The Ghost of Captain Hinchliffe

by David Dennington

  TO DARLING JOAN, LOVE ALWAYS – DADDY

  Joan was enthralled. She opened the box. Inside, Hinchliffe had placed a photo of himself along with his golden military wings and a few medals. Millie and Kate were tearful, but Joan took it in her stride. She was used to Daddy going away on trips—but she'd soon miss her mother.

  “You be a good girl for Auntie Kate and help her look after your baby sister,” Millie urged, as she gave Joan a hug and big kiss.

  “All right, Mum. When are you coming back?” Joan asked, clinging to Kate's hand.

  “I'll be back in about a week,” Millie answered. “Give your Daddy another kiss.”

  Hinchliffe and Millie climbed into the car. As they pulled away, everyone waved goodbye.

  “I'll see you soon, little one, I promise,” Hinchliffe shouted.

  “Just a few days, darling. Be good. Take care,” Millie called.

  After a couple of hours, they stopped on a country road for a break, to eat sandwiches and drink coffee. After continuing for another hour or so, the landscape became snowy, beautiful in the winter sun. Hinchliffe put the top down and Millie put on her sunglasses. Bundled up, they kept warm and savored each other’s company.

  Millie was having serious thoughts again. She put it down to ‘the jitters'. It was all becoming a reality. She looked over at Hinchliffe and he smiled, confident as ever. Anyway, there was plenty of time, they'd got three more months. They'd get well prepared. He'd be successful; he always was. She relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the journey.

  They soon arrived at RAF Cranwell, where they'd arranged to meet Sinclair. He'd expected to arrive around 1 o'clock. After checking at the gate, Hinchliffe pulled the car along a side road, parallel to the grassy runway, which had been covered with a dusting of snow. It was 12:45 p.m. They drank the rest of their coffee and watched the sky. It was clear and flat calm, the orange windsock hanging limply on its post. Just after one, they heard the unmistakable drone. Endeavour circled the landing strip and then made a perfect landing.

  While Sinclair was taxiing up to the parking area at Cranwell, fifteen miles away in Grantham, Elsie's two limousines were pulling up to the Hotel George, followed by their white van. Elsie excitedly jumped out and barked orders to her staff, who set to it, carrying suitcases, bags and boxes into the lobby. Once checked in, the hotel staff carried Elsie's stuff up to her suite on the first floor. Elsie's servants and chauffeurs were assigned rooms in the attic.

  Thirty minutes later, Hinchliffe's Bentley drew up with Millie and Hinchliffe in front and Sinclair in the jump seat. They made their way to the front desk; Hinchliffe and Sinclair carried their bags.

  “I believe you have rooms booked in the name of MacGregor?” Hinchliffe asked.

  “Yes. Good afternoon, sir. My name's Claude. Miss MacGregor has already arrived. You're booked in for a minimum of two months with the possibility of extending to three,” the clerk answered. He handed two room keys to a bellboy, who led them to the staircase. A porter followed with the luggage.

  An hour later, George Hunter's blue AC 12 Royal drophead coupé drew up outside the hotel. His eyes were searching. He drove round to the rear, where he spotted Hinchliffe's dark green Bentley, a black Rolls Royce, a black Daimler and a white transport van—the same one he'd seen at Brooklands. He was very pleased with himself.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed clapping his hands together. “This is the stuff scoops are made of!”

  Later that evening, Hinchliffe's team sat together in the dining room. Hinchliffe thought it premature to celebrate, and probably bad luck, but they were upbeat. Millie concealed her apprehension.

  It'd been Sinclair's task to put together all the equipment, tools, spares and supplies necessary for the undertaking. Elsie had been in charge of transport and shipping, and of course, paying the bills.

  “So, what do you think about the schedule now, Ray? How much more testing do you need?” Millie asked.

  “Where are we now?—March 2nd. Depending on the Germans and the weather—eight weeks, or so, I guess.”

  Sinclair sat back in his chair. “We've completed most of her testing at Brooklands. She came out with flying colors. We've still got to check fuel consumption and handling with a full fuel load,” he said.

  “Okay, I'll get back up here to see you off in May then,” Millie said.

  “I'll come down again a couple of times before we leave and say goodbye to Joan and the baby. Then I'll bring you back here to wave us off—that's if you want to,” Hinchliffe said.

  “I definitely want to!” Millie said, feeling a fluttering in her stomach.

  Sinclair got up to leave, “Excuse me, I need to get a few things sorted out for the morning.”

  “Right Gordon, bring those other spark plugs. We'll try them first thing,” Hinchliffe told him.

  When Sinclair had gone, Hinchliffe turned to Elsie. “Have you taken out the insurance, Elsie?”

  Elsie's discomfort was obvious. “Er, no, not yet. I've arranged for my bank manager to send the premium as soon as I give him the word. He already has all the documentation.”

  “Why wait?”

  Millie put her hand on her husband's arm, “Ray, Elsie will get to it.”

  “No, that's okay, Millie. I wanted to wait a while, in case it gets out, that's all,” Elsie assured them.

  Hinchliffe gave Elsie one of his looks. “I think you're being over-cautious, Elsie. I don't want things going awry. It's much, much too important.”

  She hated those looks. They sliced her like a knife.

  It sounded like pandemonium in the street outside the hotel the following morning. The hunt had gathered, with hounds barking, horses neighing and nickering, people jabbering excitedly, their steamy breath in the sunlight. Although bitterly cold, it was a beautiful scene in vivid colors of red and black against another fresh dusting of snow.

  Hinchliffe's team, including Elsie and Sinclair, had breakfasted early and piled into Elsie's limo to get to the aerodrome. Millie would spend some time at the field with them and take photos. The driver would bring her back to the hotel when she'd had enough. The limousine slowly moved off behind the hunt. Millie was taken with the dazzling scene—it'd make a nice painting.

  “Don't they look magnificent, Ray?” she said.

  “They're all nuts, if you ask me,” Hinchliffe grumbled.

  After a slow drive to the edge of town, the hunt turned into a field. The car accelerated. When they got to the aerodrome, Elsie removed the tie-down ropes, while Hinchliffe and Sinclair brushed snow off the wings and fuselage. After that, Sinclair changed the spark plugs and closed the cowling.

  Prior to Hinchliffe and Elsie taking off, Millie had them pose in front of the plane in the piercing, blustery wind. Hinchliffe looked grim, but resolute. Elsie forced a smile. She would've been horrified to know that all the while her actions were being closely observed, as they had been for months.

  The Daily Express's George Hunter was once again lurking at the edge of nearby woods, a quarter mile away. He watched Elsie climb into the plane and grinned. He noticed she was in the pilot's seat, but then, he'd never seen Hinchliffe in that seat. He presumed Hinchliffe preferred sitting on the right side, due to his lack of one eye. Before lowering his binoculars, his gaze settled on Millie. He was struck by her beauty, his heart skipped a beat. He admired her for a few moments before thrusting his binoculars back into this overcoat pocket. A rook circled above and settled on a branch above his head, cawing loudly. It dropped a sloppy, white deposit on his shoulder.

  “Well, thanks a lot, mate!” Hunter exclaimed in his refined London University accent, thinking maybe he was being rebuked for looking at such a fine married woman. He looked up at the bobbing black bird. “Some people would take that as an insult, but I'm going take it as a sign of good luck—so there!” He brushed off the bird droppings with his handkerchief, pulled down his homburg hat, and marched off to find a more advantageous spot from which to spy. The bird followed him. “Go away!
You’re going to give me away, you soppy bugger,” Hunter growled.

  The plane had dual controls. Elsie was already in the pilot's seat, her seat belt fastened. She was anxious to get up in the air. After kissing Millie, Hinchliffe clambered in. He gave her a wave and a smile and winked at Sinclair. He pulled out his black cat lucky charm and hung it on the instrument panel as usual.

  “Okay, let's crank her up,” Hinchliffe ordered.

  Elsie pulled the starter and the engine burst into life. Endeavour taxied slowly down the strip to the takeoff position. Millie and Sinclair headed back to the car to sit in comfort, out of the miserable wind. The huntsman's horn sounded close by in the woods, accompanied by thundering hooves. Millie wished she could see them. In the snow, they'd looked magnificent, but she sensed fear in the air. She knew it was the fear of the poor fox. She shuddered. Nonetheless, she'd try and get some photos if possible—but not of anything horrible, like the fox being … no, she couldn't bear to think about that.

  Endeavour was now standing at the top of the field. Elsie ran the engine up and tested the magnetos. She waggled the ailerons and checked the elevators. She pushed her feet back and forth, to check the rudder was free, then gunned the engine. The plane was hesitant in the snow at first, but gradually worked up speed. They lifted off. Nearby, the red fox was running scared for his life, pursued by the yelping hounds. It darted from the woods into the open fields, but was losing ground. Elsie climbed to about 2,000 feet and circled the aerodrome. They had a bird's eye view of the hunt. Elsie was like a little girl.

  “Oh no, little fox! Run! Run! Don't let them catch you!”

  Hinchliffe seized the controls. “Here, let me have her!”

  He gave it more gas and wheeled the plane around, climbing as he did so. He kept his eye on the hunt, at right angles to their path. Suddenly, he pushed the plane's nose sharply down. Endeavour screamed toward the ground at a sharp angle, between the fox and the lead hounds, cutting them off. At about fifteen feet, Hinchliffe pulled the plane up sharply with a great WHOOSH. The canines stopped in their tracks, howling in terror, forgetting the fox. The steaming horses coming up behind lost momentum and traction.

  The pristine hunt became a mass of confusion, hounds and horses slipping and sliding in all directions. Four or five riders lost their seats and ended up red-faced in the snow—two, face down. They struggled to their feet and shook their fists at the plane, muttering curses. The fox made a clean getaway into the woods.

  Elsie clapped her hands together with glee. She looked across at Hinchliffe, a hint of love in her eyes. “So, you are an old softie after all, Raymond! Bravo!”

  “I thought it might be nice for the fox to win for a change,” said Hinchliffe.

  Millie with her camera in hand had witnessed it all, but decided not to take pictures. Better not to embarrass these people any further.

  It wasn't a pretty sight.

  12

  A SURPRISE VISITOR

  Monday, March 5, 1928.

  Things had gone well every day since they arrived; the plane was proving to be everything Hinchliffe had hoped for. It hadn't snowed anymore, so they were able to use the runway without problems. They ran fuel consumption tests and took off with heavy loads as expected for their final take off from Cranwell. Landing with that load proved to be tricky and hard on the wheel struts, but they seemed to get away with it. They landed with the full load four times. After that, they flew with the auxiliary tanks empty.

  Hinchliffe had purchased an expensive compass that proved to be a fine instrument, or at least it did on these tests. Throughout operations, Millie took photographs. The whole gang was upbeat and they often struck silly poses for her. She'd develop them and mount them when she got home.

  Millie got on famously with Elsie. She felt the poor girl needed a real friend. Elsie asked her to come flying with her and she accepted. Millie had done a lot of flying with her husband over the years, so it wasn't a scary thing for her. In fact, Millie was a pretty good pilot herself. She could land and take off like a pro. They flew around the countryside for an hour and then over Grantham. Millie offered to land and Elsie encouraged her, which she did without difficulty.

  “That was a damned fine landing, Millie old girl!” Elsie exclaimed as they taxied along the runway. When Elsie opened her door to get out, Millie found that her seat belt was jammed. Panic rose in her chest for a moment, and she couldn’t breathe.

  “Don't worry, Millie, I'll get you out,” Elsie said. She went round to Millie's side and opened the door. “This thing jams sometimes. It's a knack, you just have to jiggle it around a bit, that's all.” Elsie pulled the metal clasp from side to side. “There, no problem. You're free.”

  “I had a sudden fear of being trapped,” Millie said. “I can’t explain.”

  “I'll let you into a secret, darling—I have fear of the water! I can't even swim,” Elsie whispered.

  Millie looked incredulous.

  “I almost drowned in the sea near the castle, as a child. Don't whatever you do, tell your husband. I plan to stay up in the air—not to go swimming!”

  Often Sinclair took control of the plane (and Elsie), while Hinchliffe and Millie spent time together. Once they spent the afternoon in bed. Another time, they walked in the snowy woods after a walk around town. They'd never been happier, although Hinchliffe's looming departure gave Millie a knot in her stomach.

  Hunter continued to stalk them. Once or twice, he even stood near them in the hotel bar, listening to their conversation. Hinchliffe noticed him and tried to place him. He could swear he'd seen him somewhere before—somewhere down south, perhaps in London. Hunter had a pretty good story by now and decided to break it. His editor had been on his case. He'd been taking too long on this assignment. He called the Daily Express.

  “You'll never guess. They're all here—including Elsie Mackay! That's the icing on the cake. I smell something really big,” he told the editor.

  The next day, in Glenapp Castle in Ayrshire, Scotland, Lord Inchcape sat in his medieval chamber, wrapped in his burgundy silk dressing gown. His nostrils flared, eyes blazed. He stared in fury at the Scottish Sunday Express. The headline screamed:

  LORD'S DAUGHTER TO FLY THE ATLANTIC

  – ANY DAY NOW

  Underneath the headline was a glamorous photo of Elsie from her movie Nothing But the Truth.

  Inchcape turned to his butler, standing stiffly beside the lord's desk.

  “Get Jonathan!”

  Elsie had upset the old man many times over the years. She'd married men he'd disapproved of and forbidden her to marry. There was always something. Now this! Five minutes later, Elsie's brother stood in front of his father. The old Scot threw down the newspaper.

  “That sister of yours is about to go off and make a fool of herself again—and her family!” he yelled.

  Jonathan picked up the newspaper and read the headline. He screwed up his face in horror. “Oh, no!”

  “Get down there and find out if this is true. And if it is—then stop her!”

  Hinchliffe, Millie, Sinclair and Elsie entered the hotel lobby after another successful day of testing. They looked pleased with themselves. Claude, the front desk manager, caught Elsie's eye and leaned forward. “Miss MacGregor!”

  He had a bemused look.

  “Yes.”

  “There's a young man here to see a Miss Mackay. I told him we have no one here by that name—”

  “What's his name?”

  “Jonathan Mackay, madam—”

  “Oh, my God! Where is he?”

  “Waiting in the lounge.”

  Hinchliffe stepped up to Elsie. “Who is he?” But Elsie was in too much of a hurry to answer. She disappeared along the corridor. Hinchliffe watched her uneasily.

  When Elsie entered the lounge, Jonathan was sitting in an armchair staring into the flames of a log fire. Elsie flew to him and he jumped to his feet. “Jonathan, my darling, what on earth are you doing here?” she exclaimed, e
mbracing him.

  He stared into her eyes. “Oh, Sis, what's going on?”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  Her brother pulled out their father's folded newspaper from inside his jacket and held it up.

  “Damn the newspapers!” Elsie shouted.

  “Elsie, is it true?”

  “I suppose father sent you?”

  “He's in a fury!”

  “He would be!”

  The siblings said nothing for a few moments, breathing heavily, clinging to each other. Jonathan put his forehead against hers. “If there's any truth to it, I beg you to give it up. Leave it to others to pull these silly stunts. So many have been lost, Elsie.”

  “I'm financing the project, that's all. Come upstairs and freshen up and we'll have dinner with my two pilots. You'll see.”

  That seemed to allay Jonathan's fears. He followed Elsie to her suite and bathed. While he did this, Elsie scuttled off to Hinchliffe's room to inform him. Hinchliffe was none too pleased. He'd see how this all played out.

  Hinchliffe, Millie and Sinclair were having their second cocktail in the bar when Elsie and her brother arrived. All were dressed for dinner. Initially, this meeting was strained. Hunter was sitting at the bar, his back to them. He soon realized he'd set the cat among the pigeons.

  “Sorry we're a little late,” Elsie said. “This is my brother, Jonathan. And this—” she said, singling out Sinclair, “—is Captain Gordon Sinclair, the copilot.”

  Hunter sat behind them, listening and smiling to himself. He lit a cigarette. Jonathan and Sinclair shook hands. Hinchliffe understood this order of introduction.