Amelia's heart, however, was never sensible. Reaching into her basket, she pulled out the apples and cheese that she had so recently purchased and gently placed them beside the old woman.
"Here you are. Fresh from the market." "Bless you," the Gypsy murmured. "Bless you." "And here is a guinea. Sleep well tonight, my dear." "Ah, so kind." The woman reached for the coin, and then, without warning, she pressed a heavy object into Amelia's hand. "Such generosity must be rewarded."
"Oh ..." Startled, Amelia regarded the golden amulet that sparkled in the palm of her hand.
It was oddly designed with faint words scratched upon the metal. "No, you cannot part with such a lovely piece of jewelry. It must be worth a great deal."
The Gypsy slowly smiled. "It is beyond price. As is the blessing that has been placed upon it."
"Then certainly you must keep it You have more need than I."
"No." A sadness touched the wrinkled countenance. "Darkness will soon stalk you, my dear.
A terrible darkness. This amulet will protect you and bring a Guardian to your side. Wear it always and, above all, never give it to another."
Amelia gave a shake of her head. The poor woman was obviously daft. "I cannot keep such a gift."
A gnarled hand reached out to firmly fold Amelia's fingers over the amulet. At the same moment, a strange warmth flared between them.
"It is now bound to you. Protect it well. Only you can halt the danger that threatens all of London. A danger that is drawing ever closer."
Amelia frowned as a chill spread through her body. Daft or not, the old woman was beginning to frighten her.
"Danger? What danger? "
"Keep the amulet close. And trust in your heart. Love is always the light that will hold back the darkness."
"I do not understand." Amelia stepped closer, but even as she did, the old woman was fading into a shimmering mist. A sense of panic clutched at Amelia's heart. "Wait. You must tell me. What danger? Tell me . . ."
A sharp noise echoed through the silent house. With a sudden wrench, Amelia sat upright in her bed and glanced about the dark chamber. What was it?
Something had awakened her, she realized, as her hand instinctively went to the Medallion on a chain about her neck. Something other than the dream. A dream that had plagued her since the peculiar encounter with the old Gypsy nearly a month ago.
For a moment she hesitated. It was late. Very late. Then, with a resigned sigh she slipped from the bed and pulled a wrap over her nightrail. There was little use in giving in to the desire to lie back and curl up beneath her covers. She would not be able to sleep until she had assured herself that all was well. It was her duty now I hut she was mistress of her own household.
A faint smile touched her delicate features as she left the bedchamber and moved down the narrow hall. It was not much of a household to boast of. The house was a modest establishment perched upon the shabby fringes of London's more elegant neighborhoods. The rooms were cramped with well-worn furnishings and the garden so small that the handful of roses she had planted threatened to overwhelm it.
Still, it was ample for her and her younger brother, William. Together with their housekeeper, Mrs. Benson, they rubbed along reasonably well.
Pausing at the end of the hall, Amelia fumbled to light a candle before continuing down the stairs and toward the back of the house. A heavy silence shrouded her as she peered into the shadows. In the flickering candlelight everything appeared to be in order, but she instinctively continued her search into the kitchen.
Something had awakened her. A noise that had warned her that someone was stirring despite the late hour.
Refusing to consider the notion that the noise might have been a rat or some other vile creature, she skirted the large table and moved toward the laundry room. It was then that a movement outside the window suddenly caught her attention. William, she realized as she watched the shadowed form crossing the garden. With a hurried movement she rushed toward the door and threw it open.
As swift as she was, however, she was too late to halt her brother as he dashed from the back of the garden in obvious pursuit of his recently acquired cat.
"Bloody hell," Amelia muttered beneath her breath.
What the devil was William thinking? She had specifically warned him not to leave the house without her or Mrs. Benson at his side. She had even made him pledge in words that not even he could fail to understand.
Certainly he knew better than to go out in the middle of the night.
Amelia pushed her hands impatiently through the heavy strands of her raven hair. Calm yourself, she commanded as she sucked in a deep breath. Becoming rattled would serve nothing.
William was not attempting to defy her wishes; he simply did not understand.
And why should he? Since she had taken the small house, she had allowed her brother to come and go as he pleased. For the first time in his eighteen years he was not hidden in his chamber nor treated as a source of embarrassment to be tucked away. She had encouraged him to seek out friends among the neighbors and to spend his days among those unfortunate children in the stews who had swiftly learned to love his simple kindness and, perhaps more important, the numerous treats he would bring with him.