Looking even prettier than he remembered from their brief encounter at the Dalton's, Abigail was seated primly in a rattan armchair rather than reclining on one of the punees. When he reached out his hand in greeting, she put hers in it willingly enough, but when he bent to kiss her fingertips, she pulled away."Sorry, I forgot," he said, blushing furiously. "You know my unclean secret."
"I beg your pardon?" she said, offended that he had taken advantage of her willingness to help him by indulging in an unwelcome romantic gesture.
He shrugged. "I do not blame you for being afraid that I might infect you," he said, ready to bolt at the first sign of her pity.
"I am not afraid!" Abigail exclaimed, insulted beyond measure. "Must I remind you that I am here to discover who is poisoning you?" Her tone was querulous as she reached for the pot to pour his tea. "We have no time to spare for dallying." Even as she reprimanded him, Abigail could not help but observe how singularly attractive the young man was. Her sympathies already engaged by his perilous position, she steeled herself against such errant thoughts. "One lump or two?" she asked, her voice flat, holding the tiny silver tongs aloft.
"None, thank you." Usually girls responded to his skillfully bestowed kiss and flirtatious expression, with smiles. It was not uncommon for them to dissolve into fits of giggles, which rendered their eyes soft and inviting. Not so Abigail. He pulled up a matching rattan chair at an angle to the table that held the tea service. Seating himself, he nodded his thanks for the tea, took a sip, and bided his time.
"I must ask you some questions, Mr. Tarkington." Hoping to put him at ease, she did not look at him directly, but gave her entire attention to the task of stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea as she continued, "Given the nature of your--ah--difficulty, you may find them personal, if not indelicate."
"Fire away, Miss Danforth," he replied in that overhearty manner used with children. "My sister warned me that you fancy yourself to be a consulting detective."
"It is no mere fancy, Mr. Tarkington," she replied, unruffled by his taunting demeanor. He was not the first man, nor was he likely to be the last, who had difficulty taking her seriously.
"You must admit it is a queer profession for a girl." Leaning forward, Matthew placed his cup on the table. "Especially one as pretty as you," he added with a teasing grin.
Abigail drew herself tall, her expression grim. "We are not here to discuss my appearance, Mr. Tarkington--"
"I daresay, Miss Danforth," he interrupted. "But beauty is its own excuse for being."
Abigail bristled. "Nor am I here to listen to quotes from Emerson, sir," she replied, her voice ice.
Matthew was unaware that he had quoted anyone, knowing only that the compliment had pleased every girl he'd ever said it to, but before he could find a reply, a bone-deep pain shot through his right shin. He gasped, all color draining from his face.
Alarmed by his obvious distress, all resentment at his patronizing behavior disappeared. "Are you all right, Mr. Tarkington?" she asked.
"It is nothing," he lied. The pain subsided as quickly as it had come, but it left him badly shaken. He knew only too well that he had just received a clear signal that the disease was progressing. "Do you really believe someone might be trying to poison me?" he asked. His shin ached with the memory, and he could not hide the fear that clouded his eyes.
"I shall endeavor to find out," she replied with a confidence she was far from feeling, since her research had proven so hollow. "Do you feel well enough to answer some questions?"
"Of course!" he snapped, offended that she might think him so weak that a little pain could deter him.
"Would you happen to know the whereabouts of your brother?"
"My brother?" Matthew looked blank for a moment. "Ahhhh!" he exhaled. "You must be referring to the Tarkington skeleton." His laugh was harsh. "Luke is twenty years older than I, Miss Danforth. If I saw him once, I do not remember it. And should I meet him on the street it is unlikely I should recognize him."
"I see," she said thoughtfully, filing away his response and its fleeting revelation of bitterness. "Might I ask when you first noticed your symptoms?"
It took all his self control to refrain from rubbing his shin, and it cost him his good temper. "You are one for questions, are you not?" His tone was irritable.
"It should be obvious to you that I must make inquiries if I am to find answers, sir," she said, beginning to lose patience. With a great effort at regaining it, she continued reasonably, "It would be most helpful if I knew when your--ah--difficulties began."
He shrugged. "I do not remember."
"Come, come, Mr. Tarkington," she glanced at him in disbelief. "You cannot remember such an important event?"
"My life is an active one, Miss Danforth," he said impatiently, yet with an appraising glance at the serious girl. Even as he spoke, he wondered if a smile would soften her expression and make her more feminine. "I ride the fields with the luna, and work with the men in the mill. When the waves are up, and I have time, I surf. If I gave note to every bump and scrape, I'd soon be branded a hypochondriac - or worse."
"Then I do not suppose you would recall a bite from an insect of some kind?"
He laughed outright. It was not a merry sound. "Have you not suffered through an invasion of our infamous mosquitoes?" he asked scornfully.
Abigail blushed, furious with herself for not thinking the question through.
His grin was mischievous as he leaned forward to speak in a conspiratorial tone. "Why there are swarms of centipedes in the piles of bagasse right outside my office. Enough to give an army symptoms. I might have been bitten at any time."
Abigail closed her eyes. "An articulated arthropod animal of the class Myriapoda and order Chilopoda, because of its many legs. Most are harmless. Those of the genus Scolopendra do attain great size." There was a slight twinkle in her eyes when she opened them. "While the larger ones are poisonous, you would most certainly have a large welt at the site, and probably run a fever." Her smile was fleeting, and did nothing to soften her expression. "Not a likely culprit, sir."
Her recitation appalled him. "Is that so?" he replied, his eyes wide. "Now what on earth would possess a girl to fill her pretty little head with all that nonsense?"
Abigail had much on her mind to accomplish in the short time they were allowed to be alone together, and did not wish to be distracted from her goal. But his reaction so annoyed her, that she could not resist responding, "To save you from Molokai, sir!"
He stood and paced to the edge of the lanai before returning to stand over her. "And what makes you think you can do that?"
Abigail looked directly into his eyes. "I can but try, Mr. Tarkington," she replied gravely.
"My meddlesome sister had no business talking to you!" Suddenly he bent down and, placing his hands on the arms of her chair, bent alarmingly close to her face. "It is against nature for girls to spout science, and ask so many questions." Raising himself up, he bowed slightly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must look in on father." Turning on his heel, he left a nonplussed Abigail staring after him.