The Ghost of Captain Hinchliffe Read online

  Express reporter George Hunter stood quietly at the bar sipping a pint of Watney’s. The story was all shaping up nicely, and he was the only journalist working on the Hinchliffe-Elsie Mackay story.

  During the following weeks, when everyone was over in Brooklands working on Endeavour, Millie produced charcoal sketches of Captain Irwin and Johnston as well as other scenes in the shed, including engineers Binks and Bell in their incomplete engine car. She also painted Endeavour in the hangar, along with dramatic pictures of the Cardington sheds, under a threatening sky. Scott's portrait would be her next project.

  9

  THE CHRISTENING

  Monday, December 26, 1927 (Boxing Day).

  Millie was dealt another blow of sorts during October. A beautiful young actress from Alabama, Ruth Elder, had set off in American Girl from New York with pilot George Haldeman to conquer the Atlantic. She wanted to be the first woman to do it, and this would put her career into high gear. After traveling twenty-six hundred miles, their plane conked out due to a broken oil line. Hinchliffe kept a close eye on Miss Elder's progress, since she was using the exact same plane. Elder and Haldeman ditched three hundred miles off the Azores and were lucky to get picked up by a passing cargo ship.

  Hinchliffe and Sinclair immediately checked on Endeavour's oil lines, making sure they were securely wire-locked in place. Ruth Elder and George Haldeman were feted in New York with a ticker tape parade in December for their accomplishment—she being the first woman to have piloted a plane for that distance over the Atlantic. Naturally, this put Miss Elder's career on a fast track. The event did little to hurt Hinchliffe and Elsie; in fact, they knew it would enhance interest in their attempt. However, it sowed further doubt in Millie's mind. But she kept it hidden.

  Much changed at Pickwick Cottage on the first day of December. Millie woke Hinchliffe during the night, telling him it was time. After warning the Sinclairs, Hinchliffe helped Millie down the stairs and into the car, where he wrapped her in blankets. While she groaned in discomfort, he drove carefully to Croydon Hospital, about thirty-five minutes away. At 10:05 a.m., a baby girl was born, weighing seven pounds four ounces.

  Millie came home four days later, and after a day or two, Hinchliffe went back to work at Brooklands with Sinclair. Kate took care of Millie and Joan. It was decided that the baby would be christened at St. Saviour's immediately after Christmas. Arrangements were made for Boxing Day and invitations sent out.

  Everyone gathered around the font in the little Gothic church, the Reverend Grey presiding. Hinchliffe's friends from Cardington, Captain Irwin and Johnston the navigator, attended, standing proudly in uniform. Brancker was there too, along with a few people from the village, including Barney the Blacksmith. They were all smiles as the baby, held over the font by the pastor, cried bitterly while he sprinkled water on her forehead. Hinchliffe, holding Joan in his arms, grinned at Millie and she smiled back radiantly. She'd recovered well from her confinement and was back to her normal weight, though a little pale.

  Half an hour later, everyone gathered at the cottage, where a buffet had been laid out in Millie's studio. People were naturally taken with the place and were poring over the art, as they stood nibbling on crackers and cheese or smoked salmon and salad. Millie's garden was visible through the French doors; it looked damp, bare and lifeless. The studio was warm and cozy, with a log fire blazing in the stone hearth. A Christmas tree sparkled with lights and decorations hung from ceiling beams. Elsie was not present, but expected.

  Presently, the doorbell sounded and Hinchliffe answered it. Elsie stood on the front step, dressed to kill. Beyond her, Hinchliffe saw her black Rolls Royce parked with its chauffeur off to one side.

  “No motorbike today, Miss Mackay?” Hinchliffe said with a grin.

  Elsie was bearing a christening gift wrapped in pink paper with a silver bow. After a sideways glance for his tease, she beamed at him and kissed his cheek. She'd never kissed him before.

  Millie appeared behind Hinchliffe. “Ah, Elsie,” she said, with a smile of welcome.

  “Millie, you look absolutely marvelous!” Elsie said, handing her the gift.

  “Oh, I'm very well, and thank you.”

  “Come in, Elsie. Good of you to come on Boxing Day,” Hinchliffe said.

  “It was a good excuse to get away from my family. Sorry I couldn't make the church,” Elsie said. “Did everything go off all right?”

  “She cried a little at the font, but she was fine after that,” Millie said.

  They moved into Millie's studio. Things seemed a little awkward at first and a buzz went around the room as Hinchliffe made introductions.

  “What'll you have, Elsie? Hinchliffe asked.

  “Oh, I don't know if I should … Oh, all right then … you've persuaded me. White wine, if you have it, would be nice.”

  “I'll leave you with the vicar and Barney the Blacksmith, Elsie,” Hinchliffe said, winking at the two men who seemed delighted to make Elsie's acquaintance and breathe in her exquisite perfume, which contrasted favorably with Barney's lingering shaving soap and horses. Barney had been honored to view Millie's pictures of himself shoeing a shiny black mare. Now, he was becoming hot and bothered in Elsie's presence and kept smoothing down his ruffled hair. She was only too pleased to talk about horses, being an avid horsewoman. Elsie had always felt much more at home in a blacksmith's stable than at a debutante's ball.

  Hinchliffe went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and returned with an overly generous measure. Elsie was complimenting Millie, who'd joined them, on her art again. Hinchliffe held out her drink and then went off to attend to other guests, including Brancker. Although Elsie had seen Millie’s artwork previously she was still bowled over. “These really are lovely, Millie—especially the horsey ones. Raymond did tell me originally that you were an artist, but I had no idea.”

  The vicar looked at the unfinished portrait of Hinchliffe and was about to mention it as he sipped his lemonade.

  “Don't ask!” said Millie.

  “Right,” said the vicar.

  Elsie admired Millie's dramatic painting of the Cardington sheds, shrouded in storm clouds. She was also taken with the charcoal sketches of Irwin and Johnston and the two engineers in their engine car in the shed. Elsie compared the life-like character studies of the two officers to the men themselves, who were across the room inspecting Millie's painting of Major Scott.

  Elsie was especially pleased when she saw sketches of herself on her Harley Davidson. She admired Brancker's portrait on an easel next to the piano. This was a duplicate Millie had made, as she sometimes did. Brancker had been thrilled with his own copy. People glanced at Lowenstein's portrait on display on its wall shelf. He stared from under his shiny black top hat. Millie had painted an aura about him that she'd seen. Its colors were brown and black with streaks of red. No one commented. Some raised their eyebrows. Elsie, however, saw Millie's artistry in it.

  “Marvelous!” Elsie said. “I just can't wait for you to do my portrait. Millie, could I ask you to do something?”

  “What's that?”

  “Would you play that piece of music for us, the one you were playing when I first came here?”

  This made Millie uncomfortable. She never played in public. “Er, well, it's not something I normally do. Let me think about it. Are you looking forward to moving to Cranwell?” Millie asked.

  “Yes, but you're coming up there for the first week, aren't you?”

  “Yes, and Ray'll pop down a few times before you fly off, I'm sure.”

  At that moment, Joan came to Millie in need of attention. “Mummy.”

  “Excuse me, I must get Joan some more trifle.”

  Hinchliffe returned to Elsie's side, her glass empty. “Let me freshen your glass.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes, the wine was welcome. I get nervous in front of so many new people,” Elsie said. Hinchliffe hardly believed that. He took her glass and went back to the kitchen. Elsie no
ticed Captain Irwin, now standing next to her. She introduced herself. “Have you known Raymond for long?” she inquired. He explained how they'd met during the war.

  Another guest then arrived, though somewhat unexpected. It was Alfred Lowenstein. Hinchliffe had invited him when at the club recently, not really expecting him to show up. Lowenstein entered also bearing a gift. He looked awkward at first, but after greeting everyone and having a drink, he settled in and moved around. He gave a start on noticing his portrait and went to it. He looked put out and put his hand to his temple as if it were throbbing. Millie came up behind him. He turned to her with an accusing stare.

  “Millie, this one's much different from mine,” he said.

  “A little, I suppose,” Millie answered.

  “You’ve made me look like a ruthless mongrel. I want this. I'll buy it,” Lowenstein said.

  “What will you do with it?” Millie asked.

  “I'll destroy it. I must have it.”

  “Oh, Alfred, whatever for?” Millie said, and then, “It's not for sale.”

  Lowenstein turned away in a huff, not used to being rebuffed.

  After that, the afternoon proceeded smoothly, with Elsie chatting freely with all the guests, including Brancker, whom she'd known a long time and adored. He'd always made a point of encouraging pilots, especially female pilots—more especially when they were beautiful. She did her best to avoid Lowenstein who seemed too attentive. When Joan took her hand offering to show her the snowdrops, she was glad to accept, although there was no sign of snow. Elsie, now a little flushed, was first shown around the garden and then to the gurgling brook, where snowdrops were in early bloom. When they returned, not only were Elsie's patent shoes spattered with mud, but also her knee. She'd slipped on the slimy moss and fallen. Joan led her back to the kitchen, where Hinchliffe carefully cleaned and dried her knee and her shoes. Elsie was charmed.

  “You're such a gentleman, Raymond,” she whispered.

  Soon, they heard gentle tapping on a glass. Brancker, standing in front of the piano, next to his own portrait, was poised to make an announcement. He had a spoon in one hand, a glass in the other.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention for a moment. We are here today, on this joyous occasion, for the christening of beautiful baby Pamela. Please lift your glasses. We all wish her a life of great joy, good health and life-long prosperity.”

  Everybody raised their glasses. “Hear, hear!”

  Brancker wasn't finished. “Now, there's something else I have to tell you all. But first, you must promise—you're all sworn to secrecy. Absolute secrecy! Agreed?”

  There were cries of, “Yes, yes!”

  “Of course.”

  “Absolutely, old man!”

  Everyone had heard the rumors and suspected something was coming. All eyes were fixed on Brancker. “As you all know, Captain Raymond Hinchliffe is one of our greatest pilots, having been a war ace shooting down six enemy planes. Since then, he's made many historic landmark flights. Now, it should be no surprise that this brave airman is about to embark on yet another great flight. Yes, in the interest of aviation development and promotion, an Atlantic attempt will be made soon by this hero. Serving as his copilot will be …” At this point Brancker glanced at Elsie and held up his hand ready to single out the individual. He swung round and pointed to Sinclair

  “… Captain Gordon Sinclair!”

  Everyone did a double take, with furrowed brows.

  “I should also mention, that this daring project is to be entirely financed by the Honorable Elsie Mackay.” Brancker beamed at Elsie, who smiled coyly, as she received light applause.

  “This journey will be a tough one, but we know if anyone can make it, Captain Hinchliffe can. We shall be in debt to these two very brave aviators for years to come, and of course to Miss Mackay. So, once again, let us raise our glasses to these gallant warriors of the air and wish them the best of luck and Godspeed!”

  Excitement swept the room. “The best of luck!” everyone said in unison.

  Millie did her best to look happy. She decided to grant Elsie her wish. She sat down to hushed whispers, opened the piano keyboard and began to play. The guests were enraptured. After about half an hour, Millie got up from the piano. She'd seen Lowenstein standing at the window, looking distraught.

  “Alfred, what's the matter?” She sensed his distress.

  “Look out there. There's a magpie. One magpie! I don't like magpies,” he answered.

  “There were three just now, and one flew away and then there were two. Three for a girl, two for joy—”

  “And now there's one! I know the damned rhyme!” he snapped. “Only too well ...” his voice tapered off sadly.

  Millie realized she'd misjudged him. A black aura did not only indicate evil or hatred, but could also indicate depression. Smothering, debilitating depression and self-loathing. She felt for him.

  Lowenstein went home.

  10

  ELSIE'S PORTRAIT

  Tuesday, January 10, 1928.

  Elsie, decked out in a burgundy cloche hat and mink stole, stood perfectly still beside the piano, her pose provocative and idealistic—the perfect suffragette. She stared heavenward, a diamond-encrusted crucifix at her throat, a look of longing in her eyes. She was obviously thoroughly enjoying the experience. Millie stood at her easel, squeezing more dabs of paint in a fan around her pallet in varying colors.

  The portrait was taking shape—though certainly nothing to be viewed or admired yet. This was Elsie's second sitting. She was a good model, but impatient to see the finished result. There was a lot of red in her aura along with streaks of yellow, pink, green, orange and gold. Millie also saw hints of darkness, but no badness in her. She put it down to over-ambition, or sadness.

  However, one dominant color she saw did strike her. Purple. Lost love or, bad luck in love—although such people were capable of giving unconditional love.

  “When will I be able to see it?” Elsie asked.

  Millie took a broad brush and laid a thick coat of Titanium White around the head and background.

  “In a few months. Nothing to see yet. I'm just blocking you in. Don't move. Originals take a while—they have to percolate. Copies I can do in no time.”

  Millie went to the corner and retrieved a tripod and set up her plate camera. She took four shots to use in future weeks, when Elsie wouldn't be available, although in truth, she had Elsie's image set well enough in her photographic memory. After their session in the studio, and the portrait was shrouded, they moved to the living room, where Elsie sat happily with the baby in her lap, while Joan played with her dolls on the couch. Millie watched Elsie. She'd obviously make a fine mother one day.

  “There, there little one,” Elsie cooed. “Should I put her down now, Millie?”

  “Yes, she's probably ready for a nap.”

  Elsie carefully laid the infant on her stomach in her bassinet. A tray of tea waited on the table.

  “You're so lucky, Millie,” she said.

  “There's nothing stopping you, Elsie. Just find the right man. The rest is pretty easy.”

  “It's the first part I'm having trouble with—as always. If he's out there somewhere, I haven't found him yet. After this flight, maybe. I'm one of these girls who falls in love easily. Always with the wrong man, though. And it always ends up in disaster!” Elsie said.

  “Then you must be more careful and more selective, Elsie.”

  “You know Millie, I was a nurse during the war and when I think of the millions of our beautiful young boys lost, I think one of them might have been my Mr. Right—and now he's gone forever. I was married a couple of times. They didn't end well, much to the chagrin of my father,” Elsie said.

  At times, to Millie, Elsie possessed a haunted look. She would capture this in Elsie's portrait. She must've seen some dreadful things. Was it that or bad luck in love, or the relationship with her father? Maybe a combination of all those things.

/>   “Do you get along well with your parents?”

  “They annoy me more than I can tell you,” Elsie snapped. “I'm the eldest, and it is I that should be groomed to take over the family business, but no. I'm female. And being female counts for nothing!”

  Millie added thwarted ambition to the list.

  “So, you have brothers?”

  “My brother is a sweetheart. I love him dearly. But it's hard for him. He's not cut out for the rough and tumble of it all.”

  Elsie poured the tea into the cups on the tray.

  “So, how does your family feel about all this, Elsie?”

  Elsie looked startled.

  She went to pick up the milk jug, but sent it flying. “Oh, damn! They don't know about it. And we must keep it that way. I've tried a lot of things—acting, modeling, my father even let me design some of the cabins on his ships. Nothing lasts. Now, I feel right about this—yes, this is what I'm meant to do. It's all going to work out fine, I just know it. Maybe father will take me seriously after this.”

  Millie looked at her dubiously.

  11

  GRANTHAM

  Friday, March 2, 1928.

  On a sunny but chilly Friday morning in March, they packed up the Bentley, ready for the big move. Hinchliffe kissed the children. It'd be a few weeks before he saw them again. He'd miss them. The plan was to test and practice with the plane at Cranwell until the spring weather of April or May. Then they'd start out. Things were going according to plan and Hinchliffe was confident. It was a pity the Brooklands airstrip was too short. That place had been closer to home. But he was familiar with Cranwell. He'd trained many fresh, young pilots there during the war.

  Hinchliffe picked up Joan in his arms and kissed her tenderly. He then delved into one of the large patch-pockets in his leather greatcoat and produced a silver music box with a silver Sopwith Camel biplane on the lid. It had a cherry colored nose, just like his own warplane. He turned the key and the music box started, while the plane turned. An inscription on the lid read,