Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; varying license taken with historical persons. Victorian universe – and the promise of a visit to a couple of her less savory characters – courtesy of Sequitur.
A/N: this chapter picks up where we left the rest of the team at the end of Chapter 11, while Gibbs met with Fornell in chapter 12. Another apology that it has taken so long to update, but real life is relentless! As always, any and all responses appreciated.
A PERSON OF SOME CONSEQUENCE
Chapter 13
Ducky thought that the air in the room fairly vibrated as, before him, the two younger men faced each other in an unspoken struggle for control. The Prince, to be sure, had on his side a great deal of power and far more knowledge of the circumstances than did his young friend, but Anthony, always resourceful, was apparently throwing enough verbal jabs and punches that some had landed – and while that might bring them all closer to the truth, it also clearly made their path far more treacherous.
But Anthony simply would not be reined in, and actually laughed at the man. "You're serious!" he chortled to Battenberg. "You have been present the entire time Gibbs and McGee and I were here, in this room together, and you most certainly had an ear toward everything that passed between any of us. If you do not know where they are, how could you imagine that I would know where they went?"
"I did not ask that!" Louis roared, inches from Anthony now. "You are Gibbs' man as much as he or I ever were commanded in the Service of her Majesty, or as either of us ever commanded others. Such men do not so much leave the house without plans and contingencies for any event, and their men are well drilled to know where and how to fall back and regroup for a new charge. Given your line of work, it would be suicide not to do so. And, so ... I ask, again," his voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Where do I find your missing men?"
Anthony met the man's eyes and held them, unwavering and fearless, for long moments – then suddenly, with a wide grin, snorted and turned from him to Ducky with an apparently unconcerned shrug, casting a thumb back toward the Prince. "He thinks I could actually find Gibbs, Ducky, as if I could ever tr..."
"Enough!" the Prince spat. "You'll be held until you tell me..."
"Ah, ha! You see? I knew there were some still sent to the Tower," Anthony crowed.
"Anthony..." Ducky cautioned. The boy was simply goading the man now, possibly to his own detriment.
But the doctor immediately regretted his interference; it allowed the Prince a chance to refocus away from Anthony's mental grip on him, and gave him an extra weapon he actually hadn't thought of yet, thrown as he was by Anthony's unconventional responses. "Well, yes, the Tower," Battenberg's mouth twisted with irony, "or some place equally accommodating where we can have your Dr. Mallard wait until you see reason."
Anthony's grin slowly faded, but rather than look worried or frightened or even chastised, his eyes darkened in anger, and he straightened himself to face the Prince squarely. "Just what do you think you'd accomplish by punishing this man?" Anthony glowered, his own bearing suddenly exuding more threat of genuine danger than any the Prince had offered. "He came along solely to assist with your depraved, unholy investigation, and now you threaten his well-being in an effort to manipulate from me information I have already told you I do not have!"
"I do not believe you."
It was Louis' gain, having rattled his opponent, and his slight smile of smug contempt did not go unnoticed by Anthony. Tamping down his anger to prevent it from leading his actions again, the younger man gritted his teeth, forced himself to breathe evenly, and focused. Coming back to himself, he lifted his chin slightly to say, "it matters not at all if you believe me or not. In the most direct of terms as I know how to say, your Highness – I do not know where to find either Gibbs or McGee at this hour. Unless they are out in your hedges, still allowing McGee to empty his stomach – and I strongly doubt that is the case by now – then they are, in all likelihood, following up whatever ideas they may have to determine exactly how Lady Margaret met her end." The rage building on the Prince's face at his words seemed to surprise Anthony. His frown seemed a genuine one as he added, "but ... surely ... you realised..."
"You were sworn to utmost secrecy," the Prince raged, "and Gibbs himself agreed that no one else would be brought into this investigation without my approval!"
"Indeed – but you directed us to discover what could be learned of her death by any of those who might be given the task of investigating it. Surely you did not expect us to learn that without using all paths to the truth at our disposal?" Anthony seemed truly puzzled now. "Why else would you seek us out, and not someone else? And why not the Metropolitan?"
Battenberg's expression stiffened, unreadable. "The matter required the highest discretion..." he began.
"And I don't believe you!" Anthony's indignation began to take hold as he saw that he was faced with yet another turn in the game. "Just what the bloody hell did you think would happen, when you insisted that both Gibbs and I come at your summons?"
At the tone of his young companion, Ducky arose to stand at the ready. For what, he could not quite say, but his concern for the younger man was drawn clearly on his brow.
"Did you think we could not, all of us, see your purpose, and what you asked of us?" Anthony was railing now. "You would have us believe that, once you cut off all obvious avenues of investigation to us, you honestly did not intend us to pick up the inquiry along less direct lines?" As the Prince opened his mouth to offer a sharp denial, Anthony stepped in close, his nose almost to Battenberg's, as he hissed in his anger, "and I defy you to even dare to suggest that you did not foresee exactly this happening..."
"Anthony!" The doctor's voice was not loud, but it cracked a sharp warning against the men's ears.
"He knew bloody well what sort of work we do, Ducky, and he's no fool. Word is that if some tricky business is needed, some quiet settling of a matter, he's your man. And it's the business of such a man to know those upon whom he can call for a bit of the same." Anthony seethed, his eyes still boring into those of the Prince as he spoke to the Scot. "He himself brought Gibbs into this, and did nothing at all to encourage Gibbs and McGee to leave when I asked them to go." Anthony spat, still full of his anger at the Prince's implication. "Foreclosing all reasonable investigation here, you all but directed both Gibbs and McGee to run off to do their own, out there, for you, doing your bidding, under your terms. And now? You raise your threats against us – for what purpose? Is it to distance yourself from anything they might find? You damn well know that this is precisely what you expected to happen when you involved us!"
Anthony's chest heaved with his anger and indignation at the man's apparent denial of his crass manipulation, and he stared, hard, at his adversary – until he saw it. Dawning on him now, his features underwent another change. "Or..." Anthony's voice fell lower as his eyes widened to look closer at the man. "By my soul, Ducky, he did not."
Anthony sounded genuinely astounded now, although the good doctor knew him well enough to question how much of this might be Anthony's own acting skills – and how much, the truth. At the moment, he couldn't quite tell...
"He thought he could control us," Anthony was saying, "that no matter our reputation, Gibbs' reputation, that we'd all fall in line for Crown and Country when so ordered, like good little soldiers..." Anthony continued to consider the Prince, and as his eyes narrowed, Ducky suspected he truly was working much of this out for the first time as he spoke. "And when we did not – and have not – he is suddenly left with a bad situation made worse, and his 'controlled' disaster is unraveling all over the City. That's why he now believes he's as much a target of his threats as we are..."
"Tread carefully, m'Lord," the Prince warned.
"...because his promise to keep this problem ... contained ... has been so quickly broken. But ... a promise to whom?" Anthony's speculation did not waiver; the younger man was merciless as he slowly, craftily, found his way further along into the mystery, not only gathering more of the loose threads of events, but banking moment after moment of additional time for the others. "That's it, Dr. Mallard! Our good Prince Battenberg has made a promise he could not keep. As well we know, Doctor, Prince Louis has only a few people to whom he must answer, at the ... elbow? ... of the Heir and so close to the seat of power. So we must ask ourselves..."
At that, Anthony stopped and his roguish demeanor shifted for the briefest moment as his eyes flashed with sudden insight, a new question driving him to search the Prince's face anew. And to Mallard's astonishment, whatever Anthony's epiphany was, it was enough to rattle the Prince once more, and a look of akin to fear – foreboding, perhaps? – crossed his aristocratic features. Anthony's eyes narrowed at his reaction, and he weighed his thoughts as he picked up his earlier monologue, speaking even more slowly now, still ostensibly to his friend, but his voice low and cautious now as he felt his way along his speculation.
"...we must ask, Ducky – to whom was this promise made? Just who in this household knows of Lady Margaret's untimely demise ... and whose hand is directing the good Prince's actions?"
xoxoxox
Upon leaving Fornell, Gibbs made all haste back toward Marlborough House. Under normal circumstances he might congratulate himself for going so far across town and back in the short two hours it had taken him, and speaking to several along the way besides, had it not been that two of his men – and damn near only friends – were left behind to explain McGee's and his absence. The whole affair had left Gibbs with a pronounced feeling of dread; clearly Anthony had it settle upon him as well. Gibbs had served the Queen in his youth and, more than many in this modern age, still felt a strong sense of duty and fealty to the Queen and all in her line. So the fact that the victim was the Heir's guest, and found in his home, for which they had been summoned, only to find that any real investigation had been prevented ... well, it made the damned engagement, and Lady Danforth's murder, even more dark and ominous with the spectre of this Battenberg haunting their every step.
Still, Gibbs had been spoiling to find someone who would talk, who would tell him something about the evening and those in attendance, and his failure to do so grated. He hoped that the Lady might ferret out a few more facts, maybe find a few on the guest list who would tell the wily Lady of their night at Marlborough House, but this too left him unsatisfied. He knew both from Fornell and from his own attempts that those befriended by – and those employed by – the Crown were a notoriously tight-lipped lot. Servants were questioned most thoroughly before hire, trained and watched and threatened once inside, even those in the meanest of positions. And other than his newspaper contacts who had offered nothing, or the guests or serving staff Ziva might pursue, Gibbs could think of no other sources of information to exploit. And that set his unsettled gut up for another round of disquiet.
As he rounded his last corner, Marlborough House loomed ahead, and he slowed his pace, shifting his way to a less visible path. He saw nothing amiss outwardly, no sign that additional guards were in place, either to haul him back in or to bar his entrance. He scanned the crowd for signs of more canny, concealed men he knew the Queen to have in her service, but saw no one who fit that description either.
Just to be sure, Gibbs decided to swing wide around the stables and view the place from all sides. Maybe overly cautious, and worse, maybe wasting time that Anthony and Ducky did not have, but he felt himself drawn to make the circuit of the place...
... and was rewarded by the sight of someone who just might help...
xoxoxox
With Miss Abigail's wide-eyed question about the investigation, Timothy felt his part of the assignment spiraling out of hand. Lady Ziva was clearly a master at such things; from what he'd seen previously, and what he'd seen just moments before, both outside and now in her pantry, arming herself as if she were a one-woman army, Tim was not at all ashamed to discharge Gibbs' directives and pass his burden to Lady Ziva's apparently expert hands and await her orders.
However, he had not counted on the innocent Miss Abigail to be caught up in all this, and McGee feared not only for her safety, but for his own, given the likely wrath of three dangerous men should it be known. For although Ducky was her guardian, both Anthony and Gibbs – oh, especially Gibbs – doted on their 'Abby,' and all three were as fiercely protective of her as if she were their own flesh and blood. And the thought that she too was now getting involved in this hugely secret affair – which was growing more public by the moment, it seemed – had him more fearful of their ill will than anything that Battenberg might conceive for him.
Before McGee could answer Abigail with the details of the murder, Ziva had shooed them out of the kitchen and toward her parlor with their tea as she completed arming herself – probably for some privacy to conceal her more ... personal ... weapons – so they could have a civil discussion about the matter and what lay ahead. She joined them a few moments later, as Abigail spread the service on the low table before them.
As Ziva poured and Miss Abigail passed the biscuits, McGee found that, primary duty accomplished, his mind went skittering back along all he had seen and done that day, and it left him unsettled. He had never seen such a sober expression on Gibbs' face, and most certainly had not seen Anthony so grave or intensely focused. In the months he had been with Gibbs and the others, McGee had gotten used their manner of investigation, differing somewhat depending on the assignment but overall falling into a predictable pattern of sorts, no matter their task, no matter how grim or unusual: Anthony would be only just as respectful as circumstances demanded, but also as playful and imperious as he could manage, the latter Timothy began to believe done for his own amusement. Gibbs was taciturn and direct, the more heinous the matter the more intense and the less willing to give Anthony room for his antics.
But this matter had been different from the start. Both Anthony and Gibbs had a sense of foreboding that was clearly well-founded, even before leaving home; Anthony was grim and his anger smouldering, while Gibbs was more silent and focused than McGee had ever seen him. What had happened at Marlborough House, what they learned and were told, simply added to the disquiet, but they'd known. Somehow, just by virtue of the summons by Prince Albert to Anthony, both Tony and Gibbs knew something was amiss...
"...McGee!"
Tim broke from his musing to look up and see two shining faces peering expectantly at him. "Are you quite alright, McGee?" Ziva asked.
"Oh .. y..yes, of course; my apologies..." he stammered, caught.
"The victim, McGee?" Abigail demanded again.
With a quick look to him, Ziva stilled his response and turned to the other woman. Putting a hand out to cover her friend's sympathetically, she said, "it was Lady Margaret, Abby. The Lady Margaret Danforth..."
The green eyes welled immediately as a hand flew to her mouth. "Lady Margaret!" she repeated, "but ... if they called for Anthony ... and Gibbs..."
"They must have suspected it was a questionable death at the start, or they would not have called upon them." Ziva kept her voice soft, easing her friend's shock at the information, but turned to McGee. "Yes, McGee?"
He nodded. "Yes," he confirmed, seeing Abby's eyes well again, tears falling this time.
"What happened, Timothy?" Abby sniffed.
He frowned and shook his head. "We do not yet know." Telling the tale of his morning, the ride to Marlborough House and all found and not found inside, his narration of the strange events of the day was hushed and hurried. He told them of Prince Louis of Battenberg and how he seemed almost bound to prevent them from learning anything, how Gibbs pulled him aside and bade him make his getaway. He spoke of Anthony's chilling anger and Battenberg's rigidity, of Ducky's findings and lack of witnesses and evidence at every turn regarding the woman's death...
After several minutes of McGee's observations, the room fell silent. Long moments went by as each of them, locked in his or her own thoughts, made what they could of things, until Abigail looked around at the others. Seeing the frustration on McGee's face and the cool deliberation in Ziva's, she could be still no longer. "Well? Did he do it?" she blurted.
"Miss Abigail..." McGee pleaded. "Please! We cannot let ourselves think that..."
"On the contrary, McGee," Ziva cautioned, quietly, "we cannot let ourselves ignore the most obvious possibilities."
"Everyone knows of his appetites and his activities," Abigail reasoned, "and there was the odd speculation that the Lady Margaret would be his next 'convenient' if she was not already so."
As Ziva merely shrugged and opened her mouth to respond, Timothy gaped toward the angelic face before him and blushed crimson for her. "Miss Abigail!"
"Timothy, it is just us three, not Hyde Park!" she huffed. "What kind of an investigation would this be if someone did not at least raise the question?"
"B... but ... even so." His cheeks blazed red. "I did not realize that you ... you knew about ... well, about..."
"What men and women do?" Lady Ziva raised an eyebrow. "This is the City, McGee. Most women here, once they are women, are as aware as men about some of the more private matters we share." Her lips curled up into a slight smile at the discomfort the young man showed at the thought. "It is a new world, McGee."
"Indeed," he managed, "certainly a new one as compared to the one where I was raised."
"Timothy – our concern is Lady Margaret!" Abigail reminded him. "And whether or not you want to hear it, she was at least close to Prince Albert, and may have been ... intimate. She would hardly be the first, if the ladies who tell tales are to be believed. But certainly nothing untoward was ever said of his treatment of them ... and most assuredly no one has claimed he used his birthright to order someone killed – has one?" she asked.
The thought brought Tim up short, as Ziva's admonition rang in his ears. "Well, no, I don't think so ... but..."
Ziva nodded her grim encouragement. "Yes – so you see, McGee? It is something we cannot take for granite, with men of power; they have connections and means to do what they will, and keep it secret..."
But now McGee was frowning deeply. "Granite?"
"Yes," Ziva began again, "you see it now, do you not, that we cannot..."
"Granted." Abby said softly as she leaned toward Tim, and it was now Ziva's turn to look confused. "Something we cannot take for granted," she explained.
"Oh..." chorused McGee and Ziva.
"...and even if he is our future King," Abigail took up their thinking, "do you not think Gibbs and Anthony have already thought of this?" she demanded. "It must be part of what they want us ... want Ziva," she corrected coyly, "to ask about."
"Miss Abby, they may well have thought of it," Timothy reasoned, "but are we to rely on mere gossip to inform an investigation?"
"And where else would you find such information, McGee? Especially if you are not being told anything by your patron, and especially if your patron happens to have wealth and privilege and power allowing him to hide all manner of things, and most especially if your patron comes precisely to the one man in all of London who not only is an investigator but whose own nightly activities have provided him with a front row seat for precisely the goings on between the Heir and Lady Margaret, before she was murdered in his own home!" Abigail's eyes were fiery with the implications. "You can be assured that these matters were foremost in Anthony's mind when Battenberg came to call, and once he had a moment to divest himself of all knowledge on the matter to Gibbs, that it was of most significance to him as well."
Was that it? Tim asked himself. Was that enough to throw both Gibbs and Tony off their usual bearings? Given the many, sordid implications – it might indeed.
"It may not be the best source, McGee, or the most palatable," Ziva nodded sagely, "but Abby is right. I have learned since my very first visit here that one of the most reliable sources for the most current information in London is word of mouth. The skill to be learned is where to get your most reliable and most recent information." She drained her teacup, put it down and brushed down her skirts. "We can double our efforts if we split up. I will go to see Commander Pettiford, Lady Townsend, and the Wright-Joneses. All are on the guest list and all in town, so I believe they will have attended. I will then go to see my dressmaker. For an extra order or two she can be very informative," Ziva smiled slyly. "I believe I can be back here by tea time even if all are receiving. Abigail, do you know any of those on the list?"
Abby poured over the presumed guest list, and frowned. "Well, yes, but not so that I could simply go ask them about the evening. The Claridges are old friends of Ducky, but my appearance would be surprising, let alone my appearing simply to ask about their dinner with the Prince and Princess. I have known Lady Elizabeth Trawley for years but a more spiteful, duplicitous she-male you will never find... it's true," she insisted when she saw Timothy again blanch a bit at her strong words. "What if I ask the girl at the flower shop and the butcher ... they hear things, from inside. And perhaps the green grocer at the market."
McGee shook his head. "Miss Abigail, Dr. Mallard would not want you involved in all this, nor Gibbs nor Anthony..."
As Abigail drew an indignant breath to speak, Ziva interceded smoothly, "but they do want me to do what I think is best, given the time we have, to get as much information as possible, do you not agree?" At McGee's mere suggestion of a nod, Ziva continued smoothly, "then Abby will go. Her plan is a sound one, and she knows people from whom she can get ... sensitive ... information whom you do not." As he thought to protest again, Ziva lifted a hand to add, "and you will accompany her. It is unseemly for her to travel without an escort, that is true, so you will be at her side. Any observations you can add will be helpful." As he looked unconvinced, Ziva asked, in some exasperation, "well, come on, McGee, have you any sources of your own to see?"
And it dawned on him. "I do," he blinked. "Down at the docks."
He had not been down to the docks or the narrow, filthy streets along the Thames since coming to work for Gibbs, and the thought of returning now left him chilled. It had been grim enough – and occasionally dangerous – when he was a known fixture there, selling his toys and gee-gaws for pennies, and seen by the worst of them to be a bit touched and possibly magical, given the hidden powers of the things he made to scald or pinch or sting its owner.
But he'd been away long enough, and possibly filled out enough and become healthy enough, that at best, he'd be forgotten or viewed with suspicion by those who would have known him months ago. At worst, he'd be beset by the criminals roaming the streets looking for a hapless soul who wandered in unawares. But it was there he'd first heard the name Gibbs and advised that it was he who could help Timothy when none else could; it was likely that, of all of them, even Gibbs or Anthony, he might be the only one who had moved among the dock denizens for a time. And as he'd learned back then, months ago, Smith and Stebbins knew, always, the business of everyone in the city. Even the royals. He sighed.
"They are not the most savory of characters, and I fear may not be the sort often privy to the comings and goings of the quality. But ... there are those who make it their business to know what's afoot in all corners of the City, and they do so for the income it generates. It is in their best interest therefore to sell only that information which is fairly certain – or, at least, sell it with whatever caveat is needed to tell of its reliability, so that their business remains profitable for them and they are not tossed into the River for an error. And – it is one more place where our questions may be asked that none of the rest of you is as likely to find answers as I may be."
At his words, Ziva's expression shifted into one of more cunning, then of appreciation. With a nod, she relented. "I had forgotten about your months there, McGee. You would do well to go there and ask about."
"Then ... Miss Abigail need not be involved," McGee brightened slightly. He might avoid the certain wrath of the other men after all.
"No, we need her as well." Ziva turned her attention back to Abigail, mulling over their options, then settling on her choice. "It is only a kilometer or two from the markets to the riverfront. The two of you will go in Ducky's carriage to the market. Leave the carriage with the farrier, he has a small paddock and often watches the rig and horses for Ducky. Make your way to the nearest of your destinations, Abby. As she begins her shopping, you, Timothy, begin looking about in your own little way, as a bored husband might, looking at this and that, and the two of you mindlessly wander further and further apart. As soon as Abigail finishes with her first stop and makes her way to the second, you, McGee, assuming no eyes are on you, can find your way to the docks. As each of you finish, return to the farrier; Abby, use your own judgment as to time and events about returning here with the carriage. Timothy, if you find the carriage gone you can assume Abby has returned here. If not, you wait for her." She paused. "Do you each have enough money?"
Abigail nodded, but Timothy frowned. "I have some, but..."
Ziva rose immediately to disappear down the hall, returning only a few moments later. "Of all of us, McGee, you are the one likely to need money for your information." She handed him a soft leather envelope that bulged slightly. "I would recommend dividing that among your pockets and other places where you might keep your funds, so it is not all in one spot. If they see how much you have they will want it all, without negotiation."
Timothy nodded and reached in to pull out coins and paper money, stopping when he saw just how much. "Lady Ziva! There must be one hundred and fifty pounds here!"
"And I do not mean for you to spend it all, McGee," she cautioned with a smirk. "I just do not want you needing it for information, or even for a cab back here, and find you are short. Use it wisely."
He nodded. "I shall."
...to be continued...