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“ ’E asked me a lot o’ questions about addiction,” she said quietly. “An ’ow yer can get over it. I told ’im that for most people, yer can’t.”
Now the silence in the room was intense, as if every man and woman in it were holding his or her breath, afraid to move in case the slightest rustle of fabric distorted a word.
The moment was here. Rathbone hesitated, breathed in and out slowly, then asked the question, his voice a trifle husky.
“And what was his response, Miss Nisbet?”
“ ’E were gutted,” she said simply. “ ’E asked me if I would show ’im some proof of it, so ’e would know what ’e were talkin’ about, an’ so ’e could put it in ’is report for the government.”
“Did he say why he wanted to put it in his report?”
“Course ’e didn’t, but I ain’t bleedin’ stupid! ’E wanted to ’ave the government make a law so it would be a crime ter sell people that kind of opium, wi’ needles to put it inter their blood. ’E wanted it so only doctors ’oo really knew what they was doin’ could give it ter anyone.” She looked back at him with a rage so deep, words seemed inadequate to serve it. She blinked several times. “ ’E wanted ter see what it really did to anyone … to know everything about it.”
“And did you agree to do that?” Rathbone said softly.
“Course I did,” she answered witheringly, but there was pain in her voice, and Rathbone felt a sense of guilt himself for what he was about to do. But there was no choice. He was not only at the last, desperate point of his defense of Dinah Lambourn; he knew this was what Joel Lambourn had died for, and unequivocally, what was right. There was a horror waiting to destroy thousands, tens of thousands of people over time. He could not balk at causing this one person’s pain.
Coniston was on his feet. “My lord, Miss Nisbet may be a very worthy woman, and I don’t mean to belittle her efforts in any way, but all this is still hearsay. I assume she is not addicted to opium herself? If so, she seems to be managing with extraordinary ability to hide it. It would be flippant to suggest it is doing her good, but I do suggest she is an observer, and not a professionally skilled one at that. If we are to believe this of opium, then we must have doctors tell us so, not Miss Nisbet, for all her charitable work.”
Pendock looked at Rathbone with the question in his face, the panic in his hollow eyes.
Rathbone turned to the witness stand. “Who did you take Dr. Lambourn to see, Miss Nisbet?”
“Dr. Alvar Doulting,” she said hoarsely. “I’ve known ’im for years. Known ’im when ’e were one o’ the best doctors I ever seen.”
“And he is not now?” Rathbone asked.
Her look was bitter and filled with grief. “Some days ’e’s all right. Will be today, most likely.”
“He is ill?” Rathbone asked.
Coniston stood up again. “My lord, if the witness is not coming, for reasons of ill health or whatever else”-he used the terms scathingly-“then what is the purpose of this hearsay?”
“He is coming, my lord,” Rathbone stated, hoping to heaven he was correct. Hester was supposed to be bringing him, with Monk’s help, if that should prove necessary.
Coniston looked around him as if searching for the missing doctor. He gave a very slight shrug. “Indeed?”
Rathbone was desperate. Neither Monk nor Hester had come into the courtroom to indicate that Doulting was safely here. If Rathbone called him and he failed to appear, Coniston would demand they begin their summing up and Pendock would not have any excuse to refuse him.
“I still have further questions for Miss Nisbet,” Rathbone said, his mind racing to think how he could string this out any further. There really was little else Agatha Nisbet could say that would not be obvious even to the jury as playing for time.
“My lord”-Coniston’s weariness was only slightly an exaggeration-“the court is being indulgent enough to the accused in allowing this doctor to testify at all. If the man cannot even appear, then-”
Pendock took it out of his control. “The court will adjourn for an hour, to allow everyone to compose themselves, perhaps take a glass of water.” He rose stiffly, as if all his joints hurt, and walked from the room.
As soon as he was gone Coniston came over to Rathbone. His face was very pale and for the first time Rathbone had ever seen it, his collar was a trifle askew.
“Can we talk?” he asked urgently.
“I’m not sure what there is to say,” Rathbone answered.
Coniston moved his hand as if to take Rathbone by the arm, then changed his mind and let it fall again. “Please? This is very serious. I’m not sure if you understand the full implications.”
“I’m not sure they’re going to make any difference,” Rathbone told him frankly.
“Well, I could do with a drink anyway,” Coniston replied. “I feel like hell, and you look like it. What the devil have you done to Pendock? He looks like a corpse dug up!”
“That’s none of your concern,” Rathbone replied with a brief smile to rob the words of their sting, although he meant them. “If he wants to tell you, that is up to him.”
