“I think you have a good idea what I mean, Colonel. She told you, didn’t she? She’s the most intemperate woman I’ve ever met, in this century or any other.”

Grey started involuntarily at that, and cursed himself as he saw the look of satisfaction in Richardson’s eyes.

What the devil did I just tell him?

“Ah, yes. Well, then—” Richardson leaned forward. “I am also—what Mrs. Fraser, and her daughter and grandchildren, are.”

“What?” Grey was honestly gobsmacked at this. “What the devil do you think they are, may I ask?”

“People capable of moving from one period of time to another.”

Grey shut his eyes and waited a moment, sighed deeply, and opened them.

“I’d hoped I was dreaming, but you’re still there, I see,” he said. “Is that my brandy? If so, give me some. I’m not listening to this sort of thing sober.”

Richardson shrugged and poured him a glass, which Grey drank like water. He sipped the second, and Richardson, who had been watching him patiently, nodded.

“All right. Listen, then. There is an abolitionist movement in England—do you know about that?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, it will take root, and in the year 1807, the King will sign the first Act of Abolition, outlawing the slave trade in the British Empire.”

“Oh? Well … good.” He’d been covertly looking for an avenue of escape ever since he’d awakened on deck and realized that he was on a ship. Now he realized that he was looking at it. The windows in the lowest row of that great wall of glass were hinged; two of them were in fact open, allowing a cool breeze to come in from the distant sea.

“And in 1833, the House of Commons will pass the Slavery Abolition Act, which will outlaw slavery itself and free the slaves in most of Britain’s colonies—some eight hundred thousand of them.”

Grey was a slender man, and not tall. He thought he might be able to squeeze through one of the panes. And if he could drop into the river, he was fairly sure he could swim ashore, though he’d seen the river’s currents …

“Eight hundred thousand,” he said politely, as Richardson had paused, evidently expecting a response. “Very impressive.” He was managing the glass of brandy well enough with his wrists bound, but swimming was another matter … He glanced briefly at the rope. Chew one of the knots loose, perhaps … Ought he to wait until he was out in the water, in case someone came in and caught him gnawing, though?

“Yes,” Richardson agreed. “But not nearly as impressive as the number of people in America who will not be freed, and who will continue to be enslaved, and then to suffer …”