Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; varying license taken with historical persons. Victorian universe courtesy of Sequitur.
A/N: My sincere, ongoing thanks to you readers and reviewers. It's been such a boost to hear from you all, to know your take on these chapters, and to have so many people following this story. All responses, bad, good or indifferent, are still very welcome.
A PERSON OF SOME CONSEQUENCE
Chapter 5
At Battenburg's measured words, before Anthony could say more, and hoping his excitable second would take the moment to recover himself, Gibbs turned to face the Prince more fully, scrutinizing him with a look the others had seen before when their mentor's suspicions started taking hold. "Sir..." he began slowly, knowing very well what the answer was before the question was voiced. "We are the first to have been called in on this matter?"
Cooly, the Prince turned away from Anthony's glare to consider Gibbs. "You are."
"It is more customary to call the Metropolitan Police in the matter of an ... 'unexplained' ... death," Gibbs began, "and in the alternative, the Queen's Guards would have been of assistance. Am I wrong to assume you know this, and yet called for us anyway?"
"You are not wrong, Mr. Gibbs." The prince was matter-of-fact. "And you are not wrong if you assume that His Highness trusts your ability to determine her killer more than he does either of the departments you name."
Gibbs' eyes narrowed as his gut churned. He stepped closer and asked, in a low, intent voice, "Why?"
Prince Louis did not waiver in his demeanor nor budge his position an inch, even now having raised not only Anthony's but Gibbs' suspicions, but appeared to be considering the question for the moment, and when he replied he spoke his words carefully, as if he was holding his own temper in check. "I am uncertain whether your question is to ask why you were called, or why His Highness trusts you over the others. Either way, I would suggest to you that the whys do not matter. You are here now, and your services are requested. You will take the case?"
Anthony spoke up again, tempered a bit with Gibbs' intervention but no less fierce in his protection of the others. "I will take the case." When the prince turned back to face him, Anthony continued, "as I can hardly deny my sovereign. But it was to me you came; the others are here only in their allegiance to me, and I will not have them put in the sort of unwieldy position with the police that this undoubtedly may create – no matter what they say," he added, turning to fix a steely, almost Gibbs-like glare on both McGee and his mentor. He turned back to the Prince and paused, clearly determined to find a way to make them all see things his way. "Please, Sir," Anthony urged, his voice dropping even further as he spoke again, appealing to what he knew had to be the man's appreciation of his concerns, "let me ascertain what I can about this tragic turn of events, and I will tell you all I know that can be done about it."
McGee sensed that there were meanings within meanings in the men's conversations still flying well above his head, the air full of innuendo and implication, but there was no doubt that Anthony was offering himself to the Prince of Wales to undertake alone whatever it was they had in mind, and all in the hope that he would be the only one to bear whatever unspoken doom might result from the business at hand. But, no surprise to McGee, Gibbs would have none of it; he immediately frowned and said, "Anthony will have me at his side if he stays, Sir; he is my employee and I will not let him bear this responsibility alone."
"And ... of course ... the Prince is your sovereign as well, Mr. Gibbs, though I suspect that is of far less importance to you at the moment than is the welfare of your men." Prince Louis' tone was mildly reproachful. "Touching, in its way, but not a particularly well-considered attitude. Still, as we prefer that you remain, you can do so for any reason you choose – as long as you are willing to bear in mind whose business it is that you undertake."
Gibbs hands clenched at his side, never fond of those who claimed greatness by birth rather than by their own actions, and particularly unimpressed by those who set out to tell him he was obliged to do another's bidding, no matter who that 'other' was. "Sir, my word is good, and I am quite sincere when I say I will remain for Anthony's sake – if he stays, I stay. But if he decides to decline your ... offer ... that he lend his services to you, I will most profoundly commend his good sense in doing so."
"Gibbs." Anthony cautioned, his voice suddenly sounding weary. "I will not have you get yourself banished from the Empire – or worse – on my account." He turned a calmer eye to the prince, who, to McGee's thinking, seemed wholly unfazed by the startling lack of deference Gibbs and Anthony had shown him. "I will stay, your Serene Highness, and therefore, it appears, so will Gibbs, and I suspect therefore, so will Mr. McGee. And now that the formalities have been completed, if you indeed wish us to investigate Lady Danforth's untimely death, may we be about it so her Ladyship need not lie here in such a state for much longer?"
"Yes, by all means," the Prince said smoothly, even offering Anthony a bit of a smile. McGee suddenly felt a chill to see it, and marveled at the sense of ruthlessness such a tiny change of expression could bring. Is this what royalty means? he found himself wondering.
"I do hope you mean that literally, Sir." Gibbs' unexpected response brought Timothy right back out of his own thoughts, as he heard the distinct note of challenge about it, the reason for it still beyond McGee's grasp. The Prince appeared to have no such confusion, though, as his silent look of question bade Gibbs to continue, at which Gibbs added, "your request was that we determine who killed her."
McGee's quick eyes caught Anthony's start at Gibbs' words – only very brief, and certainly unnoticed by the Prince, but apparently seen by Gibbs, who seemed to respond to the look by speaking marginally faster, his voice ever so slightly louder, as if to prevent interruption. As if to prevent Anthony's thoughts, which Gibbs must gleaned from Antony's reaction, from being voiced...
"So from that request, and because you said that you surmised that this was not an accidental death, it would seem that you offer no eye-witness to events who can say otherwise. No one to see her killed, and only a surmise about the nature of her death itself, suggests that at the very least we call upon a physician who can offer us his insights, from an examination of Lady Danforth's remains, about how and why she died."
The Prince's brow drew down into a frown, as he glanced from Gibbs to Anthony, then back again. "You have a certain doctor in mind." It was not a question.
"Dr. Donald Mallard. He is very skilled ... and very discrete. And, yes," Anthony added, knowing the reason for the man's glance to him, "the very same Dr. Mallard you may have seen at the opera or the theatre, on occasion in my company."
"He is an eccentric," the Prince said flatly, "and there are stories about that he communicates with the dead – or tries to."
At that, wholly forgetting himself, McGee snorted softly, and three pair of decidedly unamused eyes swung over to demand the reason. Blinking a little with all the sudden attention, and deciding quickly the floor would not open up to allow him a quick and live-saving retreat, Timothy stammered toward Gibbs, embarrassed for his sudden lack of control, "well, S...Sir..." Knowing that Gibbs and Anthony would agree with his thoughts, McGee suddenly dared to turn to Battenburg, speaking to the prince for the first time that day as he offered his explanation as a sort of apology for his outburst. "Sir ... indeed, he does speak to the dead ... in a manner of speaking. And after having first made the doctor's acquaintance I too heard such rumors, but ... he does so as a kindness to them, Sir, and not meaning to hold a true conversation at all. His examinations can be very ... personal .. .and he talks to them as he might have done when they were alive, as he might have done to put them at ease. He doesn't expect them to hear him, Sir."
"Or answer him back?" The Prince narrowed his eyes at him, making Timothy think he was suddenly under a scrutiny he'd avoided while remaining silent. "I trust you like this Dr. Mallard, Mr. McGee?"
An easy question, at least. "Indeed I do, Sir. A very kind and learned man."
"You would agree, then, with Mr. Anthony that he is discreet."
"Oh, yes, Sir. Very."
The Prince wavered another moment, and Timothy suddenly worried that his enthusiastic assurance of the doctor's discretion would lead to questions about how he could be so certain. McGee knew without a doubt it would not be in anyone's best interests to have those tales aired, given that even the very moment of their introduction involved the clandestine examination of his landlord's cooling body in a place to which they had not exactly been formally invited. Several of his subsequent meetings with the good doctor had been under equally ... irregular ... circumstances. Still, after a few anxiety-producing moments of consideration, the prince relented. "Very well." He turned back first to Anthony, then Gibbs. "It is agreed that your Dr. Mallard may be consulted. How would you propose this be accomplished?"
"He will have to be brought here to examine her Ladyship." Anthony said.
"Here? No, that will not do," the Prince shook his head resolutely.
"It must be so," Gibbs spoke up again. "Dr. Mallard must see the body where it lies." As the prince drew a breath to speak, Gibbs added levelly, "even though she was not killed here."
McGee blinked his surprise, looking quickly to Anthony to see if he also had been taken as unaware. Yet Anthony's response to Gibbs' words was not one of surprise, but reflected his own intense scrutiny of the Prince, as if to see the other man's reaction to the news. At that, McGee turned to the Prince as well, and saw only the slightest smile at Gibbs' words. After a moment of silence, the Prince then nodded once, seemingly in a sort of concession, and said, "then it must be so. But I prefer to wait here with you, so I may be informed as you work. I can supply a carriage. Perhaps one of you might go fetch the doctor?"
Gibbs' eyes barely had moved his way before Timothy spoke up. "I can go, Sir. Your ... er, Anthony's investigation would benefit more from your presence than mine."
"Then we will get you a carriage immediately, Mr. McGee." The Prince's words were again clipped and authoritative. "You will need to impress upon the doctor – and all of you bear in mind – that your investigation must be quick. I will need to have your results within the next thirty-six hours."
"What?" Anthony thundered, his angry frustration returning full force after having been only calmed from his initial ire only a few minutes before.
"Thirty-six hours," the Prince repeated. "It is no matter if you cannot provide all the answers you would otherwise, but for our purposes, gentlemen, you will have thirty-six hours. When the ..."
"Why?" Gibbs demanded once again.
The Prince looked back to the older man, his expression as untroubled as ever. "No reason that would effect your investigation," he said smoothly. "And while it is clear that you wish to debate this further, I would suggest you allow me to take Mr. McGee to the stables to find him a suitable carriage and allow him to start his journey to fetch Dr. Mallard. Even if the good doctor is willing to come at once, it may take up some of your valuable time for him to join us."
Gibbs simply glowered at the man, knowing he was right and but feeling the weight of complete and utter wrongness about the whole affair – the affair, the power of this man and others behind the man who would control their actions for the next thirty six hours ... the gravity and complexities of what it would mean for Anthony – for all of them – if they were to refuse...
"Gibbs," Anthony spoke softly, bringing his employer's eyes back to him from his glare at the Prince. "For Lady Danforth ..." he shrugged in a request, lifting his hands in his own feelings of entrapment, words eluding him. After a moment, however, he looked back to the woman who lay before them in a sadly undignified state. Quietly, he managed, "I did not know her well, but she seemed a lovely woman, kind and quick witted; I never heard nor heard tell of a mean-spirited word from her or about her. She did not deserve to die," Anthony pressed. "Certainly, Sir – does she not deserve Ducky's assistance in learning who took her life?"
Gibbs' expression barely changed at all in the moments of silence between the men, but after only a few frightening seconds, Gibbs turned to McGee and tipped his chin toward the Prince. "Go to Ducky, McGee; explain that we have need of him immediately, that you aren't at liberty to discuss the matter but that all will be clear when he arrives."
"Yes, Sir; at once..." McGee made to go.
"Timothy ..." Gibbs stopped him, and added, "do assure him that Anthony and I are fine, that there's no threat or danger to us, but that time is of the essence, and that we must get started soon." Gibbs glanced back at Battenburg to explain, "he rarely tolerates our getting started without waiting for him."
Not waiting for the Prince to reply, Timothy replied, "of course, Sir."
The prince nodded curtly and said, "then we would best get you underway, Mr. McGee. Gentlemen, I will be only a moment." Without more, the Prince strode back toward the hall and, Timothy assumed, back the way they came. Timothy looked back to his employer in a quick, final question.
"Go, McGee," Gibbs tipped his chin toward the hallway. "And please have an eye towards Ducky's well-being, will you?"
"Yes, Sir!" McGee turned and followed the prince back through the dazzling rooms they had crossed, noticing far less now as his mind churned with all the implications, not the least of which was the sudden knowledge that Gibbs was entrusting him to look out for the doctor, one of his few true friends. Not a word was said between them as the men made their way back through grand halls and humble ones, down backstairs and back out to the covered drive. They did not stop there, but crossed wide, green lawns and passed well-tended gardens, where the sounds and smells ahead confirmed for Timothy they were nearing the stables.
Following Battenburg closely as he stepped inside, McGee saw three stable hands leap to their feet at the prince's arrival, eyes only on him and not daring – or not bothering – to show the least curiosity about the stranger dragged along into their lair. "What have you ready for two passengers, Bradley?"
"The brougham, Sir, unless you prefer the clarance what just got back." the oldest of the three said immediately. "Both out and ready straightaway, whichever you like."
The prince glanced over at the smaller carriage, indeed all but at hand, a single horse standing by, as if poised to walk into harness, the stableman clearly under orders to have instant transportation available without notice. The brougham was as void of identifying marks as was the clarence, and nearly as well-appointed. "The brougham, then. Who is your driver?"
"McDonald, Sir."
"Indeed. A brother Scot, for the good doctor?" The Prince turned a wry glance to McGee as the groom quickly and deftly put the horse to its harness. As another man – a ginger haired man Timothy surmised was 'McDonald' – stepped from the trio toward them, Battenburg asked, "the doctor lives where, Mr. McGee?"
"In Sackville Street, Sir, off Picadilly."
Even before the driver's quick nod, the Prince acknowledged, "yes, I know the place. The Queen's own Dr. Snow lives in Sackville Street," the prince reminded the driver, to get another nod from him.
As the man scrambled up onto his place on the carriage, and the last buckles buckled on the gleaming leather harness, the Prince turned to McGee. "For the sake of your friends, if not your sovereign – do remember that this matter must not be spoken of to anyone until you bring Dr. Mallard safely back here. Do you understand, Mr. McGee?"
McGee nodded too quickly. "Yes, Sir."
"And I will do what I can to be made aware of your return, but if you find yourself waiting – do you recall the way to the sitting room we last left?"
McGee tried not to let his eyes pop too far out of his head at the implication – I am to be allowed to wander around on my own to find them again? "Yes, Sir," he gulped.
"May I have your word that you will come straightaway to the sitting room then, where your companions will be waiting for you both?"
McGee realized with a chill that Anthony and Gibbs were now in the belly of the beast, and the unspoken reminder that their easy retreat could well be affected by his own actions in bringing Dr. Mallard to them without a curious side trip of his own around the ... the whatever it was, palace or not, where they waited. "Of course, Sir. As directly as I know how."
"Good man," the Prince unknowingly echoed Anthony's words to him earlier that morning. As he had not an hour ago, the Prince himself opened the carriage door for McGee. "Off you go, and shades in place again, if you will." And as McGee nodded in agreement, the carriage door was shut upon him again, and once more McGee found himself being borne off into the city, on an errand for the future King of England.
This time, left to his own devices, McGee spent less time worrying about the way than he had before, as this time he knew his destination. Without that concern or the active observations of Gibbs and Anthony to keep his mind engaged, McGee passed so much of the ride turning over all he'd seen and heard, and so energetically so, one thought to the next, that the carriage had stopped before he realized, and the driver had alighted to open the door for him, not speaking, but tipping his hat slightly for him as McGee clamored out of the carriage.
Timothy stood out in the street for the moment, staring up at Ducky's house, suddenly aware of the heavy burden he carried, bound as he was to keep all he knew secret from the man who could draw out one's deepest thoughts as he talked one's leg off at the same time. Deciding that with Ducky, he could not predict anything but must simply make his best decisions along the way, he stepped determinedly to the door to ring the bell.
The door was opened by the sweet-faced maid he had met on his handful of calls to the residence, and she bobbed a quick greeting. "Mr. McGee! Good morning." She stepped aside, but only at the door, so he might step across the threshold while stating his business. She was too polite to ask if he was expected, and likely too used to the doctor's other visitors to be surprised if he was not.
"Good morning, Miss Polly. Is Dr. Mallard in? I'm afraid he..."
"Timothy!"
At the sound of the distinctive voice, lifted in a heart-warming delight to see him, Timothy nonetheless felt a heart-stopping threat to his ability to keep the matter secret. For between her determined, brilliant mind and his weakness for her beauty, her wiles and her ways, this woman was more than a match for McGee's will, should she discover that he had secrets to be mined. He looked up to meet the wide smile and sparkling eyes, and took off his hat, smiling weakly.
"Miss Abigail..."
To be continued...
A/N: I love the internet! Where else can you find such cool historical references in three minutes, sitting on your couch on a Saturday morning! All hail the Google!