Confrontation

Captain Peacock collected his thoughts for a moment. The weight of the scenario that had just unfolded came crashing on him. His stomach roiled and he battled with a maelstrom mixed emotions: anger, sympathy, love, respect, possessiveness, disgust, which threatened to pull him into the vortex.

Betty had confessed the most sacred and guarded detail of her life to him and he did not know how to feel. Anger began to seethe within him. How could Maurice Moulterd make light of her past, a past of which he was an integral part?

Her nickname "The Tiverton Bicycle" was not one of endearment or even jest, but of malice and ridicule toward a young girl who found herself in trouble and alone. The level of shame and agony that she carried with her for over 50 years was insurmountable. Captain Peacock knew he could do nothing to take away her anguish. The wound had been reopened and as raw as it was 50 years ago.

Captain Peacock could feel the rage building within him. He stepped back from Betty and began to pull out clothing for himself. He untied the drawstring cord of his silk pajama bottoms, slid them off, and draped them over the arm of the wing-back chair. He unbuttoned his pajama top, removed it and set it with the bottoms.

Betty turned away from her husband as he changed into a fresh pair of boxer shorts. She did snap her neck round quickly to catch a glimpse of his naked bum, which did not go unnoticed.

Captain Peacock wasted no time in dressing in a grey suit, starched white shirt, cufflinks, and his usual Regimental striped tie. He sat on the edge of the bed, slipped his feet into his shoes, and tied them.

"Where are you going, Stephen?" Betty asked softly.

"To feed the chickens!" he replied, trying not to sound angry. His anger was not directed at her.

He briskly descended the stairs, striding through the kitchen. He waved at his comrades as he exited through the back door, side-stepping over Tiddles. They all looked at each other in bewilderment as the blur that was Captain Peacock rushed by.

Captain Peacock scanned the barnyard looking for Mr. Moulterd. He recognized his form in the distance turning the compost heap with a large fork. Captain Peacock stormed toward him, hands clenched into tight, angry fists.

"It didn't work fer ya, did it?" Mr. Moulterd cajoled, "I told ya, she'll never give ya what she gave me!"

Captain Peacock's eyes burned. He drew back and his fist crashed hard against Mr. Moulterd's grimy, rough cheek. He stumbled back, caught off guard.

"Have ya gone mad? What'ja do 'at fer?" he shrieked, shaking his head, trying to regain his composure.

Captain Peacock could only see red as he silently drew back and hit him again. Mr. Moulterd lost his footing and fell to the ground with a dull thud.

"Ya barmy git!" he hissed, scrambling to his feet, "what's got into ya?"

"You lied," Captain Peacock growled menacingly, "You lied! There was more to it than you let on! You call her that name! How could you? You insinuate she was a whore!" his voice raising.

His eyes pricked with angry tears that would not fall. He furiously drew his breath through clenched teeth, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath..

Mr. Moulterd dabbed at the bleeding corner of his mouth with his dirty, tattered sleeve, "How did I lie, you tell me that! She did love me, did she tell you that?"

Captain Peacock stood silent, staring right through him, rage seething within him.

"She did tell you that, didn't she?" Mr. Moulterd countered, "And she did tell you we'd made love, didn't she?"

Captain Peacock's steely resolve held. He stared at him from beneath his brows. He stood stoically with his hands on his hips, ignoring the pain in his right hand. The things Mr. Moulterd was saying were true.

"Then what, Captain Peacock, am I supposed to be lyin' 'bout?" he sputtered, brushing straw and muck from his already filthy jacket and trousers.

"The baby," he uttered through gritted teeth, "You left out that small detail."

Mr. Moulterd stumbled back as if he'd been hit again. His eyes were soft and sad.

"That was my baby and she gave it away like it was nothin'," he murmured, "I woulda raised it m'self, but she never even asked me. Then she took off back to London and I never seen her again 'til you all come out here four months ago."

"They took the baby away from her as soon as she was born," Captain Peacock offered.

"It was a girl?" he gasped, his eyes wide.

"Yes. They tore her from Betty's arms and put her up for adoption. Betty barely had a chance to look at her."

He put his grungy hand to his mouth, his chin quivered.

"And here I was told she got rid of my baby. I believed that all these years," he said sadly, leaning on the handle of the hayfork.

"The people on that other farm were horrible to her. She gave birth during a terrible storm; the farmer's wife was rough with her. They called her names and ridiculed her."

"I could see why she wouldn't want nothin' to do with me. I caused that," he acknowledged, "Then she come out here ta live and enjoy her retirement and I'm callin' her that hateful name what they all called her."

Mr. Moulterd was suddenly overcome with anguish. He looked at Captain Peacock and dropped his fork before scurrying off toward the milking barn.