'Edwardian-Georgian Gothic? Why, that's just not kosher!' '
Lady Florence Craye, in a moment of thorough revulsion
BLOOD AND BLOOMS
A Jeeves/Blackadder crossover
PART I
'Jeeves?'
'Yes, Bertram, my radiant Hyacinth?'
'Why d'you s'pose Aunt Dahlia is so keen to drag me down to old Worcestershire?'
'Forgive me, sir, but I was under the impression that you enjoyed visiting your aunt.'
'Yes, but for a funeral, Jeeves? For some stern old army toff that I never even met? Seems a dashed ghastly business. Anyway, I thought she'd be worried that I'd make an ass of myself during the wake. End up offending the old bird's widow or knocking
PART II
10th July, 1913
Brinkley Court, Worcestershire
This journal had been given me by my late father as a 20th birthday present, with the express intent of recording my experiences in the Armed Forces. As is often the case with such well-intentioned gifts, its pages have remained blank for twenty-four solid years. That being said, it would have to number among the world's most well-travelled books, having accompanied me to the Sudan as a nervous Captain of a nervous company, South Africa as an eager Lieutenant Colonel, and as a thoroughly bored and jaded Brigadier to the subcontinent. And through all this carnage and fire and slaughter
PART III
7th April, once again in the early hours of the morning
The stars smoulder tonight, vivid baubles in the black abyss.
There is a grand ballroom in a French château. The space is resplendent with Rococo ornaments and candlelight. Ballgowns waft across the tiles as polite conversations in English and en Francais hum delicately above the orchestra. For a few precious hours, the horrors of shells and blood and disease melt away in an effervescent, surreal printemps. The slender, gloved fingers of a tall, sinuous sylph are clutched tenderly by the great mitts of an adoring, colossal troll in a ceremonial General's uniform. He cann