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He gave her a sudden, beaming smile. “I’ll see you in court!”
Two hours later Hester stood in Agony Nisbet’s cramped office.
“No,” Agatha said flatly. “I’ll not do that to him.”
Hester stared at her, ignoring the fury in her eyes. “What gives you the right to make that decision for him? You said he was a good man once, and it was the opium seller with the syringe that changed him. Give him the chance to be that good man again. If he won’t take it, then there’s nothing we can do. Lambourn will go down as a suicide, Dinah will hang, and nobody will stop the opium sellers, or even punish the ones we catch.”
Agatha did not answer.
Hester waited.
“I won’t try to make ’im,” Agatha said at last. “You ’aven’t seen what the withdrawal’s like, or you wouldn’t ask. You wouldn’t put anyone through it, let alone someone you cared about … a friend.”
“Maybe not,” Hester conceded, “but I wouldn’t make the decision for them, either.”
“It’d be the man who gives ’im the opium ’e needs,” Agatha pointed out. “Without it ’e’ll be in withdrawal for months-maybe on an’ off forever.”
“Can’t you get it for him?”
“I’ve ’ardly got enough for the injured. You want me to give ’im yours? D’yer know ’ow much it takes ter keep an addict going?”
“No. Does it make any difference?”
“You’re a hard bitch!” Agatha said between her teeth.
“I’m a nurse,” Hester corrected her. “That means I’m a realist … like you.”
Agatha snorted, was silent for a few moments, then straightened her huge shoulders. “Well, come on then! By the sound of it, you ’aven’t got time ter waste!”
Hester relaxed and smiled at last, then turned for the door.
Alvar Doulting knew as soon as he saw Agatha what they had come for. He shook his head, backing into the room as if there were a form of escape in the stacks of shelves behind him.
Agatha stopped and her raw-boned hand clasped Hester so hard it bruised the flesh of her arm. She had to bite her lip not to cry out.
“You don’t ’ave ter do it,” Agatha said to Doulting.
“If you don’t, Dinah Lambourn will hang,” Hester told him. “And Joel Lambourn’s report will never be seen. In particular the part about opium needles. There’ll still be people addicted, whatever we do, but if it’s made illegal, there’ll be fewer. It’s time to decide what you want to do … to be.”
“You don’t ’ave ter!” Agatha said again. Her face was pale, her voice strained. Her fingers were like a vise on Hester’s arm.
Doulting looked from one to the other of them as the seconds ticked by. He seemed beaten, as if he could no longer fight. Perhaps he knew there was nothing left that he could gain, except the last shred of the man he used to be.
“Don’t stop me, Agatha,” he said quietly. “If I can find the courage, I’ll do it.”
“You’ll testify that you told Joel Lambourn about the addiction that taking opium by needle causes, and he included it in his report?” Hester said it clearly. “And you’ll tell them what it’s like, and how it affects those it captures?”
Doulting looked at her and very slowly nodded.
She did not know whether she dared believe him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll tell Sir Oliver Rathbone.”
He sank back against the bench, turning to Agatha.
“I’ll get you enough,” she promised rashly, yanking at Hester’s arm. “Come on. We done enough ’ere.” She looked at Doulting again. “I’ll be back.”
Rathbone sat in Monk’s kitchen, untouched tea steaming gently in front of him. There were pastries cooling on a rack, sweetmeats ready for Christmas.
“Are you certain?” Rathbone pressed, looking at Monk, then at Runcorn. “Is the evidence absolutely irrefutable?”
