For this purpose she borrowed one of the carriages, and gave orders to be driven into the city to the house of Mr Briggs.
She told her name, and was shewn, by a little shabby footboy, into a parlour.
Here she waited, with tolerable patience, for half an hour, but then, imagining the boy had forgotten to tell his master she was in the house, she thought it expedient to make some enquiry.
No bell, however, could she find, and therefore she went into the passage in search of the footboy; but, as she was proceeding to the head of the kitchen stairs, she was startled by hearing a man's voice from the upper part of the house exclaiming, in a furious passion, “Dare say you've filched it for a dish-clout!”
She called out, however, “Are any of Mr Briggs's servants below?”
“Anan!” answered the boy, who came to the foot of the stairs, with a knife in one hand and an old shoe, upon the sole of which he was sharpening it, in the other, “Does any one call?”
“Yes,” said Cecilia, “I do; for I could not find the bell.”
“O, we have no bell in the parlour,” returned the boy, “master always knocks with his stick.”
“I am afraid Mr Briggs is too busy to see me, and if so, I will come another time.”
“No, ma'am,” said the boy, “master's only looking over his things from the wash.”