✶✶✶
LATER that afternoon, Sophie returned to the salon, fully intending to continue her work. But a book on the shelf winked at her, and before she knew it, she’d been lured into its pages. Twilight had crept in unnoticed, and there she sat, curled up on the sofa, deep in another chapter.
She was flipping the page when she heard it.
Squeak.
A small sound. But something about it struck her as…peculiar. It was too sharp, too…pronounced. Not the sort of noise you’d expect from something just scurrying about.
Squeak.
There it was again; she looked up.
On the table she used for receiving clients sat a tiny figure—no larger than her fist. Covered in soft fur, it stood bathed in a last beam of sunlight, which turned its coat a burnished gold.
“Oh, my,” Sophie breathed.
Was it a rat? No—it couldn’t be. It was far too neat, far too composed. Perhaps another sort of rodent, though even that seemed insufficient.
“And just how did you get in here?” she asked it gently. “This is a dangerous place for someone like you. There’s a very frightening head maid on the hunt, I’m afraid.”
She closed her book and rose. Oddly, she felt no fear. No revulsion. Only a mild, inexplicable sense of familiarity. Something in the creature’s bearing—its stillness, its presence—told her it meant no harm.
Would it run? Would it bite? She was almost amused by the thought that it might, in a high-pitched voice, start speaking and say something like: Wrote to you. Please heal.
“Wrote you. Please heal!”
Sophie froze.
She glanced about. The salon was empty, still. Only the two of them were in the fading light.
“Mamoryllis wrote! Wrote like you said. With hand. Hurty hand! Please heal?”
Her gaze returned to the creature. Slowly, she stepped closer.
“Did you…just speak?” she asked, almost whispering.
“Yes-yes!” the creature chirped, nodding eagerly.
“Goodness. I must say, you’re very good at human speech.”
“That because Mamoryllis is Mamoryllis,” it said, puffing up its chest with pride.
“Well then, mister—or perhaps miss—Mamoryllis, I must admit you’ve taken me by surprise. You don’t…bite, do you?”
“Mamoryllis never bites humans. No-no. Because Mamoryllis is Mamoryllis.”
“Not even a teeny-tiny, eensy-weensy nibble?”
“Nooo. Not ever. Because Mamoryllis is Mamoryllis.”
“I see. In that case, I’ll take you at your word. Excuse me.”
Sophie pulled out the chair opposite the creature and lowered herself into it. The little being mimicked her, settling upright on its hind legs. Then, it extended a tiny paw toward her.
Looking closer, Sophie saw what appeared to be a burn—red, raw, and recent.
“And what happened here?” she asked.
“Was round. And white. Mamoryllis thought, ooh, shiny! So went touch-touch.”
“Touch-touch?”
“Yes! But then—tsssSSS!” Mamoryllis jumped, fur fluffed in horror. “It burn! It ouch! Bad trap! Bad poison! Someone try hurt Mamoryllis!”
“I’m sorry, but you squeaked before…didn’t you?”
“Is quirk of speech.” Mamoryllis replied immediately.
“Ah. Is that so?”
Sophie could only imagine the white, round thing Mamoryllis touched was the bait Martha set out. She perched the tiny paw on a finger. Poor thing. The skin was peeled, red, and sore like it had been scraped raw. Her brows pinched in sympathy. “Oh, you poor thing. This is entirely our fault. Our head maid set a trap, thinking you were a rat. I’m so sorry.”
“A rat?!”
Mamoryllis flew straight up into the air, then crash-landed back down in a flurry of hops, stomping their little feet against the tabletop in the cutest outrage Sophie had ever seen.
“Mamoryllis is Mamoryllis! Not rat! Rat is gray! Does rat look like this?!”
It spun dramatically and flicked its plush, golden tail toward her as if to say: Look at this tail. Just look at it.
“I truly am terribly sorry,” Sophie said, bowing her head. “That she missed the radiance of your tail is simply inexcusable. I will speak to her. Firmly.”
Mamoryllis sniffed. “You not scary maid. You pretty lady. Not put round-hurty on floor. Is not your fault.”
“But the head maid is someone very dear to me,” Sophie murmured. “Please, if you can forgive her.”
Mamoryllis paused. Then, it folded its tiny arms in deep thought. “…If you heal Mamoryllis, then Mamoryllis no hold grudge. Also, Mamoryllis did bad, too. Touched thing that was not Mamoryllis’s.”
“You are far too gracious.”
“Mamoryllis knows this place! Knows you! That’s why Mamoryllis wrote! Wrote letter! Heal-hand letter!”
Sophie blinked. “A letter…? Ah!” She leapt to her feet, hurried to the empty picture frame, and carefully pulled out the scrap of notepaper. “Was this your letter?”
Mamoryllis bounced into the air again. “Hurty hand! So had write letter with nose!”
“Goodness, that must’ve been quite the undertaking,” Sophie said, eyes soft with pity. “Then, if you know me, you know how this works. Could you tell me, please, where exactly you found this ‘round hurty’?”
“Mamoryllis tell! Please listen!”
✦ ✦ ✦
✶✶✶
UNTIL just last month, Mamoryllis had lived in the halls of a nearby estate. A quiet place owned by an elderly noble couple with no children. The only other resident was their butler—older still and so discreet he might as well have been part of the furniture.
Their days moved slowly. They would sit together in one room, enjoying each other’s company in silence, shift slightly for lunch, and then move to another room, where they would resume enjoying each other’s company, this time with a view of the garden.
One day, the old man brought the old woman a flyer. “Look what the greengrocer gave me, dear,” he’d said.
The old woman leaned in, squinting at it. Then her eyes popped open. “Oh my! Isn’t that just next door?”
“What do you think?” he asked. “Want to give it a try?”
She gave a thoughtful hum, then slowly shook her head, the purple birthmark across her face moving across the light. “Best not,” she said. “You couldn’t handle the competition if I turned beautiful at my age!”
Ha ha ha ha ha! They shared a hearty laugh, leaving the flyer on the table between them, where it was promptly forgotten.
“But Mamoryllis no longer Mamoryllis of that house anymore,” Mamoryllis said.
“Not anymore?” Sophie asked.
“Old man went bye-bye. Then his lady, too. Both got sick. Sickness take them.”
Sophie’s expression softened. A quiet frown settled.
Mamoryllis recounted how the old butler, after cleaning the house one final time with his trembling hands, stepped out to the doorstep, bowed deeply one last time, and walked away with all his worldly possessions in a single small bag.
“So! Mamoryllis no reason to stay anymore. Had to find new house. This place smell nice! So Mamoryllis moved in. Little bit. Here and there. Flit-flit-flit. Until bam! Under hallway vase—found hurty-round thing! The one Mamoryllis went touch-touch! OUCH!”
“I must apologize for my ignorance, Mamoryllis,” Sophie said gently. “But what is it that a Mamoryllis does?”
At this, Mamoryllis puffed up like a pastry in the oven. Chest out, tiny paws on hips, voice full of pride.