First Chapter

PART ONE


Spring 1760 – Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Germany

Frau Mueller wanted another sip of brandy …

She was sitting in the grand banquet hall of her liege lord Duke Frederick of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. Although the most skilled hairdresser in the duchy, never had she been summoned to the Duke’s palace, never had she thought such good fortune possible.

Heidi, her sixteen-year-old apprentice, was agog at the magnificence of the room. Indeed, such was Heidi’s bedazzlement that when Frau Mueller asked whether she remembered to pack the flask, the girl hadn’t answered. Hopefully, she would snap out of it; meanwhile, Frau Mueller rummaged through the baskets for the precious liquid herself.

Intelligence was scant: everyone knew the issue with the Princess’s hair; no one knew what the Duke wanted done about it. Some said he wanted his sister’s hair bleached blond, and if this was so, Frau Mueller had the fix for that. Others said he wanted it cut to a Joan of Arc fringe, and this too Frau Mueller could do with flourish.

The Duke’s footsteps sounded from the hall. Poor Heidi was ready to dive under the table. She grabbed Frau Mueller’s arm and said in a hushed voice, “He’s coming, Frau Mueller.” Seconds later Duke Frederick entered the room.

“Ah, Frau Mueller,” he said.

Frau Mueller and Heidi jumped up and gave curtseys so low their joints popped. The Duke smiled. Other footsteps came from the hall then the Princess entered. She was wearing a white skirt of Chambery gauze and her hair was covered in a big headscarf made of cambric. She seemed younger than her sixteen years. The Duke coughed then said, “See here, Frau Mueller, I’ve summoned you for a matter I’m told your skills alone hold the key.” He turned to his sister. “Charlotte, remove your scarf.”

Charlotte removed her scarf to reveal a mane of beautiful Negro hair.


“The Princess’s hair is of a texture we would like to change.”

“Change, sir?”

“Can it be done?”

Frau Mueller pointed toward the Princess. “May I?”

“Of course,” said Duke Frederick.

Frau Mueller walked around the Princess, her eyes locked on the young woman’s hair.

“Magnifying glass!”

Heidi plucked the magnifying glass from one of the baskets handed it over. Frau Mueller continued her circular inspection, now peering through the magnifying glass. She stopped and said, “Lady Charlotte, if it pleases, may I touch your hair?”

“Please,” said Charlotte.

Carefully, as if it were a precious jewel, Frau Mueller let her fingers touch the girl’s hair. She frowned. It not only looked kinky, it felt kinky.

“Has it always been this … texture, madam?”

“I believe so, Frau Mueller.”

Frau Mueller turned to the Duke. “I ask the question, Your Grace, because children sometimes out-grow it … but let me see … “ She turned to Charlotte. “If I remember correctly, Lady Charlotte, you’re sixteen summers, no?”

“I am.”

Frau Mueller gave a warm laugh. “I remember, ma’am, because you were born the same year as my youngest.”

“And her name is Aarika, is it not?”

“Yes, Lady Charlotte,” said Frau Mueller stunned. And in an instant she was beaming as proudly as she ever had. “You do me a great honor in remembering the name of such a worthless child, Lady Charlotte. When I tell her she will be very pleased – very pleased, indeed.”

Everyone smiled at this. Frau Mueller, it seemed, knew how to turn a phrase.

Thrilled with the Princess’s unexpected kindness, Frau Mueller curtsied her yet again, then cut Heidi a look that said, Mark that well, girl – the Princess of Mecklenburg knows my daughter’s name!

Heidi smiled.

Frau Mueller continued her inspection, stopped, and said, “Your Grace, is it possible – and if it isn’t I will surely understand – I might snip a few strands for closer analysis?”

“Proceed.”

Frau Mueller snapped her fingers. Heidi dug into the baskets, retrieved a pair of scissors and handed it over. Frau Mueller grabbed the scissors without letting her eyes off the Princess’s hair. She considered where to cut, lifted a tuft, snipped.

“Ah!”

In a moment Frau Mueller was at her baskets. She rifled through one, pointed to a second, rejected this, pointed to a third. From this she retrieved a small jar and a large one. She motioned Heidi to push a fourth basket forward. From this she retrieved a pair of gloves, thin flat stone, more jars. She assembled the pomades, powders, and emollients around the flat stone. She placed the lock of hair on the center of the stone, inspected it once more with the magnifying glass then put on the gloves.

“The guild gave me a good account of this procedure,” she said, waving her hand over the assemblage. “It comes from Paris.”

“Paris?” said Charlotte, unable to resist. For although long tutored in French, she had not yet conversed with a native French speaker.

“Yes, Lady Charlotte,” said Frau Mueller. “All the latest hair techniques come from France – and in Paris there are many foreigners with your grade of hair.”

“There are?” said Charlotte, her curiosity piqued. It was her first time hearing this. She thought about it for a second then said, “And where do these foreigners come from … originally?”

“Africa … although –”

“Enough!” shouted the Duke.

Frau Mueller was stunned – what had she said wrong?

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Heidi stared at Frau Mueller then the Duke – what had her mistress said wrong?

The Duke’s voice came like a whip: “You brainless ape.”

Frau Mueller’s mouth dropped open.

And even now the storm wasn’t over for the Duke was out of his chair, eyes glaring, jaw clinched.

“Over the chair!” he ordered. And suddenly he had a belt in his hand.

More humiliated than she’d ever been in her life, Frau Mueller went to the chair and “assumed the position”– bending and grabbing its arm-rests with both hands. She knew what was happening. The Duke had a terrible temper and was known to flog on the spot at the slightest provocation. But what Frau Mueller didn’t know was why.

First came his yell then the lash:

“Dummkopf!”

Twack!

The first lash she didn’t feel because she was thinking of how poor Heidi would never look up to her again.

“Dummkopf!”

Twack!

The second lash she didn’t feel because her heart went out for the poor princess who was sobbing now.

“Dummkopf!”

Twack!

The third lash bit into her flesh like fire and she screamed and turned around in rage and pain yelling,

“What did I do, Your Highness? What did I say to deserve this, sir?”

But he was gone … storming out of the room like a man challenged to a duel.



READ MORE