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“The needle!” Winfarthing said very loudly, his voice sharp with exasperation. He held up both huge hands, looking now straight at the jury. “A little contraption with a hollow down the middle and a point sharp enough to prick the human skin all the way to the veins. They attach the other end of it to a kind of vial or tiny bottle, with a solution of opium in it. Has to be pure, no cough mixture or stomach remedies. They push the plunger …” He made a dramatic gesture, closing his huge fist as if there were something inside it. “And the opium is in the blood in your veins, carried throughout your body, into your heart and lungs, into your brain! You see? Ecstasy-and then madness. The beast bites you once, and slowly, through tortures you cannot imagine-agony, vomiting, cramps, cold sweats, trembling and gooseflesh and chills-brings on nightmares no sane man has to endure. Of course you don’t want to hear it.”
He leaned forward over the railing as if peering into th
e jury’s faces.
“But what you really don’t want, my friends, is to live it! Or your children to live it … or, if you claim to be God-fearing men, any fellow human being on the face of this fair earth.”
He ignored Pendock, who seemed about to speak, and Coniston now standing, ready to interrupt.
“I know! I know.” Winfarthing would not be stopped. “Not relevant to the death of this wretched woman in Limehouse-Gadney, or whatever her name was, poor creature.” He leaned forward over the railing, peering at Rathbone. “But maybe it was, you see? Uncomfortable to talk about it. Makes us face the fact that we are responsible. My God, if you’re man enough to allow it, for the love of heaven, be man enough to stand up and look at what it is!” His voice had risen until the volume of it, and the outrage in it, filled the room.
“We brought opium into this country. We take the money for its sale. We use it to ease our own pain when we are injured. We drink it to stop our coughs, our bellyaches, and our sleeplessness. Thank God for it-used wisely.”
His voice sank to a growl. “But that does not give us the right to turn away from the misuse, the horrific knowledge of what it is like for those whose ignorance allows them to stumble into the living death of addiction. They’re drowning in it! A great ocean of gray, endless half-life.
“And those who sell it to them, put this magic needle into their hands, peddle hell for a profit, are not breaking any laws! Then is it not our duty before God and man to change those laws so that it is?”
No one moved in the gallery. The jurors stared at him, ashen-faced.
Coniston looked wretched. He gazed at Pendock, then at the jury, then finally at Rathbone, but he did not say anything.
Rathbone cleared his throat. “Did you tell Dr. Lambourn the horror of addiction through taking opium by needle, Dr. Winfarthing?”
“Goddamnit, man!” Winfarthing roared. “What the devil do you think I’ve been telling you?”
Pendock suddenly jumped into life, shouting, “Order!”
Winfarthing swiveled around and glowered at him. “What now?” he demanded. “My lord,” he added with just a whisper of sarcasm.
“I will not have blasphemy in my court, Dr.… Winfarthing.” He affected to forget his name and find it only with an effort. “If you repeat that offense I shall hold you in contempt.”
A look of incredulity filled Winfarthing’s face. Quite clearly a suitable retort came to his mind, and with an equally clear effort he restrained himself from giving it.
“I apologize to the Almighty,” he said without a shred of humility. “Although I am certain He knows in what sense I call on His name.” He looked again at Rathbone. “To answer your question, sir. I told Dr. Lambourn about the sale of opium fit to let into the blood, and the use to which these needles are put. Which is that a man-or woman, for that matter-may enter into their own private hell after only a few days on the poison, and be captive for ever afterward until death releases them to whatever damnation eternity offers-please God-to the seller of this nightmare and to those of us who deliberately choose not to distress ourselves with knowledge of it!”
Coniston was on his feet, his voice sharp and high above the hubbub in the room. “My lord! I must speak with you in chambers. It is of the utmost importance.”
“Order!” Pendock roared. “I will have order in my court!”
Very gradually the uproar subsided. People shifted uncomfortably, angry, frightened, wanting someone to tell them that it was not true.
Pendock was furious, his face purple.
“Sir Oliver, Mr. Coniston, I will see you in my chambers immediately. The court is adjourned.” He rose to his feet and strode out, his scarlet robe swirling wide, as if he were oblivious of what he brushed past or knocked into on the way.
Feeling a little sick, Rathbone followed Coniston and the court usher out of the side entrance and across the hall. As soon as the usher had knocked and received permission, they went into Pendock’s chambers.
The door closed behind them. They both stood before Pendock, who barely glanced at Rathbone before looking up at Coniston.
“Well, what is it, Mr. Coniston?” he demanded. “If you are going to tell me that this man Winfarthing is outrageous, I am acutely aware of it. And if Sir Oliver cannot keep him in some kind of control then I shall hold him in contempt, and that will be the end of his evidence. So far it seems to me to be inflammatory, unproven, and irrelevant to this case.”
Rathbone drew in his breath to defend Winfarthing on all counts, but before he could speak, Coniston cut across him.
“My lord, all you say is perfectly true, and I imagine that the jury can see it as the last ploy of a desperate man, as well as we can. However, there is another, more urgent and serious issue at stake here.” He leaned forward just a fraction, as if he could impress the importance of it on Pendock even more. “Winfarthing was suggesting high crimes committed by certain men, without proof, or names, but leaving the implication with which to brand innocent men, simply because they have been mentioned as knowing this wretched Lambourn. There are matters of state concerned, my lord, great dangers of bringing Her Majesty’s Government into disrepute, at home and abroad.”
“Rubbish!” Rathbone exploded in fury and frustration. “That’s a ridiculous excuse to present-”
“No, it isn’t!” Coniston was speaking to him, momentarily ignoring Pendock. “I give you credit for not knowing what this man was going to say, but now that you do, you must dismiss him, with an apology to the court, and a denial of the truth of any of it-”
