Zechariah had not intended to visit Uriel. He was a blundering young man instead of a blundering little boy now, and if Uriel needed the room to make mistakes to learn from - so be it.

Besides, that American was a little much. He supposed most pregnant women were - and unwed redheads even moreso. Oh! He hoped that Ward was suffering in matrimony.

A smell piqued his nose as his carriage rode past. Familiar. Goyish. Probably Uriel's neighbor.

"Slow down," Zechariah called to the cabby, eyes fixed suspiciously on Uriel's house.

The smell grew stronger as they passed, and then faded as it receded.

"Turn around."

Moments later, there was a smart rap at the door.