Rathbone knew what she was going to say because he had spoken to her himself. He knew her passion to ease the pain of those who had nowhere else to turn, her knowledge of opium addiction and withdrawal, and her pity for Alvar Doulting and what he had once been. Hester had warned him that Agatha might be difficult to handle. Rathbone had a powerful feeling that that would prove to be an understatement. Still, he had used the means he dreaded most to force this chance and there was no turning back.
The court was waiting, the gallery hushed, the jurors surprised that there was still something to hear. Coniston was more than surprised. He looked confused. Obviously Pendock had not attempted to explain anything to him. How could he?
Rathbone cleared his throat. He must win. The cost had already been too high.
“Miss Nisbet,” he began, “it is my understanding that you run a voluntary clinic on the south bank of the river for the treatment of dockworkers and sailors who are injured or have illnesses due to the dangerous nature of their work. Is that correct?”
“Yes it is,” she answered. Her voice was unexpectedly gentle for so large a woman. One would not have been surprised were it baritone, like a man’s.
“Do you use opium to treat their pain?” He was asking his way gently toward the connection with Lambourn.
“Yes, course I do. There in’t nothing else as’ll do it. Some of them is hurtin’ very bad,” she answered. “Break ’alf a dozen bones an’ yer’ll know what pain is. Crush an arm, or a leg, an’ yer’ll know even better.”
“I was going to say that I can imagine,” Rathbone spoke gently, too, “but that would be a lie. I have no idea, for which I am profoundly grateful.” He hesitated a moment to allow the jury to place themselves in the same situation, facing pain beyond their nightmares, grasping some concept of what this woman dealt with every day.
“So you use a great deal of opium. You must know where to buy it, and perhaps something about opium dealing in general?” He made it a question. “And, of course, its effects on people after the pain is healed?”
Coniston was looking puzzled, but he had not yet interrupted. Surely he would any moment now.
“Course I do,” Agatha answered him.
“In this context, did Dr. Joel Lambourn come to see you within the last few weeks of his life? That would be between three and four months ago.”
“Yeah. ’E were askin’ questions about quality of opium, an’ if I knew ’ow ter give it without overdosin’ anyone,” she said.
Coniston could not endure it any longer. He rose to his feet.
“My lord, is this going anywhere of relevance? Surely my learned friend is not trying to damage the work this woman is doing to relieve the agony of injured men, just because she might have no medical training? If that is, indeed, what Lambourn was trying to do, no wonder the government judged the report to be better suppressed!”
There were murmurs of agreement and approval from the gallery.
Pendock appeared undecided. He looked from Coniston to Rathbone, and then back again.
Rathbone interrupted. “No, my lord. That is the opposite of my intention. I am only trying to establish Miss Nisbet’s skill and dedication, the fact that she is familiar with the opium market, and therefore a natural person for Dr. Lambourn to consult, possibly in some depth.”
“Proceed,” Pendock said with relief.
Coniston sat down again, even more puzzled.
Rathbone turned back to Agatha Nisbet.
“Miss Nisbet, I don’t believe it is necessary for the court to know all the details of your conversations with Dr. Lambourn regarding the purchase and availability of opium, or the ways in which you are able to know its quality. I will accept that you are an expert, and I will ask his lordship if the court will accept the evidence of your success in treating men as sufficient proof of it.” He turned to Pendock. “My lord?”
“We will accept it,” Pendock replied. “Please move on to your purpose in calling the witness regarding Zenia Gadney’s death.”
Coniston relaxed and leaned back in his seat.
“Thank you, my lord,” Rathbone said graciously. He looked up at Agatha again. “What was Dr. Lambourn interested in learning from you, Miss Nisbet?”
“About opium. Specially ’oo cut it wi’ wot so it weren’t pure anymore,” she answered. “So I told ’im about the trade as I know. ’E listened to all of it, poor devil.” Her face, shadowed with some dark and complex emotion, was impossible to read. “I told ’im all I knew about it.”
“About shipping opium and its entry into the Port of London?” Rathbone continued.
“That’s wot ’e wanted, ter start with,” she replied.
“And then?”
“My lord!” Coniston shot up from his seat and protested again.
“Sit down, Mr. Coniston,” Pendock ordered. “We must allow the defense to reach a point of some relevance, which I assume will not be much longer in coming.”
Coniston was taken aback. He had clearly expected Pendock to support him, but at least for the time being he was willing to wait.
Rathbone began again. “But I assume that you told him more than simply details of shipping,” he said to Agatha. “That would not seem to relate in any way at all to the death of Zenia Gadney, or indeed to Dr. Lambourn’s own death, apparently by suicide.”
“Course not,” Agatha said with heavy disgust. “I told ’im about the new way o’ giving ’igh-quality opium with a needle. Acts faster and stronger for pain. Trouble is, it’s a hell of a lot ’arder ter stop when yer ’ave to. Longer you take it, ’arder it gets. Weeks or more, an’ some can’t stop it at all. Then yer got ’em fer life. Sell their own mothers for a dose of it.”
This time Coniston did not hesitate. He was on his feet and striding out into the main space of the floor before he even began to speak.
“My lord! We have already established that it is possible for the unskilled or ignorant to misuse opium, probably any other medicine, and your lordship has ruled that raking it up here in this trial, which has nothing to do with opium except in the most oblique way, is irrelevant. It is a waste of time; it will frighten the public unnecessarily, and may well be slanderous to doctors who are not here to defend themselves, their honor and their good name.”
Pendock was ashen gray, and he controlled himself with a difficulty that was clearly visible to everyone.
“I think we must allow Miss Nisbet to tell us what troubled Dr. Lambourn so much, if indeed she knows,” he answered. “I will warn her that no names are to be mentioned, unless she has proof of what she says. That should allay your anxieties about slander.” He looked at Rathbone. “Please continue, Sir Oliver, but arrive at something relevant as soon as you can, preferably before luncheon.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Rathbone inclined his head graciously. Even before Coniston had returned to his seat, confused and angry, he asked Agatha Nisbet to continue.
“ ’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.”