The Ghost of Captain Hinchliffe

by David Dennington

  The weather was cold and gusty all afternoon and as dusk fell, the sky grew more ominous by the hour. Millie wondered if departure might be postponed. As the daylight faded, the lights of the fair grew brighter. Millie looked up at the girls on the Ferris wheel. It didn't look like a comfortable place to be sitting on a night like this, but the view from there must have been spectacular.

  She surveyed the crowds gathered at the fence around the circumference of the field. People had come from all over, eager to witness this historic event. They sat in their cars, many asleep, covered in blankets, after their long drive. She watched clowns on stilts weaving their way through the multitude, encouraging people to visit the fair. Sounds were mixed, shouting from the crowds, hollering from vendors eager to sell souvenirs and hot dogs, screaming and laughter from the fair and the never-ending carousel music. Capping all this was the thumping brass band near the tower with its oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah, its clarity ebbing and flowing with wind gusts.

  At around 6 o'clock, Millie spied Thomson's black Daimler rolling onto the field toward the gate. It was followed by a gray Air Ministry van. She pushed her way to the gate as it opened and the limousine slowed down. The lights were on inside, so that spectators could catch a glimpse of Thomson. He waved gaily while the crowd cheered. He looked extremely happy—royal even—as he doffed his hat. Millie got alongside the car and shouted through the open window.

  “Lord Thomson, I must speak to you, sir. Please, it's vitally important!”

  Millie could see he'd spotted her and was irked. She heard him bark to the chauffeur, “Don't stop, driver!”

  The limousine sped forward, leaving the gray van behind. Millie kept close to the fence as the van slowly rumbled through, stepping alongside it and walking in, unseen. She ambled slowly down toward the tower in the dusk, blending in with invited guests. The Daimler reached the tower, where a BBC crew waited with a dozen reporters from the national dailies, including Hunter. Thomson jumped out smiling and waving. The van moved off to one side, where a crew was ready to unload it. When Millie reached the crowd of reporters, she stood in the shadows listening.

  “How do you feel about the flight, sir?”

  Thomson gazed up at the airship. “All my life, I’ve prepared myself for this moment.”

  “Any second thoughts?”

  “Absolutely none. There’s certainly nothing to fear,” Thomson answered.

  “The weather is kicking up, sir. Sure she can take it?”

  Thomson held on to his hat. “This airship is as strong as the mighty Forth Bridge!”

  “Do you think your departure will be delayed?”

  “The experts will be looking at the weather. They’ll make that determination.”

  “Will you be making the whole voyage, bearing in mind you have a tight schedule?” Hunter asked.

  “The Prime Minister has given me strict instructions to return by the twentieth of October. Yes, I’ll make the entire journey in this great airship.”

  Behind her, Millie heard a moan go up from the unloading crew as the van doors were flung open.

  “Gordon Bennett!”

  “Someone’s gotta be jokin’, right?”

  “Cor blimey!”

  “Bloody ‘ell!”

  “Holy smoke!”

  Millie realized it was all about Thomson's luggage. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked round and up into the face of one of Thomson's bowler-hatted stooges—the Raven.

  His accent was London. “Mrs. Hinchliffe, Lord Thomson would like a word.”

  “Er, all right,” Millie stammered. She hoped she wasn't going to be arrested.

  “Follow me, madam.”

  As she trailed after him, Millie witnessed the scene she'd painted weeks ago. It snapped in her brain like a color photograph. Eight men were carrying a heavy, rolled-up Persian carpet on their shoulders—as though it were a coffin. They walked in her direction. Behind them, coming from the tower, Captain Irwin was striding toward them, his pale face like thunder. She felt it was significant in some way. Old beaky-nose led her to a wooden building beside the tower and then to a small, dimly-lit room with a desk and a chair and not much else.

  “Wait here, please, madam.” He left, closing the door behind him. Millie worried she might hear it being locked from the outside, but she didn't. She was left alone for ten minutes or so until the door swung open and Thomson entered. Up close, in that small room, at six-foot-five, he was intimidating. Nevertheless, he removed his hat respectfully and calmly.

  “I see you've snuck in, Mrs. Hinchliffe, despite this being a restricted area,” he said.

  “Lord Thomson, I've come one last time—”

  “Mrs. Hinchliffe, I know why you've come. But you're wasting your time. I realize you're in a delicate state of mind. I'm prepared to give you a few minutes on the understanding that you will not make any more fuss. Will you agree to that?” He smiled sympathetically.

  Millie considered for a moment. She supposed he was being reasonable. There would be little she could do. Having a tantrum wouldn't solve anything. “I'll agree—if you'll hear me out.”

  “Very well, I will listen—but we've been all through this before, haven't we?” he said patiently.

  “This flight must not take place. I know you think I'm crazy because I talk to my dead husband.”

  “Well, yes—”

  “The point is, sir, he's told me things about this airship which are indisputable. It’s too heavy—built too strongly. The cover’s gone brittle. It’s going to tear off. It's doped with highly inflammable chemicals that’ll burn like mad. They’ve loosened the gas bags to get more gas in them—now they’re unstable. The engines are underpowered—”

  “Yes, yes, Mrs. Hinchliffe! You've been saying this over and over. Most of these things have been mentioned in the press.”

  “This ship is going to crash and burn along with everyone on board—including you. My husband wants to prevent this tragedy.”

  “Mrs. Hinchliffe!” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “This maiden voyage will take place as scheduled.”

  “And you're all going to die!”

  “No one’s going to die. This ship is virtually unbreakable.”

  “They said the Titanic was unsinkable! Lord Thomson, if you think all this, why did you make out your will last night? Is it because you don't have as much confidence in this airship as you pretend?”

  Thomson was stopped in his tracks. He looked troubled. He was the only person who knew he'd done that. Even his personal secretary didn't know. He'd stashed it in his desk drawer 'just in case'.

  “A normal precaution—” he replied after a moment.

  “You carry a woman's shoe in your briefcase. You keep it polished and wrapped in a piece of vivid blue silk. It's a memento. Something you treasure—it belonged to someone you love very much.”

  Thomson was stunned. His jaw dropped.

  “How—”

  “You think it'll bring you luck. It won't!”

  Thomson choked into his hand. “We are honor and duty bound, madam,” he spluttered.

  “I knew someone just like you. A person who was trying to impress someone they loved,” Millie said. “And that's exactly what you're doing.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Her name was Elsie Mackay,” Millie answered.

  Thomson understood, but didn't comment. He made for the door. “Don't forget our agreement. No fuss.”

  “God be with you, Lord Thomson.”

  Thomson turned back to her, now with resignation and humility, his aura a blaze of purple, set in black with streaks of crimson. “And with you, Mrs. Hinchliffe.”

  After he'd gone, Millie pondered his character. He was a man on a foolish mission, but she'd misjudged him in some ways. He was obviously very much in love with someone and she sensed that love wasn't returned in full measure. She knew that unrequited love would cost a lot of men their lives tonight.

  Millie followed Tho
mson out after a few moments; the bowler-hatted one was waiting. He escorted her to the gate, where he left her with the crowd in the wind and drizzle. She felt beaten, but understood her chances of success had been slim to none. Maybe the weather would cause a postponement. Conditions were certainly getting worse. She remained in the crowd, watching the tower. Presently, she saw a young man who'd been in the limousine with Thomson coming through the gate. He was in a hurry. She ran alongside him.

  “You were with Lord Thomson in the car, weren't you?” she asked.

  “That's right, ma'am. I'm his valet,” he said proudly, his head in the air.

  “I must talk to you,” Millie said, trying to keep up. He stopped at one of the souvenir stalls along the fence, doing his best to ignore her. He called to the vendor and pointed to the key rings.

  “I'll take a couple of them, please. One red and one blue.”

  “Right you are, sir,” said the vendor.

  The valet looked at postcards with the union flag and 'R101' emblazoned on the front in bold letters. “Oh, and I'll take a few o' them.” He paid and started off again.

  “Please stop and talk to me,” Millie implored.

  “No, miss. I mustn't. Got orders not to.”

  “Listen to me, you must not—” Millie began. But he was gone in a flash on his way back to the tower.

  As Millie watched him disappear, she noticed Remington striding toward the gate with an RAF man. She was about to approach him when she saw a gray-haired man in his sixties, huddled up in a dark raincoat, waiting for him. She stood to one side. The commander hadn't seen her. The older man looked upset. The two men embraced warmly. She listened.

  “John, you shouldn’t have driven all the way down here,” the commander said.

  “I had to come. I’ve been brooding all week. Mary said ‘Go on, John, go and see him off’. So here I am.”

  “That was thoughtful of you—you know I’m real pleased to see you.”

  “Charlotte isn’t here anywhere, I suppose, is she?” the old man asked, peering around.

  “No, she’s washed her hands of me.”

  “I can’t believe that. I hope you’ll try and see her when you get back.”

  “I've tried. I went to her parents’ house, but they wouldn’t open the door to me.”

  “Oh, no—” the old man said, screwing up his face.

  “I’ll definitely come visit you when I return, John. Then, I guess, I’ll head back to the States.”

  The older man was heartbroken. “God, I’m so sorry. Look, if anything changes—the cottage will always be yours, you know that.”

  “Thanks, John.”

  Millie watched them shake hands and embrace again. The old man's eyes were filled with tears. “Good luck, son. Make sure you come back safe,” he said and then, turning away abruptly, he disappeared. No sooner was he gone, than Brancker appeared beside the commander. After they'd greeted one another, Millie stepped beside them.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said.

  “Millie. What on earth are you doing here?” Brancker snapped. “I’d give you a hug, but my hands are rather full.”

  “Then I’ll kiss you,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She smiled at the commander and kissed him too. “I’ve come to tell you what Ray— ” she began.

  Brancker exploded. “Millie, Millie, don’t! Just go home! The ship will leave tonight. Thomson has decreed it.” He turned away. “Come, Lou, we must go. Goodbye, Millie!”

  The American gave Millie an apologetic smile. He grabbed Brancker’s case and they marched off through the gate to the tower with many others, ambling trance-like to be consumed by the tethered beast. They seemed to be under its evil spell. To Millie's surprise, she saw Commander Remington turn back toward her. He plonked Brancker's case on the ground in front of her.

  “I apologize for Sir Sefton. He's on edge,” he said. He then took Millie in his arms and kissed her lips. Millie was somewhat astonished but kissed him back passionately.

  “I needed someone to kiss me goodbye, Millie,” Remington said finally, still holding her tight.

  “I am glad to be that someone, Lou.”

  “Me too.”

  “Please come back safely home,” Millie urged.

  He let her go. “I'm gonna try like hell.”

  With that, he was gone. A clown appeared with a handful of flyers and stuffed one in Millie’s hand. It said:

  LET THE GREAT CLAIRVOYANT

  MADAM HARANDAH

  THE ROMANIAN GYPSY

  TELL YOUR FORTUNE

  PSYCHIC READING

  PALM READING

  TAROT CARDS

  3d each

  She wondered what this gypsy would have to say about all this. Millie looked up from her reading and there was Joe Binks, the young engineer. He grinned at her as he entered the gate.

  “What you doin' 'ere, Missus?” he said.

  “It's Joe, I remember. You're on this voyage, are you?” Millie asked.

  “Yes, indeedee, sure am!”

  “Joe, this is important. Keep a look out for my husband. I know you've seen him. He's told me about you.”

  Binks looked confused and puzzled. He looked about them with embarrassment, in case they were overheard. “What for?”

  “Listen to him, Joe! Listen to him! Do whatever he says. Do you understand?”

  Binks nodded uncertainly. He kept walking, looking over his shoulder at Millie until he was out of sight. A few minutes later, when Binks entered the tower, he caught a glimpse of Hinchliffe standing amongst the officers surrounding Thomson. Hinchliffe gave him a casual salute and a wink.

  Hunter exited the gate and found Millie. “Millie, I saw that big roll of carpet the men were carrying in your last painting,” he said.

  “Yes, I saw it, too.”

  “It's Thomson's Persian rug. He's having it laid down in the ship for a banquet they're having for the King of Egypt.”

  “Ah, yes of course. That's it!” Millie said.

  “Damned thing weighs a ton! What a to-do that was. Captain Irwin was fit to be tied,” Hunter said.

  “So, what's happening?” Millie asked.

  “They took it on board. The visitors have come ashore and the press has been told to clear off.”

  “When are they leaving?”

  “There's some doubt. I heard they're having a big pow-wow about the weather,” Hunter said.

  Millie and Hunter hung around at the fence with the crowd, their backs to the wind. Rumors were circulating about postponement, but nobody really knew anything. About forty minutes later, one of the engines started and a cloud of foul-smelling black smoke drifted over the field. The crowd cheered. Soon, three of the other engines were cranked up. The airship sat for another ten minutes. They appeared to be having trouble with the last engine. Eventually, they got it started and its propeller whirled in the searchlights. After a few minutes, all five engines sounded smooth. The crowd cheered wildly and the headlights of hundreds of cars flashed and horns sounded.

  Millie looked at the crewmen's families' faces in the crowd. Some looked fearful as they signaled to the ship with hand-held flashlights. Sickened, she heard them expressing reservations. While the ship was still moored to the tower, water ballast was dropped at the bow. A fine mist appeared sparkling in the lights, close to the tower. Then one of the engines got louder as its revs increased and the ship backed away. The bow fell away to starboard and it drifted over the crowd, dropping more ballast. Screams and moans went up along the fence from the unfortunate ones soaked to the skin. Millie and Hunter were lucky not to get doused.

  The crowd watched as Cardington R101, the mightiest airship the world had ever seen, moved slowly over the field, her red and green running lights flashing. She wallowed into the darkness. Everyone began leaving the airfield. Soon, all roads to Bedford and the surrounding areas were choked with traffic and pedestrians.

  Hunter dropped Millie at Bedford Station, where she caught the tr
ain to London and Croydon. On the train, the wheels reminded her of the last time she'd seen Hinchliffe waving goodbye. She had that same sinking feeling. That seemed a lifetime ago. She knew he'd be on the airship tonight. She also knew there'd be nothing he could do to save them. They were doomed.

  Millie reached Croydon at about 9 o'clock, where she caught the last bus to the village. From there, she walked up the lane in the dark under her umbrella to her beloved cottage. She was greeted at the door by Kate, who rushed in and made her a cup of tea and rustled up some ham sandwiches.

  “How did it go?” Kate asked, while Sinclair stood at her side. Chilled and damp, Millie sank into an armchair shaking her head wearily. Sinclair nodded, pursing his lips in resignation.

  39

  PASSAGE TO INDIA

  Saturday, October 4, 1930.

  After checking on the sleeping children and eating her sandwiches, Millie had a bath and stumbled into bed. She lay with her lantern glowing beside her. Despite her exhaustion, she had trouble sleeping. After a time, she began to doze. She dreamed of the airship battered by wind and rain, crossing London and weaving its way through the South Downs of Kent, toward the English coast.

  *

  Later, while Millie slept fitfully, Cardington R101 was departing the English coast close to the Old Cliffe End Inn, between Hastings and Dungeness. As it sailed over at a strange crabbing angle, it was watched by revelers, sheltering under umbrellas in increasing winds. They waved their beer mugs up at the ship and cheered. Cardington R101 trundled on into the darkness, over a raging sea, at eight-hundred feet.

  *

  The ghost of Captain Hinchliffe had been on the airship ever since everyone had gone aboard. He'd witnessed the weather conference in the chartroom. It'd been pointed out by the meteorologist that the weather could worsen; nonetheless, the decision was made to leave. Hinchliffe saw that this was much against his friend, Captain Irwin's will. He'd been bullied and shamed into it.

  A test run was made around the town, 'a salute to Bedford' they'd called it. After getting airborne, there was no way they would've been able to land back at Cardington Tower, the weather now much too severe. All they could do was press on. And that's just what they did. Hinchliffe was in great distress. It reminded him of his own foolish (or what seemed utterly foolish now), deadly Atlantic flight with Elsie. He paced around the ship. He saw how passengers were suffering with their nerves. Many were getting drunk, which he thought was probably as good a plan as any.