

Notwithstanding his earlier sobriety and the extreme circumstances in which they found themselves, Anthony gaped at the younger man and rolled his eyes. "And yet again, McGee? I was the one whose evening was interrupted, and yet you have been the one to chafe long after the evening in question at the concern shown by those who knew how long and how intently I had looked forward to that particular performance."

McGee remembered the endless number of people who inquired, even weeks afterward, about 'that particular performance' and how it was McGee's interruption that had prevented Anthony from seeing even the first moment of it. "I simply cannot fathom how more than half the town seemed to know that you..."

"Mark my words," Gibbs' low growl interrupted suddenly, no mistaking his tone or his intention, "if one more thought is uttered about that damned performance, I will ensure that the whole of London knows how the two of you met a sudden and untimely end this very morning." With a pointed glare to them both, he waited the moment to be sure they understood, then lessened his intensity slightly as he turned back to Anthony to ask, as quiet as Anthony had been before, "Anthony – do you have the first idea as to what all this is all about?"

With a quick shake of his head, Anthony was uncharacteristically brief. "No, sir."

"Any speculation?"

"No, sir," he repeated.

"Any knowledge of events that might lend themselves to the Prince calling on us, rather than the Met or the Queen's guards, for whatever it may be?"

The younger man shook his head, his expression undecipherable. "No, sir." He paused a little, then to added, "I recall overhearing someone talk of a small dinner party to be held last night at Marlborough House, but only in answer to the question of the Prince's attendance at the new play opening this weekend – not to provide any information about the dinner or those attending." He sighed. "I have nothing worthwhile to offer on the matter, sir."

Gibbs nodded, not exactly settled with Anthony's words, but appearing to react to the younger man's frustration with a calmer acceptance of things as they stood. With a long, appraising look, Gibbs then tipped his head slightly to offer, "it would not be the first time we started with nothing, Anthony." Although still serious, Gibbs' tone had softened slightly, quite likely as a balm for the other's unsettled mind.

The expressions and terse conversation of the others simply confirmed McGee's earlier suspicion that neither Gibbs nor Anthony relished the attentions paid on them in this instance by the Prince, and fed his growing sense that they anticipated unpleasantness. His curiosity about such an unexpected response demanded satisfaction, but in this McGee sensed that the way might be difficult. In the ensuing silence, however, a reasonable purpose occurred to him which led him to ask Gibbs, quite respectfully, "sir ... if you and Anthony have some concern about what lies ahead ... is there something about which I should be forewarned, so as not to put the wrong foot in? Something other than using the wrong bow or addressing them by the wrong title or any of the other concerns Anthony has already addressed, I mean."

As he spoke, Gibbs turned the full of his penetrating blue stare upon him, but Timothy, having convinced himself that his question sought information that would benefit them all, if it kept him from an ill-advised step, did not falter. Gibbs' scrutiny lasted only another few moments and, to Timothy's surprise, the older man's gaze relented and even seemed to reflect a sort of proud satisfaction with what he saw.

But any satisfaction or pride Gibbs might have held for him did not lift the heaviness of his reply, as with a glance toward Anthony, and apparently noting that the younger man was disturbed enough that he was not going to offer any explanation, Gibbs spoke again, his voice low and grave. "How familiar are you with the comings and goings of our Prince of Wales, McGee?"

Timothy had not expected the question and blinked the moment, his initial thoughts not those spoken lightly even in familiar company. "Well, this is London," he began, feeling a bit awkward, "so of course one hears rumors..."

"Indeed. And not are all wholesome or kind, do you agree?" At McGee's relieved nod, telling Gibbs that the younger man likely had enough information to appreciate what could be in store, Gibbs sighed, "in any matters that would take the authorities' attention, the Metropolitan Police have jurisdiction for the royal residences or places of assembly here in town. Outside of those areas they would be attended by the local constabulary. The Queen's Guards certainly step in as needed, as well, as they hold responsibility for the royals' safety.

"Consider the matter that brought you to us, McGee. The death of your landlord seemed suspicious to you, as it should have been to the police, yet they spared little time for Mr. Davies. Therefore, you were moved to seek us out to do the tasks that the police should have done. Did you yourself not worry that they overlooked Mr. Davies in a way they would not have, but for his lack of wealth or title?" As Gibbs saw the light of understanding spark briefly in McGee's eyes, he urged, softly, "and so, under the same line of thought, for whom would you think the authorities would expend their time and trouble, once they learnt of it?" As the answer dawned in McGee's now-focused attention, Gibbs nodded his confirmation and went on, "and yet there is now a matter that the highest of royalty sends for us, in secrecy, trusting only another royal to ferry us to the scene? There are several possibilities that spring to mind, but none of them bode too well for anyone involved in the matter."

As McGee's eyes rounded in appreciation of the others' concern, Anthony added quietly, "our driver, Prince Louis, is a cousin or other of the Prince's – he is usually at his side, at the theatre and, as I have heard, elsewhere; he himself is not only born and bred to the sort of life the Prince leads but is skilled as both a personal guard and secretary. He is rumored to be brighter in nearly all ways than is our future king, who himself is just bright enough to appreciate his own ... limitations ... in certain areas, and he keeps our Prince Coachman here close as a confidante, advisor, bodyguard and ... when needed ... arranger of services, whatever they might be."

"So ... you fear that ..." Timothy began, only to be interrupted before he could say more.

"In the matters of the royals and of Prince Albert Edward," Anthony spoke up even as he saw that Gibbs had begun to do so as well, uncharacteristically interrupting their employer but doing so in a tone that brooked no dispute, "it is better not to speculate aloud. I suggest we simply ... wait and see."

Gibbs looked back to Anthony for a long, assessing moment before silently tipping his chin in a curt, acquiescing nod. Better understanding their foreboding, for all that it might mean, McGee's brow furrowed to match the others in the carriage as they made their way smoothly but efficiently away from home and into the heart of the city.

...to be continued...