Chapter three: Two dancers lost

Jennet had to be assured and reassured that no harm would come to her little Anika. The girl was like a daughter to her, and she looked after her likeno one else ever would. Anika was relatively young to be off on her own, but with such a complicated childhood, Jennet was not surprised that she had opted for that lifestyle. To put it bluntly, she was a mistake. Daughter to a common street whore and one of her many customers, the lady simply was not brought up to be a mother. She had tried, or at least, that was what Anika had told her. When she came to the opera house to train as a young ballerina, Jennet had begun to look after her. It was quite a time of trial and error, but now the two had each other figured out quite well.

After a brief chat with the doctor, Jennet and Madame Giry stepped over the threshold. The door behind them was shut rather forcefully, and Jennet began to pace. She'd take five steps right, then turn around and take five steps the other way. Her dark emerald skirts were flipping around her legs; swishing to break the anxious silence. She didn't like that doctor one bit. What was to become of her little Anika?

Madame Giry sighed and leaned up against the wall, covering her face with one slim hand. Her cane was clasped at her side, the plain ball ornament clasped firmly beneath the digits. Taking a deep breath, she watched Jennet for a moment before reaching out and grasping her arm gently.

"Madame, you must relax. I'm sure Anika will be just fine."

It was in her nature to sooth and protect, for she was a mother and a teacher. Madame Giry had spoken relaxingly, her fingers lightly encircling Jennet's forearm. The woman stopped moving, and a single tear rolled down her cheeks. She could hold in her worries and apprehension no longer. Collapsing in a fit of sobs, Jennet hung her head in shame and studied the tiles on the floor to keep from crying.

"It's all my fault Madame Giry. I forgot to check on her before I retired for the night. If she passes on, how will I ever be able to forgive myself?"

Hot wet tears stained her face, falling onto her bosom in pools of salty terror. Madame Giry's eyebrows raised in surprise at the meltdown, and she quickly dropped down to console Jennet. She had no idea the girl meant so much to her! It was as if a part of her was in there on the bed, frightened and horribly alone. Jennet had always been so fiery in nature, independent and fierce. This was so completely out of character.

"Now now darling, you are not to be held accountable. It would never be your fault."

Jennet merely looked up with watery eyes, shaking her head before once again downing herself in sobs. Encircling the weeping woman in her arms, Antoinette Giry whispered soothingly into her hair. Everything would be aright; it would be good in the end. Jennet tried to soften her sobs, but to no avail. There would be no rest until Anika was well again. No rest at all.

xXx

Placing his stethoscope in its carrying case, the Dr. Keiller shook his head sadly. Wrapping Anika back up in the blankets and feeding the fire, he walked slowly and dolefully to the door. There was no denying this woman's condition. When one sat in cold water for hours on end, this was the inevitable result.

Opening the heavy wooden doors carefully, he walked out and closed them once more. Madame Giry and Jennet were off the floor, now standing worriedly up against the wall in the outside corridor. As the doctor emerged, they hurried forward with dim hope in their eyes. It was all but diminished by the time they reached his side, seeing the defeated look on his face.

"I'm afraid your friend has Pneumonia."

He said coldly, his eyes trained to look past Jennet. He couldn't bear to see the sorrow in those watery pools of tawny brown, no matter how much he disfavored her. Handing Jennet a vial of foul looking liquid, he carefully explained the instructions and dosage.

"Give this to her every third hour, and always with water. Just a spoonful. No milk until she heals. When she starts to get better, keep her bedridden. That means no dancing. Here's my number if her condition worsens, let's hope to God it doesn't."

Slipping her a scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it, the weary old man made his way for the stairs. It was very obvious he was trying hard not to get too personal. Anika had looked heaven-sent lying there so peacefully on the bed, her reddish golden locks tumbling down over her chest. Woe to he who had to give such dismal news. To be truthful, Dr. Keiller looked very depressing in his tweed suit, all his confidence gone as the wind on a stormy day. Just as he was beginning to descend the stairs, he whispered one last thing.

"I'm dreadfully sorry."

This was no help to Jennet. Her face grew ridged and the paper crumpled in her hand. Stony faced and on the verge of tears, she drew herself up with every last drop of pride. Striding for the door to her chambers and slamming it hard, her racking sobs and dismal tears could be plainly heard through the wood. Madame Giry watched sadly, slipping into the shadows as she realized she had lost two dancers that day. Jennet would not dance until Anika was well… that much was clearly apparent.

(A/N: Alright, another edited chapter. Give me praise! I feel so porud of myself. )