The Ghost of Captain Hinchliffe

by David Dennington

  “And this is Captain Raymond Hinchliffe, the pilot, and his wife, Emilie.”

  Hands were shaken, accompanied by forced smiles. Hinchliffe was rather cool.

  “Please call me Millie,” Millie said pleasantly. “What brings you to Grantham?”

  “I've come to visit my sister, to see what she's up to. Our father has been reading the papers and—”

  “I've told him that the newspapers have got the story all wrong, Gordon is the copilot, and I'm merely the financier of the project,” Elsie interjected.

  Jonathan looked from one to the other for confirmation. “Is it true?” the beleaguered boy asked. Millie took pity on him. Hinchliffe was debating with himself. He was uncomfortable. There was a lot at stake.

  After a long pause, Sinclair jumped in. “I'm the copilot, as Elsie just told you. There'll be no room for three people on this flight, I can absolutely assure you of that,” he said.

  Jonathan scanned their faces. He seemed convinced, relief visibly showing in his face.

  With this turn of affairs, Hinchliffe believed Sinclair could quite well turn out to be his copilot. “Captain Sinclair is an experienced veteran war pilot,” he said.

  Jonathan nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said.

  “Let's go in and have dinner, shall we?” Elsie said, moving things along.

  Hunter left the bar. He'd learned all he needed to know for one evening. He went to a small café in town where he had fish and chips.

  Dinner went smoothly, with little alcohol consumed. A room was found for Jonathan and he stayed the night. The next morning, they took him to the station to return to Scotland. Once he'd gone, Hinchliffe's annoyance became apparent.

  “It's my father,” Elsie said. “He mustn't find out!”

  “Look Elsie, if you're a liar, that's one thing, but I don't appreciate you making the rest of us liars!”

  On the way to the aerodrome, Hinchliffe changed his mind.

  “Gordon, take over for me today, will you, please? I'm going to spend the day with Millie.”

  “I'm leaving tomorrow,” Millie said.

  “Oh Millie, I'm sorry. I wish you could stay longer,” Elsie said.

  “I need to get back to the children.”

  “I got a couple of little gifts for them, for you to take back,” Elsie said.

  Hinchliffe and Millie spent a pleasant day together and after shopping in town, went back to the hotel room. It'd be a couple weeks before they'd be together again.

  Back in Scotland, later that day, Jonathan explained the situation to his father, but the crusty laird remained skeptical. He took action, calling one of his cohorts in government, Sir Samuel Hoare, the present Minister of State for Air. The minister was sympathetic, having children of his own. He said he'd look into the matter immediately.

  Later that night, Elsie sat unsteadily on a stool at the hotel bar. She was quite drunk. The necessity of having to lie to her brother had devastated her, and Hinchliffe's admonishment had upset her deeply. She wasn't sure if she could continue with this thing. The world was crumbling around her. She struck her lighter, its flame wavering under a cigarette. It wouldn't stay still. All eyes in the bar were upon her. Finally, another flame appeared under her cigarette from another lighter held by a steady hand—that of George Hunter. She drew hard on her cigarette and blew a smoke cloud across the bar. She nodded a dismissive thanks to Hunter, without batting a bleary eye.

  “So, you're a pilot?” Hunter murmured.

  “Who the hell are you?” she snapped and then, “Hey barman, give me another.”

  “Let me,” Hunter offered.

  Hinchliffe was standing at the door. He'd seen and heard enough, and finally placed Hunter. He pointed his finger at him.

  “The Ritz!” he shouted.

  Hinchliffe had seen him in the hotel bar and had his suspicions. The man seemed to have been taking too much of an interest in Elsie—as he'd done at the Ritz last June. Infuriated, he marched up the stairs to their room to find Millie. A few minutes later, Millie was in the bar assisting Elsie, and prising her away from Hunter.

  “Elsie, what's wrong?” Millie asked, although it was obvious.

  “I'm getting drunk, can't you see?”

  Elsie knocked her drink over. It spilled over the bar and into her lap. She was about to fall off her bar stool, but Millie caught her, aided by Hunter. Millie studied the reporter for a second, and then with a nod of thanks, led Elsie out. Hunter found Millie even more attractive up close. He was smitten. He watched them leave.

  “Come on Elsie, let me help you,” Millie said.

  As they went, people stared at Elsie in disgust.

  “What you looking at?” Elsie yelled across the bar. But she was thankful Millie had shown up, welcoming her attention. They staggered together, arms about each other, toward the stairs. Once inside Elsie's room, Elsie flopped onto the bed.

  “Oh, Elsie, what are we going to do with you?” Millie said.

  “How I envy you,” Elsie said.

  “You're the one who has it all,” Millie replied.

  Elsie sat up. “If only you knew. That's where you're wrong. You're the one who has it all. I have nothing. My life means nothing. My looks are fading.” She pulled at her hair, as though it belonged to a mangy dog. “Sure, I have money, my dear father's money. … I'll never find a man like Hinch.”

  Millie put her arms around her and they hugged like sisters. “Don't be silly, Elsie, you're beautiful.”

  “I'm ugly!”

  “Oh, come on! It's just the gin. You'll be fine in the morning, my dear,” Millie said, putting out the lamp.

  Elsie laid down her head and closed her eyes. “Oh, Jonathan, what have I done? Please forgive me ...” Her voice trailed off.

  She was out cold.

  13

  BAD NEWS

  Friday, March 9, 1928.

  Friday morning was depressing, with sleet mixed with drizzle. Not a day for flying. Elsie arranged for one of her chauffeurs to take Millie and Hinchliffe to the station. As they were saying their good-byes in the lobby, Elsie put her hand on Hinchliffe's arm. “Ray, since it's lousy, I'd like to spend some time this morning studying the maps. Could I borrow them, please?”

  Hinchliffe dug his room key out of his pocket and handed it to Elsie. “Sure, they're on my table. Take care of them. Let me have them back when you're finished.”

  At Grantham Station, Millie and Hinchliffe walked along the platform arm in arm in silence until they reached an empty carriage. Hinchliffe climbed aboard and stashed Millie's case in the overhead rack and came and stood with her on the platform. They wrapped their arms around one another and kissed. He pulled his watch from his pocket, its strap broken.

  “You need to get a new strap, Ray. You'll need that on your wrist.”

  “I meant to buy one in town yesterday. I'll get one, don't worry,” he said.

  There was a loud whistle and doors slammed down the platform. Millie climbed into the carriage and hung out the window. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the photo of her and Joan together Hinchliffe had taken in the garden.

  “I meant to give you this earlier. Put it in your wallet,” Millie said. He did so and they kissed again.

  “It's been wonderful having you here, Millie. I'll always love you, you know.”

  “Take care, my darling. Please come down and see us soon.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  The train jerked forward. It traveled slowly away, she from him, he from her. He became drowned in black smoke. It was then, in the blackness, she saw his aura—usually vibrant multicolors—now predominantly purple and mauve. As she pulled away, the black smoke, too, turned into swirling clouds of purple. She didn't take her eyes from him until he was gone. She had an unbearable sinking feeling as he disappeared. What did it all mean? She sank into her seat. As she'd watched him, she'd felt his spirit slipping away, as though this iron monster was pulling them apart, the clacking wheels
measuring the distance, yard by yard. She felt terribly afraid.

  While Hinchliffe and Millie were at the station, Elsie was letting herself into Hinchliffe's room. She locked the door behind her. The maps were on the table. She sorted through them: maps of England, Wales and Ireland; a large map of the Atlantic; and large-scale maps of Newfoundland, Canada and the northern states of the U.S.A. She returned them to their folder and put them back on the table. She looked around the room. Everything was neat and tidy. She went to the double bed and pulled back the covers and stared at the pillows. She wondered which side he slept. She rubbed her hand on one of the pillows.

  After replacing the bed covers, Elsie went to the high chest of drawers, where Hinchliffe's black cat charm was lying in an ashtray. She picked it up and fingered the worry beads. Also resting there, beside his pocket knife, was his huge calabash pipe. She smiled and picked it up. She'd never seen him smoke it. She sniffed its bowl and then put the stem in her mouth and then, taking it out, she licked her lips and closed her eyes. She replaced the pipe and opened the top drawer, where she saw Hinchliffe's maroon sweater—the one he'd been wearing yesterday. She pulled it out and held it up. She buried her face in it, breathing in his manly odor, real or imagined. She hugged it tightly to her breast and closed her eyes again for a blissful moment. There was a knock on the door, startling her and bringing her back. She wondered if the Hinchliffes had returned. She wiped tears from her cheeks and hurriedly refolded the sweater, slipping it back in the drawer. She went back to the folder and opened one of the maps and spread it on the table, as though she'd been studying it. Then she opened the door to find one of the hotel maids with her trolley.

  “Oh, come in,” Elsie said with a flash of guilt and irritation.

  “No, no. I'll come back later,” the maid said.

  “Please come in. I'm leaving,” Elsie said. She returned to the table, gathered up the maps and left.

  After putting Millie on the train, Hinchliffe returned to the hotel. He entered the lobby, where he was joined by Elsie who'd seen the car return from her window. Claude held up a telephone message. Hinchliffe read it:

  Important you call me as soon as possible. Brancker.

  Brancker had left his direct line number at the Air Ministry. Hinchliffe handed the note back to Claude.

  “Please call this number.”

  He went straight to the wooden telephone booth at the end of the lobby to wait for the call. His mind went back to the hunt. He was about to receive a good bollocking, he was sure of that. He knew he deserved it. Presently, the phone rang. He picked it up.

  “Hello, this is Hinchliffe.”

  “Ah, Raymond, thank you so much for calling back, old boy. How are things?”

  “Excellent. Testing has been going very well. The plane is proving to be up to the task.”

  Brancker sounded hesitant, almost coy. “Good. I've just heard the Germans are almost ready.”

  “Damn!”

  “Don't worry, they're heavily snowed in at the moment. Might be quite a while.” Then he got ready to drop the bombshell. “Raymond there's something else ...”

  “What?”

  “There's been a deuce of a lot of pressure here from somewhere.”

  “Why, what's happened?”

  “I'm afraid I have to inform you that Cranwell will be off limits to you after Tuesday.”

  Hinchliffe was astounded. “What!”

  “Deck's stacked against us, I'm afraid,” Brancker said.

  “Why? Who?”

  “Someone is out to stop you.”

  Suddenly, it was obvious. He didn't need it spelling out.

  “Hinch, promise me, you won't let this affect your judgment. Please, I beg you.”

  “It won't.”

  “Oh, and Raymond—”

  “Yes.”

  “Don't cut up the hunt anymore, there's a good chap!”

  Elsie was waiting outside the booth. She saw him downcast.

  “What just happened, Ray?”

  Millie's train sped through the countryside past Cardington. She sat alone with her thoughts. She glanced across at the great sheds. She thought of their good friends and their drink at the King's Arms. She wondered how they were getting on over there with the construction of their airship. Were they correct in thinking Hinch was crazy? Or was her husband right about their airship? She decided they were all crazy! She couldn't shake the feeling of doom that had descended over her like a clammy blanket. It was here, as she passed on her way by Cardington in the drizzle, that Emilie Hinchliffe made up her mind. He was not going! She knew her instincts were right. She would not stand idly by. She'd put a stop to it. Whatever it took. She'd write to him over the weekend. She had plenty of time. No need to panic. That was settled. As good as done!

  Millie arrived home later that afternoon. Kate met her at the door with the baby in her arms. Joan was over the moon to see her and both Butch and Whiskey made a great fuss with tail-wagging and loud meowing. Millie knelt down beside Joan and embraced her. “My darling daughter, come here and give me a great big kiss. Oh, how I've missed you!” She picked up the baby and smothered her with kisses, too. Once inside the house, Millie fished out the stuffed yellow elephant that 'Auntie' Elsie had sent and gave it to Joan. She was delighted. Millie put the second gift, a tiny pink teddy bear, alongside the baby in her bassinet.

  Later that evening, after dinner, Hinchliffe, Sinclair and Elsie remained at their table studying a map of the Atlantic Ocean. Hinchliffe pointed at the coast of western Ireland with a steak knife. “From here, we'll head north-west toward Newfoundland. If the weather's favorable, we'll leave on Tuesday.”

  Elsie was shocked. This had all come so suddenly. “That's the thirteenth!”

  “So?”

  “Well, at least, it's not Friday!” Sinclair snapped.

  Hinchliffe looked at her sternly. “Have you put that insurance in place, Elsie?”

  “Er, yes, I'll check on that, don't worry,” Elsie replied. Her response was evasive as the insurance was not in place. But the documentation was ready. She'd get it sorted out first thing in the morning. She knew her bank on the Strand was open on Saturday mornings. She'd jump right on it.

  Hinchliffe asked Elsie to arrange to have the hotel kitchen prepare a generous food basket for 'a trip to the country— enough for six'—sandwiches, coffee, water, chocolate, hard boiled eggs and fruit.

  “Rather a lot, isn't it?” Elsie asked.

  “If we crash-land in Newfoundland, we might be glad of the extra rations,” Hinchliffe told her with a crooked smile. Sinclair nodded in agreement. Elsie looked startled, then said she'd set that up for early Tuesday morning.

  Elsie called the bank at 9 o'clock the next morning. She'd already filled in all the insurance forms and actually discussed the flight with her insurance company. Terms had been agreed. The premium demanded was extortionate. It was necessary and she was more than glad to pay for it, especially since she'd got to know Hinchliffe's family. Before leaving London, Elsie had lodged the documents with the bank and arranged for the manager to make sure all the documentation was taken by courier to the insurance company. The bank was happy to do it—the Mackays were a rich and powerful family, and the bank was willing to fulfill their every need.

  “You have my signed check?” Elsie asked.

  “Indeed, I do, Miss Mackay. I have it here in front of me,” said the bank manager.

  “Make sure the papers are in the insurance company's hands first thing Monday morning without fail!” Elsie demanded.

  “Absolutely, without fail. Yes, madam.”

  Whilst Elsie was giving her bank manager instructions from Grantham, Millie was sitting in her kitchen feeding the baby. Joan was eating porridge, Kate drinking tea. Millie had made her decision and had discussed her misgiving with Kate. Kate had been in full agreement, after putting herself in Millie's position. In fact, if Elsie decided not to go at the last moment, Kate knew she would be in Millie's position a
nd she didn't like that feeling. The recent failed Atlantic attempts had completely changed everything for both women. They'd decided it would be better if the whole idea was dropped. It just wasn't worth it!

  “I want you to know that you and Gordon can stay here as long as you like,” Millie told Kate that morning. Millie thought that he and Gordon could work on something else together without this huge risk. Maybe a small European freight airline of their own, or something along those lines. They'd find investors. Maybe she'd go to work on Lowenstein herself on that score. She'd made a connection with him the last time she'd seen him. Elsie would just have to find another pilot.

  In the afternoon, Millie went into her studio and began sketching out The Grantham Hunt. By evening, she had much of it blocked in: a snowy scene with colorful huntsmen and the hounds, set against the backdrop of the majestic Hotel George. It was going to be a beautiful piece of work—one of her best. While she worked, she thought of what she'd say in her letter to Hinchliffe.

  Sunday morning, Millie sat at Hinchliffe's small desk in the living room and wrote the letter. It flowed straight from her heart.

  Pickwick Cottage, Puddledock Lane, Kent.

  Sunday, March 11, 1928.

  My Own Dearest Darling Husband,

  What I am about to write is hard in some ways, but very, very easy in others. I have agonized over this since leaving you on the platform in Grantham. As I saw you disappear in that horrible cloud of black smoke, I felt as if I'd never see you again—like a revelation. It was as if my heart was being ripped from my breast. And that is how it would be if anything happened to you. It's a risk I cannot live with, Ray. It's not worth ten thousand pounds, nor ten million, or all the money and jewels on God's earth. So, I am writing to you begging you to give up this Atlantic attempt, for my sake, and for the sake of our two wonderful children. Please, please, my beloved husband, don't leave us. Don't take this risk. Please understand I ask this of you only because I love you with all my heart and with all my soul.