Midnight Valentine

Midnight Valentine

By Madeleine Eblouie

The moon was a misty grey orb in the inky black sky. Silver clouds passed over it like whisper breaths on a frosty morning. Dusky light, cold shadows, faded dreams.

A thicker cloud passed over that lunar beauty, blocking out some of its distant, frozen light. Amelia turned away from it, to the man beside her. He was tall and strong, with a jaunty top hat atop his neatly combed, dark brown hair. He wore a dark brown suit of some disgusting, hairy felt material with leather elbows and a bright green tie. Despite his oddness, Amelia found him strangely enticing. Flirtily pushing a strand of her fair, straight hair behind her ear, she parted her red lips and spoke.

‘What you are doing is entirely immoral, sir.’ she stated, innocent eyes wide and intense.

‘Miss, I beg of you, do not take this the wrong way,’ he replied, his voice a delicious, dark, husky sigh. Amelia found it difficult, all of a sudden, to tear her eyes away from his mouth. It was rounded yet ragged, rough pink flesh looking soft and delectable. ‘I am merely here to retrieve... something which belongs to me.’

‘What? I wasn’t going to call a Bobby or anything!’ Amelia quickly contradicted, reassuring him mostly to see the relief in that beautiful face. ‘I’m just interested in what a...’ she thought about saying handsome, but stopped herself out of a sudden fear. He was, after all, stood in a graveyard with a shovel at midnight. ‘gentleman like yourself is doing here.’

‘I was wondering much the same about you, miss.’ he said, glancing down at her thin, ankle-length white dress and the thick woollen coat of her mother’s which she had thrown over the top. Her hair fell in a braid down her back, thick and childish, but her face showed her true maturity, her inner wisdom and her outer elegance. She shied away from his gaze, shuffling her feet in their too-big boots.

‘I live in Helmswood Hall, a half mile down the hill.’ she said, lips pursed, ‘I merely came to visit my brother’s grave.’

‘At midnight?’ he queried, looking at her strangely.

‘His favourite time.’ she answered, truthfully.

‘How did he die?’ asked the man, clearly just accepting her response.

‘War.’ she said, choked. It was a lie, but how was he to know? Her brother’s death was a secret close to the family, too shameful for anyone to know. Who would want people to know that their war hero son was a coward?

‘Tragic. My best friend died in Ypres.’ he muttered, sounding hurt, ‘It was a hard time for all of us out there.’

Rather than broach the subject of the war, which she knew from her other brother was the hardest thing for any man in England to speak about, Amelia asked his name.

‘You won’t like it, miss.’ he replied, and although he was half-turned away in shadows, Amelia could tell he was smiling.

‘Golly, it isn’t Benedict is it?’ she said, with false horror that fell away as she broke into a smile to match his.

‘Whatever’s wrong with Benedict!?’ he exclaimed, laughing in spite of his serious soul at this charming girl with such an intelligent voice, a will o’ the wisp who appeared so suddenly in the dark graveyard. The man looked up at the moon again, which had steadily reappeared from its mask of silver-lined clouds. ‘It’s Valentine. Valentine Roubles.’

‘Valentine.’ Amelia said, relishing the gorgeous word as it rolled from her tongue. ‘I like it, actually.’

‘So did my mother, God rest her.’ he said sadly, ‘What is your name, miss?’

But Amelia’s attention was lost. Her mouth fell open in a perfect circle, her eyes grew even wider, her hands flew to hug herself as she shivered violently. In the light from the moon, the gravestone beside her brother’s was suddenly lit up. It was a neatly carved piece of marble with a poppy engraved at the top, the words a lighter silver, nearly white in the moonlight. It read:

In loving memory of
A perfect son; a brave friend; an adoring husband,
Valentine Roubles

Amelia looked up at him, and an involuntary, warm tear rolled down her cheek. She didn’t know why she was crying, but a deep, agonising sadness had implanted itself in her stomach all of a sudden.

‘I only came back for my ring, it’s still on my finger.’ he said apologetically, ‘Oh, your brother was a brave fighter, miss Amelia.’
Valentine fumbled for a moment, and then put his warm hand to Amelia’s frozen cheek and leant down to kiss her softly. Amelia closed her eyes, breathing in his scent as she pulled herself nearer to him.

He pulled away from her gently, and she slowly lifted her eyelids, but he was fading already into the blackness, a shadow of his beautiful, lively self.

Amelia reached for him, but her bony fingers clawed at thin air: her Valentine was gone.

The moon was a misty grey orb in the inky black sky. Silver clouds passed over it like whisper breaths on a frosty morning. Amelia Roubles walked home, crying, to get back into her lonely double bed, whilst her Valentine slept below the ground.