THE word “care-taker” conveys, or would seem to convey, an impression
that is both Christian and consolatory. To “take care” of things or
persons is eminently proper and virtuous,--to accept care, another
way of “taking” it,--namely, to willingly undergo a certain amount
of trouble and vexation in order to spare others, is really almost
sublime. But in these degenerate days of ours it does not always do to
give literal significations to words in common use. They often, with
strange and unaccountable capriciousness, mean the exact reverse of
what they seem. “Care-taker” is a notable example of this fact,--for
in the modern acceptance of the term it really signifies an individual
who, so far as material and mundane needs go, is totally free from
care, and who, moreover, has no intention of “taking care” of anything
or anybody. “Care-taker” means a person, sometimes masculine, but more
often feminine, who lives rent-free and pays no taxes,--who has a
small stock of generally useful second-hand furniture which is moved at
his or her command from house to house wherever best convenience calls,
and who is paid for eating, drinking, sleeping, and doing nothing in
“desirable mansions” whose owners are out of town, or who, for some
dark reason connected with the funds, are wishful “To Let Immediately.”
Care-takers are not at all like the rest of humanity; they are a race
apart, with peculiar manners and customs of their own. Many of them
have a fondness for the “cup that cheers;” many more exhibit a decided
partiality for the glass which “inebriates.” Some of them would even
appear to use whisky as a general and agreeable perfume, to judge
from the odours which are diffused from their hair and clothes, when
they open front doors to belated inquirers after absent friends, or
any seekers after unfurnished houses. Whosoever is in the latter
category of sufferers and martyrs deserves and shall have our sincerest
sympathy. We know what he is going through! We know what the “agents”
will do to him! He will be told that there is a “Charming Residence”
on the “delightful elevation” of Campden Hill, for instance, and he
will find out that it is nothing but a small and paltry “semi-detached”
in the depressing depths of the Holland Villas Road, with the bath-tap
broken and the water coming through. He will wander hopefully into
Mayfair, decoyed by the prospect of living “off Park Lane” in a “bijou”
establishment--
Stop! I really must break off here to deliver a solemn warning
against this word “bijou.” Beware of it!--all good patient folk who
go house-hunting, beware of it! Fly from that fatal expression as you
would from the plague! “Bijou” has a delightful meaning in ordinary
French parlance; it signifies a “jewel” and, when used as a term of
endearment, a “darling.” Charming!--oh, yes!--quite soothing to the
mind is this pretty word in _French_. But in plain, downright,
house-agenty English it means “den,”--“hole,”--or “rather dark
cellarage.” It has nothing to do with jewels or darlings. It implies a
want of room and a bad smell. It does indeed. It is like the frequently
advertised “Artistic Residence,”--which means dark corners and small
windows,--namely, very little air and no light. Once understand these
things, and you will not be twice deceived. And this brings me round
to the subject I started with--“care-takers,” because it was at a
“bijou” place I came into collision with the first example of that
species. The “bijou” in question was near the Park; a small house
squeezed in between two monster ones. The street-door looked like a
narrow slit in the wall, and the windows were black with soot that had
accumulated surely for several years,--months could hardly have done
it. I rang the cracked bell, and waited some ten minutes,--finally a
shuffling step was heard inside (care-takers always walk with a shuffle
like a certain _genus_ of baboon), and a female appeared, hastily
pulling her dress over a somewhat _décolletée_ bosom. Her hair was
wildly negligent,--her eye bloodshot and severe,--one tooth projected
over her underlip,--the rest of the dental arrangement was missing. She
surveyed me with a malign and discouraging aspect, apparently scorning
to open the conversation. So I began:
“This house is to let, I believe? Can I see it?”
“Where’s yer order?” demanded the lady.