Dance of Discord 8: A Crack

Posted on by Teagan Riordain Geneviene

Saturday, June 7, 2025

Children in the Ghetto and the Ice-Cream Man
Children in the Ghetto and the Ice-Cream Man, c 1909 Wikipedia

 Welcome back to our new serial story, The Dance of Discord.  Time really does fly — we’ve arrived at episode-8.   

A bit of history

A bit of food and language trivia that began with episode-6 lingers in this week’s installment.  When Colleen Chesebro left Jell-O as a random reader thing, we discussed the popularity of that food, which was invented in 1897 and was well liked by the early 1900s.  Also on the menu at the ball was a dish referred to as an ice.  During those days, an ice could refer to a few different dishes, including ice cream which had also escalated in popularity.  Although the origins of frozen desserts are obscure, many accounts say the history of ice cream began in Persia in 550 BC.  There is debate about who did when what.  If you’re in the mood for a research rabbit hole, then Google to your heart’s content.  

However, this episode is not driven by food-things.  Today I’m spotlighting poet and blogger, Suzette Benjamin.  Don’t miss her lovely blog.  Suzette’s random reader things are broken fountain pen, luggage tag, and window envelope.

Last time Dutchess Felina Gattone overheard the mysterious Zola Jouret conspiring with the young lawyer, Adam Adler, to fake a fainting spell.   If your device displays the Categories list (that’s on the right-hand side column on my laptop screen), click on “Dance of Discord” for all of the past episodes.

Now to the serial story.

Dance of Discord: 8

Queen Victorias salon Wikipedia
Queen Victoria’s salon Wikipedia

A Crack

The seat where we had left Olivia Silva was empty.  Milo’s eyes shot around the room inquiringly.  He cast an overly mournful look at the two dessert dishes he held.  The creamy ices were beginning to melt.

“Dutchess Felina Gattone, come here,” a tenor voice called entreatingly.

Turning toward the sound of my name, I saw a serious-looking man in an unremarkable tuxedo.

Gideon! came my pleased thought upon seeing Milo Quick’s major domo, who usually had a calming effect on me.

“I saved some shrimp for you.”

With long strides, Milo followed me to the quiet corner where Gideon stood, watchful for the needs of guests.

“Gideon, have you seen anything untoward…” Milo began.  “You know, anybody who’s on the fidgets, anything unusual?  And by the way, where is Miss Jouret?” he added, prompting Gideon to questioningly indicate the chair where the amber-eyed woman had been sitting.

“Yes?  The lady fainted while she and that Jack-a-dandy lawyer were dancing.  The Colombian ambassador’s daughter — the young lady in the aqua-colored gown who was sitting with you, went with the woman when she was taken to the ladies’ salon, sir,” Gideon replied with a put-upon expression for the extra work and stress the spectacle had caused him.

“Balderdash…” Milo muttered, his teeth closed with a barely audible snap.

He was just about to head to the room that had been transformed into a ladies’ lounge, when we all heard the sharp crack of a revolver.

Edwardian Era salon room by Teagan via Night Cafe

The chatter-filled room went silent.  The plaintive whine of the orchestra down in the ballroom stopped.  The brilliant galaxy of colorful uniforms halted.  Dancers turned with curious but tense expressions.  After a moment, carrying clearly through the stillness, we heard the guttural exclamation of the German diplomat.

“Dummkopf!  Spielt weiter, ihr Narren!  Arrrrrgh — Keep on playing, you damnable fools!” he cried and unsteadily, the music resumed.

Milo nodded a silent approval of the unseen dignitary’s command.  It was quick thinking.  Act normally.  Best to let the guests think the noise was anything but a gunshot.  Then Milo Quick turned away toward the direction of the gunshot.  After the initial surprise, several partygoers also started to move in that direction.  Once again, the orchestra faltered.  However, the people stopped walking away when Chief Drummond climbed up to stand in a chair, with an easy smile on his face.

“All’s well!” he called.  “One of the officers dropped his revolver, and it accidently went off.  No harm done.  On with the festivities!”

There was a moment of relieved chatter.  The orchestra struck up a lively Polka which drew the dancers back to the floor.  Stuart Drummond stepped down from his chair, flinching slightly at a twinge the maneuver caused in his knee, and caught up with Milo.  Two other Secret Service men joined them, blocking the doorway that opened into a narrow hall.

“This way,” directed the chief tersely, and Milo walked along beside him.

We skirted the end of the ballroom until they came to another door opening into the hall.  Chief Drummond pushed it open and entered.  One of his men stood just inside.

The Wounded Man_ Gustave Courbet c1854 Wikipedia
The Wounded Man, Gustave Courbet, c 1854 Wikipedia

“Franks, what was it?” Drummond asked the agent.

“Señor Gómez, from the Argentinian delegation, was shot,” replied Franks.

“Dead?” Drummond pressed, but he smoothed his moustache with his little finger when the agent shook his head.

“Only wounded, chief.  We put him in that room,” Franks said, indicating a door a short distance down the hall. “I spotted a doctor among the guests and enlisted his help.  A couple of the ambassador’s servants are with him too.  Foley is in the room, keeping an eye on things.”

“Foley is a good choice,” Drummond said of the operative with a nod.  “Who shot him?”

“Sorry, chief.  We don’t know.  Foley and I found him lying in the hall here.”

Milo and I followed the chief to the room where the wounded man lay.  Dark stains spread across the front of his jacket.  Milo muttered that something was off about them.

“The color?” the doctor asked with a chuckle.  “Not all of that is blood.  Part of it’s from a broken fountain pen.”

The doctor went on to explain that the bullet had entered the diplomat’s torso just below the ribs on the left side.  He added that it was a clean wound, posing no immediate danger to the Argentinean diplomat.

“Señor Gómez?” Chief Drummond spoke softly, and the ambassador opened his eyes to stare around in bewilderment.

Suddenly alarm spread across the Argentine’s face.  He made spasmodic efforts to reach the inside breast pocket of his bloodied coat.  Milo obligingly put his hand into the pocket and withdrew its contents, the while Señor Gómez struggled frantically.  He groaned when he realized what Milo was doing, but relaxed somewhat when he saw a window envelope.  It appeared to be an ordinary bill. 

“Señor, be still.  No need to worry,” Milo told him in a matter of fact tone.  “I’m taking the papers so you can see whether the one you’re worried about is still there.”

One by one, Milo held up the various papers, in front of the wounded man.  A luggage tag got no reaction from him.  Neither did a folded paper that Milo discretely did not open.  Each time the ambassador silently shook his head in answer.  After Milo showed him everything, Señor Gómez closed his eyes again.

“What kind of document was it?” Milo insisted.

“That’s none of your affair,” was the ambassador’s breathless but curt answer.

“Who shot you?” Milo demanded.

“None of your business.”

“Was it a man?” Milo asked, causing the other agents to start in surprise, as if the question was stupid, but Gómez was silent and glanced away.

“A woman then?” Chief Drummond queried, his moustache twitching, but the Argentinian remained silent.

Photo of housemaid Montmartre, Paris in in Camera Work 16, c. 1906 Wikipedia
Housemaid Montmartre, Paris in Camera Work 16, c. 1906 Wikipedia

Apparently having been inspired by his own question, Milo turned on his heel and suddenly started out into the hall.  He all but ran into a maid as she was coming in at the door.  Her face was flushed with excitement.

“A lady, sir—  There was a lady from the ball—” she babbled.

Just before I darted out behind him, Milo calmly closed the door, shutting in the wounded man, Chief Drummond, and the other agents.  He told the maid to take a deep breath and speak plainly.

“The lady—  But she ran away,” the girl went on, in shock.

“What lady?  Where did she come from?  Why did she run away?” Milo demanded coldly, but the maid could only stare at him.  “Begin at the beginning.”

Finally, she explained that she had been in a room, farther down the hall when she heard the shot.  At first, she shrank back behind the door in fear.  Then she saw a woman run down the hallway to the rear of the house.  When she mustered the courage to step out of the room a man came running after the woman.  He pushed the maid back into the room and slammed the door.  She was so frightened didn’t come out until she heard Chief Drummond’s voice.

“Is that everything?” Milo asked looking intently at her face, and she nodded vigorously.

“Yes, that’s all.  Well, except that the lady had a pistol in her hand, sir—” she added, causing Milo to roll his eyes in exaggerated impatience.

“And who was this mysterious lady?” he asked after staring at her in silence for a moment.

“The lady with the strange eyes.  The one who fainted in the ballroom, just a few minutes ago,” she replied.  “Umm, Miss Jouret.”

Edwardian woman in black gown with fan by Teagan via Night Cafe

His hesitation was barely perceptible, but I knew some kind of emotion had been aroused within Milo.  However, no one would know by the unperturbed expression on his face.  He swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was quite calm.

He led the maid who still quivered with excitement, along the hall where Franks stood, poised halfway between Milo’s position and the door where the wounded ambassador lay.

“Franks, take charge of this girl.  Lock her up, if you have to, but don’t let her breathe a word to anybody, except the chief.”

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End Episode 8

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Hmmm… Is everything there as it seems?  Stay tuned for the next installment of Dance of Discord. Friendly comments are welcome.  Hugs!

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Of course, here’s the obligatory shameless self-promotion.

Speak Chuckaboo: Slang of the Victorian and Steam Eras

Speak Chuckaboo by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

Universal Purchase Links

Kindle:  relinks.me/B0B9W38LDJ

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Copyright © 2025 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

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50 thoughts on “Dance of Discord 8: A Crack”

    1. You are so kind, Holly — thank you. Your timing is perfect because the next episode is live now — and both of these are short enough that I could have made a single post combining them… If I had been able to focus long enough. LOL. Have a wonderful weekend. Hugs.

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  3. Pingback: Dance of Discord 9: A Toss – Teagan's Books

  6. It’s so mind-bending to be in a time with both Jell-O and the language of fans. They seem anachronistic, since one is still around and one is not. That’s one of the things that delights me about your Steampunkery Tech book: all the things we think of as modern that were in use or attempted long ago.

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    1. Thank you so much, Marian — especially about Steampunkery Tech! I agree that those two things do make an odd and unexpected combination. It really was a time of interesting inventions. I was doing some more work on the floriography and fanology book today. Funny — it’s always this way — I felt like I had done a ton of work, but it was only a couple of pages. LOL. Big hugs.

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  9. Whoa! A gunshot! The drama really jumped in this episode. I was ready to believe the witness who saw Miss Jouret running with a gun, until I read your sentence after the story asking if everything is as it seems. Or was Miss Jouret running after the real shooter? Hmmm. Curious activities, indeed. 🤔

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    1. 😀 Thanks, Resa. This serial has had me imagining how you might costume all the characters. Although for these very short episodes I haven’t gone into much detail.
      Daphne is giving me a “good morning” purr, but no, she’s moved to a “pounce out at Velma” position. Chaos will ensue momentarily. 🙀😽. Hugs winging back to you.

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      1. Yes, period costume design is very satisfying.
        If I ever did costumes for a movie again, it would have to be period, or something worthy.
        I can’t take the fluff anymore.
        Go Daphne!
        Go Velma!
        Misha …is gone somewhere. Hmmm Hugs!

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    1. Even when it’s just the sound, it adds drama, doesn’t it? Although this one wasn’t a false alarm.
      I don’t often have guns in my stories. Also I like to write mysteries that other than murder. Not as a social statement, but sort of to prove a point. If a story is written in the wright way, it can be exciting without a murder. There are all sorts of mysteries. I get tired of murder everywhere. LOL. Thanks for reading, Kerfe. Hugs.

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  13. I enjoyed this wonderful episode, Teagan. You moved beyond my imagination’s ability to guess where things are heading. I am content, as always, to let you be my guide and reveal the future as it plays out. Your description from within the social activity had me in the room with the guests. Once the shot was heard, the tension built in my mind. What was removed from the ambassador’s coat? Where did our lovely shooter skip to? More to be revealed as you move us forward. I can wait, but I think I’ll have a frozen treat for dessert.

    I hope you have a great weekend.

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    1. I really appreciate your feedback here, Dan. Where indeed has Miss Jouret gone? I was beginning to like her because of how she acted with the Dutchess in a past episode. Now I’m back to being suspicious. 😉
      I’m sure the humidity there is getting awful, Dan. Here’s to frozen desserts and cold dishes for dinner! A great weekend to you too. Hugs.

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  14. Wonderful writing as always Teagan, you set the scene and establish such powerful imagery in the worlds and time-space within which you craft your stories..

    I love your imagery laden sentences example: “The plaintive whine of the orchestra down in the ballroom stopped..~ Superb.

    Thanks for the mention. Your tie-in with the words was brilliant…ink and blood…a poignant juxtaposition.

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    1. Suzette, it was my pleasure. I had started out with your three things in the second episode. My personal week went astray in the middle of writing that one and I realized that I had been using more than one set of things. A thing that developed a character won out instead. Anyhow, these things helped start this thread of the Argentinian ambassador and whatever trouble he is caught up in.
      Thanks very much for your good feedback. I appreciate it. Hugs.

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  15. To answer your last question. Nothing is what it seems. Why is the ambassador silent? Could it be that Miss Jouret just took what belonged to her against the ambassador’s wishes. Why is Milo harboring some thoughts about Miss Jouret? Why lock up the maid? Where is the duchess in all of this? Oh my. A super episode, Teagan.

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    1. Indeed, why is he silent, John? I hope I can surprise everyone at least a little when that question is answered. (Although it is not the twist I’ve been hinting about.)
      Narrating the story, the Dutchess will almost always be near Milo. I do have a part in mind that will make that difficult. (This is basically a rewrite of an old story that I wasn’t satisfied with — although it’s already drifted from that original.)
      Thanks for your encouragement, John. I’m delighted you’re enjoying this. Hugs.

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    1. Thanks so much, GP. I try to avoid using the “things” so close together (like I did this time), but this story will go too far afield if I let the things fully drive it, like I did in the older serials. I was hoping the story would only last a couple of months, but it’s going to take awhile. Partly because I’m keeping the episodes around 1000 words. With my old serials the installments were anywhere from 2000 to 3500 words. Anyhow enjoy the weekend. Hugs.

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  19. A gun! Oh, I love the intrigue and all the mystery behind the story. And there seems that the secrets abound here. And I love the Gideon. He seems unflappable, something very useful in his line of work. Thanks, Teagan!

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    1. Thanks very much, Olga. I’ve been hoping the “random reader things” would provide a way to bring Gideon back into the story. He was in at least one early episode, but I didn’t get the chance to explore his character. Big hugs.

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  21. Intriguing episode. I don’t like Jell-O. We never had it at home, but when we would go to potlucks at the church when I was a kid, there were always a bunch of different Jell-O dishes. They were awful. Whenever I see or hear “Dummkopf!” I think of Hogan’s Heroes. It’s funny how things from one’s youth can give us weird associations.

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    1. Oh, Sergeant Schultz! I haven’t thought about that show in ages. We didn’t get much on TV when I was a kid, but Hogan’s Heroes was usually available. I liked it, but my dad hated it. A WWII vet, it angered him that it wasn’t accurate. For heaven’s sakes, it was a comedy… Thanks for reading and commenting. Happy Caturday to the clowder. Hugs.

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