Sybil took his hand, clasping it tightly for a moment. 'I shall try to find you a priest,' she told him, and she would try, although whether there would be a Catholic priest in a magical American town in the future she really couldn't say. It wasn't her first priority, but it was clearly very important to her patient. He came from Rome. Rome at a time of plague, and if Sybil's governess had taught her more history instead of wasting time with French and needlework she might have known when that was.
'Listen,' she said, still close by his bedside. 'You did what you thought was best, burning that palace, but where I'm from we don't resort to such drastic measures. I don't think you have the plague. There would be a rash, if you did.' She hoped she was right on that point - plague hadn't been a high priority in the few months of training she'd had - and she busied herself then by making sure he was as comfortable as he could be, rearranging pillows and removing heavy blankets.
'Now,' she said, once she was done. 'I've only got a few more questions so that I can do my best to treat what you do have. I need to know if you've been coughing, or have any pain in your head or neck, and if you've got anything on the premises that I might give you, laudanum, or...' He'd tell her what he had, it'd do until she could purchase more. It was a lot for a sick man to take in, Sybil knew, but she spoke slowly, trying to be careful that he understood. 'And the last thing I need,' she said, giving him a small, encouraging smile, 'is a name to call you by, Mr...?'