Grey ceased listening, recognizing that the tone of Richardson’s speech had shifted from conversation to lecture. He dropped his hands to his lap, pulling inconspicuously to test the stretch of the rope ….

“I’m sorry?” he said, noticing that Richardson had stopped talking for a moment and was glaring at him. “My apologies; I must have dozed off again.”

Richardson leaned over, took the brandy glass from the table, and dashed the dregs in his face. Taken unaware, Grey inhaled some of the liquid and coughed and spluttered, eyes burning.

“My apologies,” Richardson said, politely. “No doubt you’ll need a bit of water with that.” There was a pitcher of water on the desk; he picked that up and poured it over Grey’s head.

This was actually helpful in washing the stinging brandy mostly out of his eyes, though it did nothing for the coughing and wheezing, which went on for some minutes. When this at last eased, he sat back and wiped his eyes on the backs of his tied hands, then shook his head, sending droplets across the desk. Some of them struck Richardson, who inhaled strongly through his nose, but then apparently regained control of himself.

“As I was saying,” he said, giving Grey a glare, “it’s the Revolution in America that will allow slavery to flourish unchecked here—and then lead, in part, at least, to another bloody war and more cruelty …”

“Yes. Fine.” Grey held up both hands, perforce, palms out. “And you propose to do something about this by moving through time. I understand perfectly.”

“I doubt that,” Richardson said dryly. “But you will, in time. It’s very simple: if the patriots don’t succeed, the American colonies remain under British law. They won’t engage in slave trading, and their existing slaves will all be freed in the next fifty years. They won’t become a slaveholding nation, and the Civil War—that’s going to happen in roughly a hundred years from now, if we don’t manage to put a stop to the present war—won’t happen, thus saving hundreds of thousands of lives, and the long-term consequences of slavery will not … Are you trying to feign sleep again, Lord John? I might be obliged to slap you awake, as the pitcher is empty.”

“No.” Grey shook his head and straightened up a little. “Just thinking. I gather that you’re telling me that you mean to cause the current rebellion to fail so that the Americans remain British subjects, is that right? Yes. All right. How do you mean to do that?” Plainly the man wasn’t going to shut up until he’d got his entire theory laid out—such people never did. He groaned inwardly—his head was aching again, from the coughing—but did his best to look attentive.

Richardson looked at him narrowly, but then nodded.