The Ghost of Captain Hinchliffe Read online

  “I don't know anybody by that name.”

  “Are you sure? She says she's around you all the time.”

  “The name means nothing to me,” Millie said tersely.

  “She says she's been close to you, lately.”

  Millie was losing what little nerve she had. She wanted to get up and run out the door. “I knew this was all a mistake!” she said, looking at Mrs. East.

  “Ah, now here comes a tall, gray-eyed, young man. He has light brown hair and a straight nose. He was full of life and speed—cars and aeroplanes were his thing!” the voice from Mrs. Garrett exclaimed. Millie remained skeptical. “He says he's your husband. He rubs one eye and laughs. He sends greetings and appreciation to Sir Arthur over there and waves a calabash pipe at him and grins. Now he gives me the letter E. Are you are E?”

  “My name is Emilie, but I'm sure you already knew that!” Millie said, casting a suspicious look at Doyle.

  “I saw you searching the drawers and closets for my studs the other day—and my wings,” Uvani said.”

  “Is that so?” It was a half-sneer. Nevertheless, she kept scratching her shorthand notes.

  “Millie, it's me,” another voice said.

  “Who is me?”

  “Raymond.”

  Skepticism, disbelief and annoyance registered in Millie's face. Mrs. East put her hand on Millie's arm, trying to calm her.

  “Okay, let's play pretend, shall we?” Millie said with a smirk.

  “I'm here to help you, Millie. I want you to know, I am alright.”

  “If you're dead, how can you be alright?”

  “Millie, there was so much more I wanted to say in my letter, but there wasn't time. I wanted your forgiveness for everything I'd put you through. I saw your apprehension growing after Minchin disappeared and Elder went down. Yet I still pushed on with it. But you held it all in. I was so remorseful that morning and during the flight. Oh dear, it's all such a mess!”

  “Yes, a real mess!” Millie exclaimed, forgetting her skepticism for a moment.

  “I'm so very sorry, Millie.”

  “How could you do this to us? There's no money, your salary payments are frozen, Gordon's dead broke, there's no insurance, and soon they'll be foreclosing on the house. We'll be in the street in no time!”

  “Millie! Millie! I am going to help you, I promise.”

  “Just stop all this nonsense!”

  “First, you must sell our piece of land next door.” Millie glared at the medium. This seemed real enough. “It'll tide you over until the insurance money comes.”

  Doyle leaned forward, intrigued. These were the sort of indisputable facts he yearned for.

  “There is no insurance money. Do you not understand!”

  “You will receive every penny of that money, I promise you, Millie.”

  Mrs. East beamed at Millie, but it did little to assure her.

  “Oh, yes, yes, I'm sure we will.”

  “You must contact Elsie's father.”

  “If you really were my dead husband, you'd know I've written to him already—and you'd also know that my letter has been completely ignored.”

  “That isn't enough. You must confront the man.”

  “I'll go with you, Millie, if you like,” Doyle interjected keenly.

  “Yes, and I'll come too,” said Mrs. East, with a chuckle.

  “We'll all go to Glenapp in my car,” Doyle said excitedly.

  Millie was still rebelling, not convinced. How could any of this be real?

  “That would be marvelous, Sir Arthur. Thank you for all you've done. You must sell that land, Millie. You'll find the surveyor's plan behind the drawer in my desk. You'll need that. Please look for it,” Hinchliffe said.

  Millie was in turmoil. This was all too much to accept. Although much of the information she was hearing had elements of truth in it, her logical mind couldn't accept it. Perhaps the medium was able to read her mind. She recoiled. “I don't know who's giving you details of my private affairs—”

  “Dear Millie, my studs are in the cigar box in the closet in our bedroom. Tell Sinclair he can have them—I shan't be needing them. My wings are in the music box I gave Joan. As for my black cat lucky charm—that'll show up later.”

  Millie nodded. She looked forward to going home and finding out one way or another if any of this were true.

  “Millie, please come back soon and talk to me—just the two of us?”

  Millie gave a half smile. “We'll see,” she said.

  Millie went back to Croydon with Mrs. East. Sinclair picked her up later. Sinclair asked about Millie's experience with Mrs. Garrett. She told him she was mulling it all over. Millie remained wrapped up in her thoughts, all the way home. Sinclair said no more.

  Later that evening, after the Sinclairs had gone to bed, Millie searched around in Hinchliffe's closet in her bedroom. She felt around on the top shelf until she found his cigar box. She sat on the bed and opened it reverently. There was his Distinguished Flying Cross. A military ribbon and an old brass lighter. An envelope with a lock of Millie's hair. And, of course, his studs! She'd already found his wings in Joan's music box when she'd put her to bed earlier. If Millie had turned around at that moment, she'd have seen Hinchliffe's reflection in the mirror behind her on the wardrobe door. He'd been watching her every move. He smiled sadly. He was sure she was convinced now. Convinced he was dead.

  Millie shook with emotion. Yes, he had to be dead. The medium couldn't have known any of this. This was incontestable. Irrefutable! She was absolutely terrified. She wheeled around to look behind her. There was no one there now. The house was silent. The grandfather clock in the hall below suddenly began striking twelve, startling her further. She took the lamp and, followed by Butch and Whiskey, went down the stairs to the living room where Hinchliffe's desk stood in the alcove under a window. She placed the lamp on the desk and opened the drawers which were full of documents, and odds and ends. She picked up a gold fountain pen Lowenstein had given Hinchliffe. She’d forgotten about that. She took out an old bible and on an impulse, opened it and read the inscription inside the cover. She stared in disbelief. It read, 'To Raymond with love. Grandmother Sophia.'

  Millie pulled the side drawer out completely and looked into the dark space. There was something blue and white at the back. She reached in and pulled it out. It was a crumpled blueprint. She opened it flat on the desk. It was the surveyor's plan of the land next door. Millie sank to the floor on her haunches in shock. This was astonishing. What more proof could she ask for? There was no question. In some ways, she was almost joyful. Hinchliffe was dead. But he wasn't dead! Millie wanted to see Eileen Garrett as soon as possible. She couldn't wait to get to the village and make a phone call in the morning. She was also looking forward to presenting Sinclair with her husband's studs. The cat gave a loud meow and the dog whimpered.

  Millie went back to her bedroom, dragged out her old Underwood from the closet and put it on her writing table. She began typing up the transcripts. For the next hour, the Sinclairs could faintly hear her from their bedroom. Tap, tap, tap, … tap, tap, tap, and then the occasional ding.

  21

  THE SECOND SEANCE

  Thursday, May 24, 1928.

  I see your powers of mediumship are already strong, dear lady, and I can tell you they will grow each and every day. I expect you see auras around people,” Uvani said.

  “I always have. I thought everyone did. Though now, they're more vivid. Sometimes I imagine Ray is close to me.”

  “It's not imagination. You'll soon sense spirit around you, as all mediums do. Your husband is here,” Uvani paused and Hinchliffe continued speaking through Eileen Garrett.

  “My darling Millie, I'm so glad you came. I wanted to tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. This sounds silly, but I did it all for you and the children. Stupidly, I thought I could do what others had failed to do. Pride kills!”

  “My dear, dear husband. It's done now—but
life is so miserable without you.”

  “Thank you for keeping it from Joan. I had the picture of you both with me. I kissed it just before we went into the water.”

  “Oh, Ray—”

  “I want to help you, Millie. Inchcape and the insurance business is so maddening! I see you doing your best to cope. It's been unbearable for me to watch.”

  “Things can't get much worse, can they?” Millie replied.

  “The sale of the land should tide you over for six months. I see you found the plan.”

  “Yes, I took it to the estate agent yesterday. I think the owner wants to buy it himself,” Millie said.

  “Good, let him have it.”

  “Then, I may have to sell the car.”

  “No. No need yet. But on the insurance, you must go on the offensive. It'll take a while, but you will get it eventually—I can assure you of that.”

  “What should I do?”

  “You'll need to speak publicly and tell your story. The papers will pick it up and shame him. You'll be getting a lot of help from influential people very, very soon.”

  “We're going up to Glenapp on Saturday,” Millie replied, and then, “How is Elsie?”

  “Recovery from her crossing over has been hard. She had a terrible time. That poor girl sat down there on the ocean floor in the darkness for many days before they came for her.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Millie whispered in dismay, remembering her nightmare.

  “She's riddled with guilt over the muddle she's put you in with the insurance, and for deceiving her family, of course. She'll be fine. She's really a nice soul. She was a bit ditsy and was trying to impress her old man. She's learned a lot from this experience. I've become quite fond of her.”

  “I think she was head over heels in love with you, Raymond,” Millie said.

  “You may be right. But how could she not ?” Millie laughed. That was her husband, all right. “She spends a lot of time around her brother, Jonathan,” Hinchliffe said.

  “And what about you? I want to know what happened that night—I want to know everything.”

  Hinchliffe described their flight in detail and how Elsie had been in a bad way for many hours due to sheer terror. He told Millie how he’d decided eventually to turn sharply south. They couldn’t fight the horrendous gale any longer. They’d try and reach the Azores. Hinchliffe paused and sighed heavily, thinking. The medium's face showed the strain of their terrible ordeal.

  “We came down within the sight of land after the engine quit. I tried to restart it by switching tanks. I thought maybe there was an airlock. After we hit the water, I tried to save Elsie. She was trapped in that seat belt. I can't believe we didn't fix it. Still, it wouldn't have done her any good—she couldn't swim anyway. I watched her go down and then tried to swim for the island—Corvo it was called. I saw it at first, and then became disoriented. I soon got totally waterlogged, cold and exhausted. In the end, I floundered, not knowing in what direction to go. After about five or ten minutes, I passed out in the numbing cold.

  “Later, much later, I came round. I was in some horrible place; it was half-light. I thought I must've washed up on the island I'd seen. The beach was like black mud. I knew the beaches in the Azores were black and thought I must have washed up there. I lay in the surf for a time, unable to move. Then, after a while, I dragged myself out of the water and crawled up the beach. I could hear rooks or ravens cawing and carrying on around me. I looked toward the trees—they were ugly black shapes—gnarly and broken. I saw vultures along their branches. I thought they were waiting for me. I crawled on across the filthy beach to the woods, where I heard things. Nasty things. Squeals, gnashing of teeth, howls and cackling. My nostrils were filled with the stench of death and decay, my mouth the taste of stale blood. I crawled on through mildewed bracken, which I sensed was infested with snakes and rats.”

  “Oh, Ray. That’s horrifying.”

  “At one point, I slumped down in the slime to rest my throbbing head, listening to the wind hissing in the trees. I was totally distraught—scared out of my wits! I kept thinking—where am I? What is this place? Later, I heard noises and looked up. Two entities were leaning over me—their faces evil; their piggy eyes, terrifying black pools. It seemed like they'd come for me—to claim me. They didn't speak. They grunted and squeaked down their snouts, pawing at me. They wanted me to go with them. I was very afraid.

  “They were driven off by another being who appeared out of the forest. I perceived him to be good. He'd not only come to claim me, but to protect me—rescue me! He warded them off, and they slunk away into the gloom. He was an old sage, his face craggy, his hair long and white to the shoulders. He was wearing a monk's robe, once white, now grubby and worn. In that place, it could hardly have remained flowing white! He raised me to my feet and stared into my face, willing me to follow him. His face was angelic, his eyes huge and blue—totally mesmerizing.

  I trudged behind him for what seemed hours, days, even weeks. It's impossible to say. I gradually came to realize I was dead. I must be dead! Where was he taking me, I wondered? To hell? Is this hell? It seemed like the fringes of hell. We passed by all kinds of entities, mostly horrible. I wanted to get away from there. ‘God help me!’ I cried.

  “In the distance, I saw flames and molten lava. I became more afraid. Later, we came to a body of black water, wide and smooth and then to a dock of rotten black wood. He led me along it. I stepped carefully in case the boards collapsed. He waved for me to get into a wooden boat moored alongside. We clambered in and he nodded to the boatman, who pushed us off. Beneath the surface, I saw dark shapes—I dreaded to think what they were. Without a word, the old man rowed us out into the estuary and across to the other side. We got out onto another dock and the boatman rowed away.

  This side of the river felt better, calmer. I followed my guide again, for how long, I don't know. We passed people of kinder disposition and more pleasant animals. Things became better with every step. My spirits began to lift. The sky brightened and colors went from black to dark earth-tones, and then to calming pastels. Later, as we came to green pastures the colors became more vivid. In fact, I saw, or sensed I saw, colors I'd never seen on earth. I began to hear sounds—such soothing sounds—birdsong, beautiful music, choirs, children’s laughter, and welcoming whispers. My spirits soared. Perhaps all was not lost. Presently, I saw a church, a Gothic church, like St. Saviour's in our village, set in fragrant gardens. He took me inside, now smiling at me for the first time. Inside, he handed me over to a portly monk who gave me the biggest welcome you could ever imagine.

  “‘Raymond,’ he said, putting his arms around me and patting my back. ‘Walter George Raymond Hinchliffe.’ It was more a statement than a question.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I am he.’

  ‘What a life it's been!’ he said, cocking an eyebrow. He seemed to know all about me. All I could do was agree weakly with him.

  ‘You know where you are?’ he asked me. I nodded. I suppose I did, sort of. ‘You will remain here with us in this place until you recuperate—spiritually, of course. Bodily there is no problem.’

  ‘I must get back to see my wife and children,’ I said.

  ‘We'll see about all that,’ he said. ‘All in good time.’

  “So, my dear Millie. I rested there in that place. Later, I was told I would be allowed to come and visit you, and I did, as you know. It's all been traumatic, but I'm coming out of it. I've been given tasks to accomplish. It's been healing.”

  “I'm so glad, Ray.”

  “Death gives you a whole new perspective on life, Millie!”

  “It must.”

  Hinchliffe paused for some time, as though considering what he was about to say. Millie waited.

  “I've talked to a lot of people here about something that's been bothering me a lot.”

  “What's that?”

  “I've spent time at Cardington and I'm gonna be there a lot. That airship's a deathtrap. Our friends
there will die on her maiden voyage unless—”

  “What can we do about that?”

  “Somehow we must get it stopped. But first, we must concentrate on getting you the insurance we were promised.”

  Before returning home, Millie decided to act on Hinchliffe's advice and took a bus to the Daily Express offices on Fleet Street. The people on the front desk were more than interested when Millie introduced herself. She told them she wanted to tell her story to Mr. George Hunter, who knew her quite well.

  Millie was immediately taken to the second floor by a young intern through a bank of telegraph machines, and then a huge office packed with people at desks surrounded by clattering typewriters, or on the phone.

  Hunter was in a small, glazed office on one side. He was on the phone, facing the wall with his back to Millie, his feet on the desk. The young man left Millie at the door, where she waited patiently. Hunter was talking about her, mumbling through his cigarette. “So, what are the odds of Mrs. Hinchliffe getting the money she was entitled to?”

  Millie was excited that Hunter was already working on her behalf. She wished she could hear the other end of the conversation.

  “I see ...” Hunter said pessimistically.

  He removed his feet from the desk and spun round in his chair. He was surprised to come face to face with Millie. His eyes lit up.

  “Er, well look, see what you can do. I'll call you back, okay?” Hunter said, putting the phone down. “Mrs. Hinchliffe, I had no idea you were coming in to see us.”

  “Please forgive this intrusion. I thought I'd take a chance and drop by.”

  Hunter had been very taken with Millie and was upset for her sake when Hinchliffe disappeared. He didn't dare think of making an approach to her, certainly not for a long time to come, but doubted he was in her league, anyway. He killed the cigarette in the ashtray.

  “I'm very glad you're here—it's wonderful seeing you again.”

  “I came to ask for your help.”