The patient in bed four had a fever that had been climbing since noon.
Cedric stood at the bedside with the chart in one hand and his other pressed flat against the man's forehead, counting seconds. The fever was manageable. It was high but not dangerous yet. It was the kind that needed monitoring rather than immediate intervention.
He was in the middle of giving instructions to the attending nurse about the timing of the next compress when the door opened.
A different nurse appeared in the gap — young and slightly breathless.
"Dr Ashford," she said. "Your brother is..."
Cedric didn't look up from the chart immediately.
"Which one?" he said.
"Lord Arthur, sir. Room seven. He's been asking for you."
Cedric finished writing the instructions on the chart and handed it to the attending nurse.
"Compress every twenty minutes," he said. "If the temperature climbs past one hundred and three, send for me."
"Yes, Doctor."
He walked out.
.
.
