Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; varying license taken with historical persons. Victorian universe courtesy of Sequitur.
A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating; real life intervened. Once again, thanks to everyone who has commented. Reviews are chocolate chip cookies for the soul.
A PERSON OF SOME CONSEQUENCE
Chapter 8
The rest of the ride back to Gibbs and the others was passed with Dr. Mallard spinning another one of his tales and Timothy listening with only half an ear, keenly on guard for anything more that might befall them that morning. He didn't know if he should expect any dangers along the way, and while he tried telling himself that Gibbs would never have sent him if Ducky truly might be at risk, Gibbs own words to look after the doctor remained in his ears, and Abigail's urging that Gibbs sent him to keep the older man safe filled him with purpose. If it was all more than just kind flattery, he wanted to be ready to live up to Gibbs' – and Abigail's – trust in him.
McGee had been flustered when the doctor had recognized so readily that their carriage belonged to Princess Alexandra, and his surprised response was all Dr. Mallard needed to confirm he'd been right. The longer that Donald Mallard had known Gibbs, the more he had come to expect the unexpected, and the rather colorful and exciting addition of Mr. Anthony to the mix had certainly done nothing to change things. Still, finding oneself ferried in a royal carriage on some secret mission might have been be one of the more unexpected moments to date of his partnership with his enigmatic friend, and despite the animated yarn he was spinning for the young and clearly rattled Mr. McGee, Dr. Mallard's curiosity had him alert and, although feeling a respectful concern for the royal family, admittedly eager to discover what lay ahead of them that morning.
Their trip was not a long one and, nearly bounding out of the carriage with the step of a man half his age, the doctor did not wait for McGee to climb out before he was peering around the covered drive, and even striding out toward the gardens beyond the shielding shrubbery.
"Dr. Mallard!" Horrified of losing the doctor to his too-inquisitive detour, McGee hurried to catch up with him, visions of the wrath of the Prince and the Crown and Gibbs leaving him breathless. "Please – we've been given the strictest of directives..."
But the man had stopped in the garden and, having turned about in a circle to view the nearby buildings and now their destination itself, faced McGee with a sobering and now stern expression. "This is Marlborough House, is it not?"
McGee blinked and stammered a little at the sudden change of demeanor. "I ... I don't know ..."
"I am not an idiot or a fool, Timothy! This is Marlborough House, and the Princess's carriage, and if there is more that I ..."
"Dr. Mallard, on my life, sir, I don't know the name of the place!" Timothy insisted quickly, his voice still hushed for fear of discovery. "We were summoned at breakfast and carried away in a coach ourselves, and Gibbs and Anthony are still inside, and there is a prince..."
Dr. Mallard's flare of irritation subsided just as quickly when he saw that the lad truly had not known, apparently, the place they'd come, or possibly even the significance of its name. "A prince?" he asked, his tone softer now. "The Prince of Wales?"
The younger man shook his head quickly. "No, sir – Prince Louis of Battenburg. But ... he's ... it's..." Timothy was coming to the realization that with all he'd seen and heard that morning he was still woefully unable to puzzle out exactly what had happened or what this Prince had to do with the awful business with Lady Danforth. "Please, Ducky, they need you, and quickly," he finally managed. "We have been given a deadline."
The doctor managed a sigh and small smile for McGee and patted his arm before turning back toward the entry. "Of course, Timothy. And my apologies for jumping to conclusions." He gestured for McGee to proceed him. "Shall we?"
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At Gibbs' words, Anthony turned back to the Prince, waiting to see if the man confirmed Gibbs' suspicions. As before, he gave nothing away, but did not seem offended by the accusation, so Anthony spoke up. "So if my employer is not wrong, Sir, you will likely tell us nothing of events past what we can see for ourselves here?"
To their surprise, Battenburg seemed to actually mull over the thought, and finally said. "For the most part. But if you wish to ask your questions there may be some that I can answer."
Anthony jumped in at once. "We need a list of those who were at the dinner last night, even if we are obliged not to speak with them." As the other man hesitated, Anthony prodded, "at the very least, we need to know if the Lady Danforth was an invited guest. And if not, how she came to be here the morning after. If she was at the dinner, was Lord Danforth here as well? Or was he even invited?"
"Does Lord Danforth even know his wife lies here, dead?" Gibbs glared at the Prince.
Finally, the Prince moved, nearly imperceptibly, to say, "no. He has not been told. Beyond those in your group, only one other person other than myself knows of her death."
"The killer?" Anthony's eyes flashed – and immediately Gibbs understood what he was asking.
As did the Prince, who turned to the man calmly and, his tone suggesting that Anthony came dangerously close an unspoken truth, said "one other person beside myself who knows she is dead, of whom I am aware, other than the killer."
"Who found her?" Gibbs pressed.
The Prince wavered, then his gaze wavered slightly for the first time. "I did."
Both men considered him, unsure what to make of the response, but he did not let them dwell on it long. "Gentlemen ... I will not provide you with a guest list, at least not yet," he decided, returning to Anthony's first questions. "That too may come at a later time."
"And this room? Will you tell us whose it is? Or better, let us have a plan of the house showing the rooms."
"Given those who live in this house," Battenburg turned back to Anthony at his question, "we do not provide information about the private rooms, as these are. Such information, if spread abroad, could result in security concerns for the Prince and his family."
Gibbs nodded at the responses, once again, clearly not surprised. "Then let us be about it, Anthony," he grumbled. "One more time around the room we are allowed to view."
Anthony caught his very slight head movement, and answered with one of his own before speaking. "I will complete my measurements, Sir," he replied, knowing full well that Gibbs had seen he'd completed them several minutes before.
Gibbs nodded, and the pair moved back through the room, in different directions at first, to work their way to the far corner of the room. In only a few minutes, however, they were within arm's length of the other, and slowly, as they worked, passed several short notes each to the other about what possible actions they could take next.
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With some trepidation, McGee came under the covered drive again and saw that their driver had dismounted and walked the small carriage back toward the stables without so much as a backward glance at his passengers. In some surprise that they had indeed been left to their own devices – maybe because they were now unaccompanied by royalty – Timothy led the doctor to the same door he'd both entered and exited that morning and once again made his way along the quiet, humble back corridors. Even the garrulous physician was silent as they passed along stairways and passages toward the servants' entry into the house proper.
McGee wasn't quite sure if he should be relieved not to be accompanied by the young but imposing Battenburg, or insulted that he was not considered enough threat to the intrigues behind these walls to be guarded, but shook off what it all meant and concentrated on his task of bringing Dr. Mallard to the body awaiting him. Nearing the larger door at the end of the last inside corridor, McGee stopped, much as the prince himself had done, to speak in hushed tones to the doctor. "Through here is the place, Ducky, and once we enter, we may not be alone again. I think everyone in the House save Battenburg has been sent away, but ... in there ... Battenburg has been very attentive."
Dr. Mallard looked at McGee quizzically for a moment, and Timothy realized that after a morning of insisting that he could say nothing, this apparent offer for a last minute discussion would make little sense. Still, as always, the doctor seemed to read as much from what was behind and around one's words as in them, and his question seemed to turn quickly to an understanding only Ducky could make of things. "I shall bear that in mind, Timothy," he said solemnly. "Shall we proceed?"
Without more, Timothy led Dr. Mallard into the grand halls and through the sitting rooms to see the prince leaning against the chamber's doorframe, an eye toward their progress as well as a clear view into the room. With a deferential nod toward him, McGee looked inside to see Gibbs and Anthony at the far end, conversing in the quietest of tones and looking even more grim, if possible, than when he'd left. At McGee's return, they crossed back toward the others but, uncharacteristically, stood apart to let Dr. Mallard approach the scene with no more information than they'd first been given. In the circumstances, McGee felt the heavy weight of social duties fall upon him.
"Your Serene Highness," he began, "may I present Dr. Donald Mallard; he..."
The prince nodded with a more distant air than McGee had remembered him taking earlier. "Yes, Mr. McGee, I know who he is, as I believe he may remember me. Doctor, the others have asked for your assistance, and believe your insight will be helpful in their work here. I hope they will impress upon you my insistence that nothing that you see or do here will go beyond this place."
Dr. Mallard, for his part, having seen the body he was here to attend, was having difficulty focusing on the amenities while she lay in such a state. "Yes, yes; of course..." he managed a bit of a nodding bow toward the Prince before he gestured toward the woman. "But what in the world is she doing here?"
At that, Battenburg stood more rigidly and frowned, clearly not sure what to make of the question or the man, but Gibbs spoke in a low, almost cautionary tone. "Dr. Mallard – you have something already that you can tell us about her death?"
"Even from this distance I can tell you she did not die in this place," Ducky turned his glare back to the prince. "Do you know who moved her here and arranged her thus?"
"I am not here to answer questions, Doctor. You are."
"Not when my work is intentionally sabotaged." The doctor came to stand toe to toe with the man, his indignation overriding his usual impeccable manners, and spoke in a barely contained tone. "I will not offer a professional opinion when the information presented to me has been compromised!"
McGee found himself blinking in yet another surprise at the usually cheerful doctor, who not only looked as angry as a wet cat, but showed little concern that he'd been brought to a place, and to a personage, demanding a certain deference and a measured tone. He was even more surprised to see that it was Anthony, and not Gibbs, who broke away from their discussion to approach the doctor.
"Ducky – please. This is Lady Margaret Danforth. She's..." Anthony hesitated. "She was ... an acquaintance of mine. For her, if not for any of us..."
The Scotsman's bristle at the prince lingered another moment or two before he seemed to consider Anthony's words and, finally, move his eyes from the prince to the woman, then back to Anthony.
"She was a lovely woman, Ducky, and I do believe in the full bloom of health, until she was taken so abruptly," Anthony urged. "What happened to her most assuredly was untoward and undeserved, and if you can tell us anything to be of help, please believe that she is deserving of all you can offer her."
At Anthony's words, the doctor's flushed cheeks cooled a bit, and he drew a steadying breath. With a nod, he started toward the still body, but then hesitated, turning back to look at Anthony in concern. "My boy, are you alright? You've been injured recently..." He came close to peer at the younger man, gently reaching up to touch his bruised and slightly swollen jaw.
"I'm fine, Ducky," Anthony assured him, his voice low, as he tipped his face slightly away from the doctor's scrutiny. "Just a small disagreement among rivals."
"Not ... related to matters here, then?" Ducky dared to ask, and when he saw Anthony's sober expression return before he shook his head, the doctor was comforted that at least that pain was unrelated. Without more, he moved forward to kneel beside the deceased woman, beginning to speak low to her as he worked. Seeing his actions, Battenburg made to look at Anthony to offer his thanks for intervening with the doctor, but Anthony turned without so much as acknowledging the prince and went back to stand by Gibbs, who still stood apart, his own pencil and small diary in hand.
The next twenty minutes passed in near silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of Dr. Mallard speaking to his charge, and Gibbs or Anthony speaking to the other as they watched the doctor's initial examination of the body. Timothy tried very hard to keep his eyes elsewhere but they kept returning to the scene unfolding before him, as Ducky first attempted smaller, gentler movements of the woman's limbs, prodding and manipulating as he might have a live patient, and then began to effect greater movement, on occasion asking Anthony for his assistance to do so. To Timothy's great horror, the body resisted such movement as if still alive; her limbs were fixed and rigid in the place they had taken on the floor. When the men turned her, log-roll style, from her stomach to her back, Timothy's own stomach lurched in protest to see her arms now hovering above the carpet as if held there and a frightful mottling along what must once have certainly been porcelain skin. Even Anthony turned his head away slightly and closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath, and Timothy remembered this was a woman he knew and admired in life. He remembered how helpless he felt with the death of his landlord and mentally commended Anthony all the more for his strength at this moment.
As the physician sat back on his heels and straightened slightly, Gibbs glanced over to the Prince, seemed to mull over some internal dilemma briefly, but then spoke up for the first time in several minutes. "Ducky – can you tell when she died?"
"I would put it about eight to ten hours ago, if most of her time was here, in this room, at this temperature. There are factors that will affect that estimate, but given her state of rigor and the 'post-mortem stain' you see here," he indicated the discoloration that so marred her beautiful skin, "it would be at least four hours and no more than twenty, although those extremes are unlikely. More fittingly, eight to ten," he repeated.
Gibbs looked back to the Prince. "Do you know where she was eight to twelve hours ago, Sir?"
The Prince wavered for the moment, clearly considering whether or not to offer what he knew, when his eyes darted to Mr. Anthony, who was staring, hard, at the man as they awaited a reply. To anyone who watched it seemed clear that the Prince was weighing his response with what he believed Anthony would already know, and, with a sigh, he nodded. "Lady Danforth was at the dinner party hosted here by the Prince and Princess. The guests arrived around 9:00. The evening went on for some time."
"When was the party over?" Gibbs asked.
The Prince shook his head dismissively. "There was no set time. Some took a stroll in the garden after dinner, some went to the ballroom where there was a small group of musicians providing music for those who wished to dance, some ... pursued more private activities. Some stayed through the night, some did not."
"And Lady Danforth?" Gibbs pressed.
"I do not know."
"When did you last see her?" Anthony spoke up as well, "and with whom?"
The Prince frowned, and waved a hand vaguely, "I cannot remember; I was there more as an aide to his Highness than as guest. I was not with the guests the entire time, but had to attend other duties as well."
"For the Prince, of course," Anthony mused darkly. "And when did you last see him with Lady Danforth, Sir?" he dared, his eyes flashing in anger.
Battenburg's expression remained steady, and he spoke slowly, enunciating each word crisply. "I do not know."
The air nearly vibrated with the tension in the room, lingering for several long moments, before Gibbs turned again to the doctor. "Dr. Mallard, have you determined a cause of death?"
"I have some preliminary thoughts, but I'll know more when we get her back to my examination rooms."
"No, Doctor." Battenburg spoke low. "She is not leaving this room."
Dr. Mallard turned back quickly to face him and said, "the damage has been done with her having been moved earlier. There's no harm in moving her now."
"Even so." It seemed as if the prince were actually trying to soften his order for the elder doctor. "She will not leave here."
"Then how do you propose I properly examine her?" the doctor demanded.
The men glanced one to the other until, again, Anthony was the one to speak up. "Dr. Mallard, might we arrange a sort of ... screen, behind which you can perform your work? It will allow you and her a measure of privacy..."
The Prince's eyes narrowed. "I cannot let you take any action on the body out of my presence."
Dr. Mallard stood stiffly, rising to make the most of his height, still half a head shorter than the other man, and again came near to fairly growl at him. "Have you no shame, Sir? For whatever reason you asked for my services, it is certainly for more than simply asking if she is dead or not, or for Gibbs asking me to estimate when she died. I have my suspicions about what may have happened and your behaviour is leading me to add to them!"
McGee was afraid to breathe in the thundering silence that followed. The Prince, however, was not, as he drew a long breath to add his own, dangerously low growl to the conversation. "I would advise you to take care with your words, doctor. You do not wish to make accusations which some might interpret as treasonous."
"Is that it? You bring all of us here for some faux-inspection, to offer some air of concern and a pretense of investigation?" Ducky made no attempt to hide his anger. "Well, Sir, I will not participate in such a scheme, and I daresay neither will these other men. I will either do my work unencumbered by you and offer my opinion or I will leave without providing my findings. Any other choice is unacceptable."
The Prince stood unmoving during the tirade, and moments after, before finally lowering his eyelids halfway in a new measure of the man before him. "Do you get your bravery from talking with the dead, or merely from being old enough to know you're joining them soon?"
"I say!" All of them, Gibbs, McGee and Anthony, had reflexively voiced their anger at the Prince's vile words to their friend, but Anthony's voice overrode them all as he leapt across the room before Gibbs could grab hold of him, his own temper ignited yet again at their host. "I will not allow this bloody cat and mouse game to continue at these men's peril! It's me you wanted to help you with this sordid mess; well then, I'll stay and we'll arrange whatever you bloody well want to arrange, but by God these men are walking out of here now, either with your blessing or without..."
"Anthony!" Both Gibbs and Ducky warned him sharply, as Gibbs caught up to him and held fast at his elbow.
"Go ahead, Sir," Anthony sneered toward the Prince, without pause, "do whatever you like to me – have me jailed or deported or even thrown in the Tower for a bit of old-fashioned torture – but neither Ducky nor the others deserve this, no more than Lady Margaret deserved whatever end she was dealt. Let them leave."
Attempting an unruffled air, the Prince nonetheless seemed a bit taken aback by the ready insolence of the men, and he drew up straighter as he tugged at his waistcoat, straightening it. His nostrils flared as he breathed through his own anger, but finally said evenly, "gentlemen ... I have let the circumstances overcome my ... better judgment..." Battenburg paused again, and Timothy, even though he was still beyond shocked with what he had just seen and heard, found him self wondering exactly for what the Prince was expressing his regret.
As Gibbs himself must have, as he spoke up, his expression nearly freed from the anger of a moment ago. "...and were led to hire an unconventional investigator and his compatriots because of them?" Gibbs now wore the expression of someone who had just won an argument. "Well, congratulations, Sir, you were indeed successful, were you not, in securing the unconventional? And now you just don't know what on earth to do with these unconventional sorts you have before you."
The Prince met Gibbs' unyielding gaze with one of his own, but seemed to lose a bit of the steel in his backbone. Finally drawing another breath to address them all, he seemed to have come to a resolution of some sort for himself. First, he looked to Ducky and said, "Dr. Mallard, please accept my apology for my words – they were harsh and unnecessary. All of you – I also apologize for the way this matter has come to your attention, and for the way it must continue to include some ... limitations ... that you might not normally face. The ramifications of what has happened may well affect far more than simply the Lady and her loved ones, far more even than the Royal Family. What is done or not done in this investigation, no matter who is undertaking it, could implicate far more people and bigger issues than any one of us in this room."
"Or maybe not?"
The Prince looked quickly to Anthony as he stared at the Prince, jaw still jutted out in offense stance and daring him to lie. The Prince's lips twisted into a sudden, wry smile that did not carry much humor. "Or maybe not," he agreed. He looked at the odd collection of men standing around him and, glancing once more to the unfortunate Lady Margaret, laid out before him, he nearly sighed his response. "Alright. Doctor, if you are still willing to continue with the examination ... I believe we can provide something in the manner of a privacy screen for you to examine her here."
Ducky frowned briefly but, even without a glance to the others, managed a nod of agreement. The Prince called for Anthony to accompany him as he left the room on a quest for a screen. As Ducky moved back to the body, murmuring his own apologies to her for the indignities she was suffering, Gibbs came toward McGee. Coming closer than he would normally do, Gibbs reached a hand toward Timothy's, and suddenly McGee felt a previously unseen note, folded down to a small, tight square, pressed into his hand.
"Listen carefully, McGee, we've little time," Gibbs breathed into his ear, calmly but intently. "Take this note to the Lady David and tell her everything you have seen and heard today. Tell her that we've reason to believe that the persons in this list were at the Prince's dinner party last night, and ask her to do whatever unobtrusive checking into events with those whom she might have some connection. Tell her to use her best judgment in getting as much information as she can about the night, the woman, or anything else in these matters. Have her tell you those she plans to pursue so we do not duplicate efforts before we have a chance to meet. And offer Ziva whatever assistance she thinks you can provide. Otherwise ... wait for us at Ducky's. Is this clear?"
Timothy simply nodded, looking more shaken than Gibbs liked.
"Can you do this, McGee?"
Timothy found his voice. "Yes, Sir. For Lady Margaret, at least, Sir."
Gibbs looked at his youngest employee and was gratified to see a stronger purpose there with his words. Without wasting another moment he nodded, then urged, "then go – now. And remember Anthony's admonitions in such cases; walk with authority and purpose, as if you are exactly where you ought to be at all times, and without a care in the world. But go now – I expect we may arrange fifteen to twenty minutes before the Prince doubts your return."
And to his credit, hoping he looked as certain and strong as Anthony or Gibbs himself would in such circumstances, McGee made his way back through the stately rooms to the back halls where he'd already come and gone this eventful day.
...to be continued...