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

A/N: Your reviews, PMs and alerts have been like chocolate covered cherries! Or marzipan cookies. Or a slice of real Chicago-style pizza. Or authentic New York cheesecake. Or...

... well, you get the idea. Many many thanks! As our present day DiNozzo says, all of you go "get yourself a probie-snack - but not from my desk, from the vending machine."

A PERSON OF SOME CONSEQUENCE

Chapter 4

The remainder of the ride passed with little real conversation, anticipation weighing them all, but there was a bit of dialogue between Gibbs and Anthony that might have been comical in other circumstances: each man, in a sort of unspoken accord, watched his limited view as best he could through the fabric screens hiding them from the world, and quietly spoke out occasional landmarks to fix their location along their way. It was almost like a child's game, one Timothy had played with his sister when she was a toddler on their occasional trips into town, calling out a color and urging her to find things that fit. Despite the gravity of the situation, he thought if he heard Gibbs suddenly declare "I spy something green... " he might be quite unable to control himself.

But his private moment of absurdity aside, McGee did what he could to watch and, given the locations the others identified, was able to offer up a few of his own, gaining him a nod of approval from Gibbs. From this sort of travelogue that developed with all three contributing, it became clear that they were headed down the Mall and toward Buckingham Palace. Yet they did not make the full length of that ride; they bore off at an angle and then made a looping path that would not end at the great palace. Gibbs and Anthony exchanged a look that made McGee think they had not only deduced their destination but had gleaned the other's agreement on it by some manner of thought-transference, and just as he was screwing up his courage to ask what that destination might be, the sound of the horse's hooves on the cobblestones suddenly shifted to bounce back readily, quite close to them, and the interior of the clarence was thrown into near-darkness. Within moments their forward momentum slowed and they pulled up to a graceful halt.

When they opened the carriage doors Timothy saw just why it had grown dark: they had pulled into a covered entry, closed off from casual view, affording both privacy and protection from the elements – and, to Timothy at least – complete anonymity as to the identity of their destination, as he could see only the short expanse of the covered drive and the unadorned, private entrance it served. A quick glance to Gibbs and Anthony gave him no indication if either man knew where he was, but that, he quickly realized, should be expected of them.

Timothy followed Gibbs and Anthony out of the carriage to stand at its side as their driver, Prince Louis, deftly flicked the reins around an open bar on the carriage's front frame and spoke curtly to a stableboy who materialized to lead the horses and carriage away. Other than the boy and themselves, there was not another soul about, and even the usual bustling sounds of the city seemed muted around them. As the horses began to follow the lad as he made to lead them off, the Prince turned back to his passengers and, barely pausing to speak, led them inside with a terse, "gentlemen ... this way."

McGee swallowed, hard, as he stepped inside. Growing more and more certain that most of their involvement in this engagement would be an unidentified puzzle, at least to him, Timothy resolved to commit as much of what he saw to memory as he could, so that he could ask Anthony about it all later, trusting that the man would know more of what was going on than he did and would know more about where they were and what they'd see. At the moment, they were walking down a small, unadorned hall, which was nonetheless freshly painted and tidy, quite likely at the back of the premises and, McGee surmised therefrom, a servant's entrance. The hall led to a stairway of similar description, solidifying McGee's belief in his assumptions. He was quite sure that not even a minor duke or marquis would maintain a place that welcomed its guests from a stately but very private drive into a plain and humble passageway.

The men negotiated two more halls and another stairway that gave no clue to the sort of building they were in until, after passing along the second hallway, which had been much like the others but with the addition of several small, closed doors, they came to a somewhat larger door at the hallway's end. For the first time since their arrival, their guide stopped and turned to them. Also for the first time, throughout the whole mysterious business, the Prince seemed to hesitate, albeit only briefly, from his keen focus on getting the men there. It was only a moment, however, before he threw off the slight air of indecision and again steeled his expression as he squared his shoulders. Tipping his chin up slightly, he said quietly, "I trust I needn't remind you that this is a matter of extreme delicacy and confidence. I have your word, all of you, that none of what you see or hear or learn here will be repeated outside our company?"

McGee and Anthony both murmured their assent, but Gibbs said quietly, "none out of our company, Sir, unless we are allowed to avail ourselves of others of our acquaintance who, from time to time, lend their skills to our investigation. They would be called upon only if their particular abilities are indicated, but as Mr. Anthony suggested earlier, without them we cannot assure you that we can be as effective as we would be with their assistance."

The Prince frowned, weighing Gibbs' words, but in the next moment nodded brusquely, his apparent need for their best work winning out over his clear preference for limiting their numbers. "You will not bring anyone else into this investigation without my agreement beforehand." With Gibbs' nod of assent to his conditions, the Prince put his hand on the knob of the closed door before them, offering a final warning before he turned it. "If you will keep your voices low, gentlemen – this wing should be empty at the moment, but in the event it is not, I would prefer that we remain as unobtrusive as possible." Seeing each man nod again, the Prince opened the door and led the way through.

Timothy would remember the moment as seeming to be as abrupt a change as would be walking from a dark room into light, or walking from a freezing rain into a warmed room. From the simple painted halls they had just traveled, the four men stepped into a short hallway at least four times as wide and as tall, carpeted in deep woolen rugs and lined with fine portraits and gilded molding, and which led to a large, elegant parlor filled with sumptuously upholstered chairs and couches. Two long pianofortes unlike any McGee had ever seen were placed in tandem, facing each other, near an enormous marble fireplace, and a harp taller than he stood in a nearby corner. Paintings lined the walls, but of children and family scenes rather than the formal portraits they had passed before. This room alone seemed larger than the house in which he grew up, and nearly as large as the fine, large ballroom in which the Travingtons held their ball until his clock caused even more mayhem than they had by their abrupt entry into the festivities. Yet the room had a softer, welcoming air about it, and McGee found himself wondering if the Royals themselves actually lived in this room, read their correspondence or played their table games, much like any other family would in far less grand homes than this.

If either Gibbs or Anthony were surprised at the sumptuous surroundings, neither showed it, and it occurred to Timothy that if their newest client was indeed the Prince of Wales, a concept with which he was still having some difficulty coming to terms, it would be far more likely they would have been brought to a place like this than another. As the three of them followed their princely escort across the great parlor, Timothy bringing up the rear, he allowed his eyes to dart around the room more freely than he might have done had others been likely to catch sight of him, as he was at the moment gaping like a country lad on his first trip to the City.

From the parlor they crossed into an anteroom, and into another hall of sorts, leading off toward two other large rooms for gathering, although for guests or private functions Timothy could not determine, everything being far more fine and elegant than any of the finest homes he'd seen as a boy. They were led through the room on their right, and, at a doorway at the far side, their guide once again stopped. Turning to them with a look of studied calm, the man simply stood back from the doorway and lifted his hand toward the inner chamber. "Gentlemen..."

Being behind the others, what Timothy saw first was not what they had apparently been brought to see, but the others' reaction to it: Gibbs, as always, barely showed any change in his expression, save the tiny flicker in his gaze and a brief twitch of his jaw. Anthony was not so stoic; he paled slightly but noticeably, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared inside, then looked back toward the Prince in question. Unable to resist any longer, McGee came forward to round the corner into the doorway and look past the others into the room, where, amid the elegant fittings of a woman's sitting room, all silks and brocades, lay a woman, face down on the floor, in a pose frighteningly reminiscent of Timothy's former landlord – and just as dead.

There wasn't a sound save for their own breath and the slow, stately tock of a clock somewhere. Gibbs' eyes carefully scanned the room, taking it all in. But the first of them to move was Anthony, who suddenly left the group to approach the poor woman, first up along her left side, where her face was tipped away from him slightly, then around to her right shoulder, where he crouched near to look at her face. Despite his efforts to remain unmoved, Anthony was still clearly rattled – and clearly recognized the victim.

With Anthony's actions, Gibbs was not far behind him, and McGee fell into familiar step with their mentor as he crossed the room. The Prince followed them in silent expectation. "Anthony," Gibbs spoke softly, observing his assistant more closely for the moment than the corpse before them, his concern for the surroundings and their company fading at Anthony's reaction to her. His question was obvious in his tone.

The younger man looked up, his green eyes meeting first not Gibbs' eyes, but the Prince's, and carrying an unexpected mix of emotion, question, and even – is it possible? Timothy wondered – accusation. Anthony said nothing, asked nothing, but his glare bore daggers into the eyes of their escort, neither station or surroundings or social convention having the least effect on the rage reflected there.

"Anthony," Gibbs spoke again, more firmly this time, and with the very slightest of warning in its tone that might be missed by anyone not as long under Gibbs' roof as he and Anthony had been. "Who is she?" There was no question that Anthony knew the answer; no one in the room could have missed the fact that he recognised the woman.

Anthony suddenly came to himself, Gibbs' voice this time having as much effect on him as one of his tempering head-cuffs often did. "Lady Margaret Danforth, sir. Her ..." Just as he'd seemed to recover himself, he then hesitated; resettling himself, he continued, "her husband is Lord Charles Danforth, Sir, an undersecretary at the Foreign Office." Timothy noted Anthony's manner as well as his words, the latter as informative to someone acquainted with him as anything he said: unlike his usual ease, Anthony's aspect was rigid and formal; his eyes had returned to the unmoving Lady Danforth, and his words were each measured and distant, one by one, rather than his usual torrent of irrelevant with the relevant. "She has been in attendance at several of the more popular plays in town of late," he explained, speaking slowly, and though his voice darkened, he maintained rest of his equilibrium as he added, "in the company of Prince Albert Edward and his party."

And in a moment of clarity McGee understood suddenly the implications raging through Anthony's mind – both for how Lady Danforth had met her untimely end and for the purpose of their summons to the scene – and knew they were precisely the sort of thing that had caused both Gibbs and Anthony to so dread their being 'honoured' with this appointment.

McGee watched as Anthony finally tore his eyes away from the dead woman, left so ignominiously to lie across the hand-loomed rug, its cheery rose pattern making a rather ghoulish bier, and heatedly strode back toward Prince Louis Alexander. Without the least bit of deference in his tone or posture, and coming within inches of the man, Anthony glowered, "and just what are you asking us to do? As the Prince directed his inquiry to me, I am at his service, as he and you well know. Having relied on my rather distant acquaintance with him, and my loyalty to the crown, he also asked for my employer to join us, and so Gibbs is here as well, as much to be of support to me as to his sovereign. I, in turn, asked McGee as well. So now you have us at your service. However," he moved even closer and dropped his voice, low, so that it could not be misunderstood as anything but a threat, "if you are asking for us to make findings we would not make otherwise, or to 'change the circumstances' to accord a different sort of result in others' investigations..."

The Prince was unruffled. "My dear Mr. Anthony..."

"I will not allow them to join their names with mine in such a scheme," Anthony went on as if not interrupted. "So if what you want is an outcome and not an investigation, I would have you say so now and find Gibbs and McGee transportation back home."

"I ask nothing of the kind." The Prince's voice was steel, but with resolve, not insult taken. "I ask only for an investigation. I need to know if you can determine at whose hand the Lady Danforth succumbed. Even I can surmise that this was not an accidental death, gentlemen." He looked at the men before him, gauging their reactions. "I need – and your Prince needs – to know if you can tell me who killed her."

TBC...

A/N: Yes, yes, in the first scene, I really wanted McGee to imagine Gibbs saying "I spy, with my little eye" but my historical sources (a couple random internet sites :/ ) state that the game began its life primarily an automobile travel game and the earliest record of it was 1937. However, they do mention a similar line from a much earlier hide and seek sort of game, so that with McGee's own game got me kinda close.

Almost worth the anachronism, though, isn't it?