The Ghost of Captain Hinchliffe

by David Dennington

  Millie started for the door and as she reached it, she turned back to him. “I've got one or two more paintings for you to stick on your wall. They're much more colorful than that one!”

  Thomson didn't respond. Millie left the room without saying more. Thomson sat pondering her interruption. He turned to meditate on his painting, as he liked to do when mulling over a problem. And Mrs. Hinchliffe had definitely become a problem. Still, he wasn't one to bear a grudge. She was one hell of a plucky woman, and he loved plucky women.

  31

  THE NIGHTCLUB

  Saturday, June 29, 1929.

  Millie hadn't heard from Brancker. She called his office at the Air Ministry a couple of times without success and decided to track him down in town, somehow. She called Hunter, who was, of course, more than glad to hear from her. He suggested that he pick Millie up and take her to a few nightclubs in the West End. He knew some that Brancker liked to frequent. Millie was pleased to accept his offer. She'd been leading a pretty dull existence for a very long time. He was a nice chap and when he cleaned himself up he was quite attractive. Hunter was tickled to death.

  Millie decided it was time to dispense with the widow's weeds. There didn't seem to be any point in going about in black any longer, especially since she knew her husband had not ceased to exist. Kate loaned her a turquoise cocktail dress, a jazzy little number, which turned out to be perfect for the evening. It was the third nightclub on Hunter's list that bore fruit. As soon as they entered, Millie spied Brancker in the middle of the dance floor amongst a feverish group of writhing bodies, fashionably clad. The orchestra was going wild with American jazz. Brancker, monocle glued in its socket, gyrated, all the while smiling at his beautiful partner.

  Millie and Hunter were shown to a table close to the dance floor. As Brancker and his partner were coming off at the end of a number, he noticed Millie, not for who she was, but as a beautiful woman. He did a double take, and then came to their table. He suddenly remembered his unkept promise.

  “Millie! How lovely to see you,” he said, eyeing her dress. “You look absolutely splendid. I'm so sorry I've not called on you. I've been terribly busy. It's been crazy,” he said breathlessly.

  “Please, sit with us,” Millie said, looking from Brancker to his partner.

  “Oh, this is a very dear friend of mine, Bubbles Carlisle,” Brancker said, pulling out a chair. The girl fluttered her eyelashes with studied perfection, enough to impress any movie director.

  They shook hands and sat down. A waiter came.

  “I vote we have champers,” said Brancker. They agreed. “Bring us a bottle of Dom Pérignon, please, waiter.” After a few pleasantries, and they each had a bubbling flute in front of them, Brancker raised his glass. “To us!” he shouted, and then, “To your success, Millie.” Millie realized he was talking about the insurance. “We're all working on it for you. I know you don't realize it, but there's a lot going on behind the scenes.” Millie nodded her thanks as they chinked glasses. “The papers are full of stories about you, Millie. It's relentlessly being kept alive.”

  “Yes, I know. George here has been very kind in that regard,” Millie said, glancing at Hunter.

  Brancker looked at him with interest. “The Express, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I've been in touch with your boss, Lord Beaverbrook, on a regular basis, regarding Millie's situation,” Brancker told them.

  “Yup, we've all felt the pressure,” Hunter replied.

  “I'm not sure they can withstand the heat much longer. Something's got to give up there in Glenapp Castle,” Brancker said.

  Millie was astonished and pleased. She'd begun to give up hope, despite Hinchliffe's assurances. “Do you really think so, Sefton?”

  “Yes, indeed I do. I've heard rumblings. Keep your spirits up, my gal!”

  Hunter leaned forward over the table. “I've been following Mrs. Hinchliffe's story very closely. The public can't get enough. Especially about the latest developments—you know about the predictions?”

  Brancker became decidedly uncomfortable, fidgeting with his champagne glass. “I heard something about it, yes.”

  “Millie has a message from her husband for you. That's why we're here tonight,” Hunter said. “We've been in three clubs tonight, trying to track you down.”

  Brancker sighed. Bubbles put a cigarette into a long pearl holder. Brancker lit it for her. She took a look drag and blew smoke over the table.

  “It all sounds simply intriguing, darling,” she purred.

  “How s-strange,” Brancker stammered.

  Millie looked directly at Brancker. “He's asked me to appeal to you, to give it all up. Airships are a lost cause.”

  It was as if he hadn't heard. “Cardington R101 will be launched any time, Millie. She'll show herself over London soon. Lord Thomson is talking about making a flight to India over the Christmas holiday.”

  Now it was as if, by saying it out loud, it was inevitable.

  “Millie has been having vivid visions, Sir Sefton,” Hunter said.

  Brancker jerked his head toward Millie. “What have you seen?”

  “I've seen terrible things. First a boy will be killed at the tower, very soon. Then, I've seen an airship crash and explode in flames,” Millie told him.

  “Cardington R101 is not the only airship under construction, you know, Millie. A second one is being built by Vickers at Howden—her sister ship. She's scheduled to fly to Canada. You may have the wrong ship,” Brancker offered hopefully.

  “Yes, we know all about that,” Millie said.

  “In your visions, have you seen any markings?” Brancker asked.

  “Yes, R101, as clear as daylight. It's you who have the wrong ship, Sefton,” Millie said.

  Brancker was crestfallen—his evening totally ruined.

  Bubbles was now quite concerned. “Your ship is Cardington R101, isn't it, Sefton?”

  Brancker took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Just my luck. Can't say I believe in all that stuff … Although, I do remember having my fortune told once in Paris, during the war.”

  “You've never told me that, Sefton. What did they say?” Bubbles asked.

  “It was jolly accurate for the most part. Astonishingly so! Trouble was, she said she couldn't see anything in my future after 1930 … isn't that a riot!” He threw his head back and roared with nervous laughter.

  Bubbles was now extremely upset. Clearly, she believed in those things. “Oh, Sefton!” she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears.

  Brancker gulped down the rest of his champagne.

  “Nothing you can do about yer fate, my darling. Must go and change me collar. Can't dance with a soggy collar, can we?” he said.

  Brancker always traveled with two or three spare collars in his pocket. As was his custom, he went to the gentlemen's luxurious, Victorian bathroom to change this one. Dancing was a sweaty business and being the dapper gentleman that he was, he was always prepared. While the muffled strains of “My Melancholy Baby” drifted through the walls from the dance floor, Brancker washed his face in cold water. He brought his dripping, haggard face up from the basin and stared into the mirror. An attendant handed him a clean, white towel. He pressed it to his face with trembling hands.

  The man in the white jacket asked, “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, perfectly fine, my good man. Yes, thank you,” Brancker replied.

  He removed a collar from his pocket and fumbled with his studs, trying to position it around his neck. Fear showed in his eyes all the while.

  Damned bad show!

  After receiving help from the toilet attendant with his collar stud, Brancker returned to the dance floor fit and ready to dance the night away. And to make the most of the time he had left on this earth with gorgeous girls like Bubbles Carlisle.

  With the object of Millie's mission complete, she danced with Hunter well into the night. This, for Hunter, was bliss. Millie found hersel
f looking at Hunter once in awhile. He really was a handsome chap, about her own age, and such a good dancer. How had she not really noticed him before?

  32

  WINSTON CHURCHILL

  Tuesday, July 30, 1929.

  Millie's next visitor came unannounced, as they frequently did. A black Wolseley sedan rolled into the driveway bearing Mr. Winston Churchill. He arrived at the door carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  When Millie appeared, he said. “You, Mrs. H. have become something of a celebrity. I presume you are Mrs. Hinchliffe?”

  Millie laughed and her eyes sparkled with delight and astonishment. “Yes! Mr. Churchill?”

  Churchill carried on his school-boyish face a look of mischievous pleasure and a twinkle in his eye. “Indeed, it is, my dear lady, and I am the bearer of good news,” he said, holding up the champagne and glasses. A dumbfounded Millie led the balding, cherub-like man into her studio, where at the sight of her artwork, his eyes lit up. He put down the champagne and glasses and removed the unlit cigar from his mouth. He was in his element and went charging around from one painting to another. The first he saw was the one she'd just finished: Cardington R101 crashing beside the French rabbit poacher. Then he gazed at the airship exploding with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

  “This all looks terribly alarming,” he said.

  “It is, I'm afraid.”

  “You've been busy. Nice work. Nice colors,” he commented. “What's it all mean, young lady? Well, don't answer that now. I've got news for you.”

  Millie had been holding her breath. “What is it, Mr. Churchill?” she gasped.

  “This morning I met with Lord Inchcape—”

  “Yes—” Millie's eyes had become like saucers. She pressed her palms together.

  “And today he's instructing his bank. He's had enough. The sum of ten thousand pounds is being placed in the hands of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, to be done with as he sees fit. That means the insurance money will be yours by tomorrow.”

  Millie almost fainted. That would be the last day of July!

  Oh, Raymond! My dear, dear Raymond! God Bless you. God Bless you!

  She was brought back from her thoughts and to her senses by the sound of a champagne cork blasting from the bottle. Churchill poured out two glasses and held one out to her. “My heartiest congratulations to you!” he said.

  Millie took a gulp, still in a daze, as Churchill continued. “You know, this reminds me of a day back in 1919, when I personally presented a check for ten thousand pounds to Alcock and Brown after they'd made the very first Atlantic crossing. The circumstances today are tinged with terrible sadness, but nonetheless, I'm still delighted to be the bearer of this news.”

  After they'd drunk their champagne, Churchill continued his inspection of Millie's work. Portraits of Doyle, Brancker, Elsie, Lord Beaverbrook, Mrs. East, and sketches of personalities at Cardington. He then looked at The Death of Freddie Marsh. “Now, tell me, what are all these pictures about, hmm?” he asked.

  Millie couldn't help looking sheepish. “They're paintings of visions I've had.”

  “Well, it doesn't look at all that promising for these damned airships, does it?”

  “Absolutely not, Mr. Churchill.”

  “I'd keep all this quiet for the time being, till that money's safely tucked up in your bank account. You've already put a burr under Thomson's saddle. I saw him last week in his office and he told me all about it. Said he'd asked you to paint an airship on that lousy painting on his wall—done by some fifth-rate dauber.”

  Millie gave an embarrassed laugh. “Yes, that's right, he did and I refused.”

  “I wish you'd done it for him. Now I've got stuck with it!”

  “I'm so sorry.”

  “I'll have to go to Cardington to see that hydrogen bomb for myself!”

  “Just don't go for ride in it, sir.”

  “I'll probably take your advice.” He glanced at Lord Beaverbook and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and cocked an eyebrow. “Now, I see you're an excellent painter of portraits, Mrs. Hinchliffe—I also see that you observe people's auras. I wonder what you see in mine!”

  Inevitably, Churchill asked Millie to paint his portrait and, of course, she willingly agreed. He posed while she took his photo. He stood with a hand on a coat lapel, the other holding a fine Cuban cigar. He said he'd come back and pose again, since he only lived 'just up the road' at Chartwell. As a fellow artist, he seemed completely comfortable with Millie and being in her studio. They'd become instant chums.

  “I like to paint, myself,” he said.

  “I read that you were a prolific painter,” Millie said.

  “It helps keep the old black dog away, that and the brandy, of course.”

  Millie laughed.

  I have a nice studio in my back garden. It's my sanctuary. Keeps me sane,” Churchill said. “You must come sometime. We'll have some great conversations, you and I. I'm out of office now, so I'll have plenty of time.”

  Millie studied him and his aura. She saw plenty of black—she thought that must be the 'old black dog'. It was mixed with many other strong colors. She saw wisdom and fortitude. She also saw death and destruction. “You'll be back. Your greatest time is yet to come, Mr. Churchill,” Millie said.

  “Is that so? What do you see?”

  “There is much you will do for this country. True greatness is in your future and we shall all be thankful.”

  “Yes, you are absolutely right. I know it myself,” he said. “The Devil is out there waiting in the shadows again.”

  The following morning, the House of Commons was relatively quiet, but rumors had been swirling all morning. Members of Parliament jabbered excitedly when they saw the Chancellor of the Exchequer rising from his seat. He coughed gently before beginning.

  “Members of this House, it falls to me as the Chancellor of the Exchequer to make this announcement on behalf of Lord Inchcape, regarding the matter of his daughter, the Honorable Elsie Mackay, and her estate. Lord Inchcape, being desirous that the Elsie Mackay Fund should not be the occasion of any complaint, has placed at the disposal of the government, the sum of ten thousand pounds for the purpose of meeting any complaint in such a manner as the Chancellor of the Exchequer may think fit.”

  Raucous cheers broke out on both sides of the chamber.

  Millie and Kate were in the kitchen when the BBC News came on.

  Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beeeep.

  ‘This is the BBC Home Service. Here is the six o’clock news. It was announced today in the House of Commons by the Chancellor of the Exchequer that the father of the Honorable Elsie Mackay has set aside the sum of ten thousand pounds for the purpose of meeting any complaint against the Elsie Mackay Fund. Miss Mackay disappeared earlier this year while attempting to make a record Atlantic flight from east to west with Captain Walter George Raymond Hinchliffe, the famous war ace. This means in effect, that the widow of Captain Hinchliffe will receive the equivalent sum of the insurance money promised by Miss Elsie Mackay …

  Later that day, a telegram arrived. Millie sank into an armchair in the living room to read it. It said:

  JULY 31, 1929. TO MRS E HINCHLIFFE.

  MY GREATEST PLEASURE TO INFORM YOU INTENDED INSURANCE AMOUNT HAS NOW BEEN SET ASIDE FOR YOU AND AT MY DISPOSAL FOR DISBURSEMENT STOP CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER STOP

  HM GOVERNMENT WESTMINSTER

  This was the final confirmation they'd been waiting for. Millie and Kate hugged and Sinclair rushed out to the local off-licence and bought a bottle of cheap red wine. They had their dinner of ham and eggs around the kitchen table and toasted Millie. Their long-term financial problems were over. Next morning, Millie went to see Mr. Drummond to handle the matter on her behalf.

  Millie arranged a meeting with Eileen Garrett immediately.

  “Hello, young lady. He's here and wild with joy,” Uvani said.

  “Raymond, it happened just as you said. I'm sorry I ever doubted you,” Millie sa
id.

  “Oh, Millie, Millie, Millie. I am absolutely thrilled!” Hinchliffe exclaimed. With that, he jumped from the chair Eileen was occupying and grabbed Millie and pulled her to her feet. He put his arm around her and danced her around the room. “Just Millie and me, and Joanie, makes three, I'm happy in my green heaven ...”

  Millie was blown away, feeling his happiness. It would have been a strange sight for Mrs. East or Doyle to see if they'd been there. She was glad she'd come alone.

  33

  THE DEATH OF FREDDIE MARSH

  Wednesday, October 16, 1929.

  On October 14th, His Majesty's Airship Cardington R101 was launched and Hinchliffe was on the spot to witness the momentous occasion. He watched as five hundred able-bodied men and one not so able-bodied boy pulled out the gleaming silver ship from her shed. No one, except Freddie Marsh and his family, knew of his health problems.

  Everything went without a hitch. Thousands watched the great airship walked to the center of the airfield and then allowed to ascend to six hundred feet for all the world to admire. The next day, she was taken on a short flight around Bedford. On the third day, Lord Thomson, the Air Minister, and Sir Sefton Brancker, the Director of Civil Aviation, were to take an extended flight. There was much ballyhoo in the press.

  Thomson and Brancker arrived early that morning, shaking hands and making a fuss of everyone. This included ground crewmen in a line at the tower, among them Freddie Marsh, whose birthday it was. On being informed of this, Thomson patted the boy on the shoulder and wished him a happy birthday. Then the ship departed on its highly touted flight around England, taking in London en route, then Cambridge, Sandringham, Leicester, Birmingham and Northampton.