Fan

Henry Hudson William

Description

In one of his only published works of long-form fiction, originally released under the pseudonym Henry Harford, prominent naturalist William Henry Hudson spins an epic, sweeping tale of a young girl's childhood and maturation amidst the squalor and poverty of London's depressed neighborhoods.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mars 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776678792
• Langue: English

Extrait

FAN
THE STORY OF A YOUNG GIRL'S LIFE
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WILLIAM HENRY HUDSON
 
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Fan The Story of a Young Girl's Life First published in 1892 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-879-2 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-880-8 © 2015 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Note Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Chapter XXX Chapter XXXI Chapter XXXII Chapter XXXIII Chapter XXXIV Chapter XXXV Chapter XXXVI Chapter XXXVII Chapter XXXVIII Chapter XXXIX Chapter XL Chapter XLI Chapter XLII Chapter XLIII Chapter XLIV Chapter XLV Chapter XLVI Chapter XLVII Chapter XLVIII
Note
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The novel Fan was originally published in 1892, under the pseudonymof "Henry Harford." It now makes its appearance under the name of W.H.Hudson for the first time.
Chapter I
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A Misty evening in mid-October; a top room in one of the small dingyhouses on the north side of Moon Street, its floor partially coveredwith pieces of drugget carpet trodden into rags; for furniture, an ironbed placed against the wall, a deal cupboard or wardrobe, a broken ironcot in a corner, a wooden box and three or four chairs, and a smallsquare deal table; on the table one candle in a tin candlestick gavelight to the two occupants of the room. One of these a woman sitting ina listless attitude before the grate, fireless now, although the eveningwas damp and chilly. She appeared strong, but just now was almostrepulsive to look at as she sat there in her dirty ill-fitting gown,with her feet thrust out before her, showing her broken muddy boots. Herfeatures were regular, even handsome; that, however, was little in herfavour when set against the hard red colour of her skin, which toldof habitual intemperance, and the expression, half sullen and halfreckless, of her dark eyes, as she sat there staring into the emptygrate. There were no white threads yet in her thick long hair that hadonce been black and glossy, unkempt now, like everything about her, witha dusky dead look in it.
On the cot in the corner rested or crouched a girl not yet fifteen yearsold, the woman's only child: she was trying to keep herself warm there,sitting close against the wall with her knees drawn up to enable her tocover herself, head included, with a shawl and an old quilt. Both weresilent: at intervals the girl would start up out of her wrappings andstare towards the door with a startled look on her face, apparentlylistening. From the street sounded the shrill animal-like cries ofchildren playing and quarrelling, and, further away, the low, dull,continuous roar of traffic in the Edgware Road. Then she would dropback again, to crouch against the wall, drawing the quilt about her,and remain motionless until a step on the stair or the banging of a doorbelow would startle her once more.
Meanwhile her mother maintained her silence and passive attitude, onlystirring when the light grew very dim; then she would turn half round,snuff the wick off with her fingers, and wipe them on her shabby dirtydress.
At length the girl started up, throwing her quilt quite off, andremained seated on the edge of her cot, the look of anxiety increasingevery moment on her thin pale face. In the matter of dress she seemedeven worse off than her mother, and wore an old tattered earth-colouredgown, which came down to within three or four inches of her ankles,showing under it ragged stockings and shoes trodden down at heel, somuch too large for her feet that they had evidently belonged to hermother. She looked tall for her years, but this was owing to her extremethinness. Her arms were like sticks, and her sunken cheeks showed thebones of her face; but it was a pathetic face, both on account of thewant and anxiety so plainly written on it and its promise of beauty.There was not a particle of colour in it, even the thin lips were almostwhite, but the eyes were of the purest grey, shaded by long dark lashes;while her hair, hanging uneven and disordered to her shoulders, was of apure golden brown.
"Mother, he's coming!" said the girl.
"Let him come!" returned the other, without looking up or stirring.
Slowly the approaching footsteps came nearer, stumbling up the dark,narrow staircase; then the door was pushed open and a man entered—abroad-chested, broad-faced rough-looking man with stubbly whiskers,wearing the dress and rusty boots of a labourer.
He drew a chair to the table and sat down in silence. Presently heturned to his wife.
"Well, what have you got to say?" he asked, in a somewhat unsteadyvoice.
"Nothing," she returned. "What have you got?"
"I've got tired of walking about for a job, and I want something to eatand drink, and that's what I've got."
"Then you'd better go where you can get it," said she. "You can't findwork, but you can find drink, and you ain't sober now."
For only answer he began whistling and drumming noisily on the table.Suddenly he paused and looked at her.
"Ain't you done that charing job, then?" he asked with a grin.
"Yes; and what's more, I got a florin and gave it to Mrs. Clark," shereplied.
"You blarsted fool! what did you do that for?"
"Because I'm not going to have my few sticks taken for rent and beturned into the street with my girl. That's what I did it for; and ifyou won't work you'll starve, so don't you come to me for anything."
Again he drummed noisily on the table, and hummed or tried to hum atune. Presently he spoke again:
"What's Fan been a-doing, then?"
"You know fast enough; tramping about the streets to sell a box ofmatches. A nice thing!"
"How much did she get?"
To this question no answer was returned.
"What did she get, I arsk you?" he repeated, getting up and putting hishand heavily on her shoulder.
"Enough for bread," she replied, shaking his hand off.
"How much?" But as she refused to answer, he turned to the girl andrepeated in a threatening tone, "How much?"
She sat trembling, her eyes cast down, but silent.
"I'll learn you to answer when you're spoken to, you damn barstard!" hesaid, approaching her with raised hand.
"Don't you hit her, you brute!" exclaimed his wife, springing in suddenanger to her feet.
"Oh, father, don't hit me—oh, please don't—I'll tell—I'll tell! I goteighteenpence," cried the girl, shrinking back terrified.
He turned and went back to his seat, grinning at his success in gettingat the truth. Presently he asked his wife if she had spent eighteenpencein bread.
"No, I didn't. I got a haddock for morning, and two ounces of tea, and aloaf, and a bundle of wood," she returned sullenly.
After an interval of a couple of minutes he got up, went to thecupboard, and opened it.
"There's the haddy right enough," he said. "No great things—costyou thrippence, I s'pose. Tea tuppence-ha'penny, and that'sfivepence-ha'penny, and a ha'penny for wood, and tuppence-ha'penny fora loaf makes eightpence-ha'penny. There's more'n ninepence over, Margy,and all I want is a pint of beer and a screw. Threepence—come now."
"I've nothing to give you," she returned doggedly.
"Then what did you do with it? How much gin did you drink—eh?"
"As much as I could get," she answered defiantly.
He looked at her, whistled and drummed, then got up and went out.
"Mother, he's gone," whispered Fan.
"No such luck. He's only going to ask Mrs. Clark if I gave her theflorin. He won't be long you'll see."
Very soon he did return and sat down again. "A pint and a screw, that'sall I want," he said, as if speaking to himself, and there was noanswer. Then he got up, put his hand on her shoulder, and almost shookher out of her chair. "Don't you hear?" he shouted.
"Let me alone, you drunken brute; I've got nothing, I tell you," shereturned, and after watching his face a few moments settled down again.
"All right, old woman, I'll leave you," he said, dropping his hands. Butsuddenly changing his mind, he swung round and dealt her a heavy blow.
She sprang up with a scream of anger and pain, and taking no noticeof Fan's piteous cries and pleadings, rushed at him; they struggledtogether for some moments, but the man was the strongest; very soon heflung her violently from him, and reeling away to some distance, andunable to recover her balance, she finally fell heavily on to the floor.
"Oh, mother, mother, he has killed you," sobbed Fan, throwing herselfdown beside the fallen woman and trying to raise her head.
"That I will, and you too," remarked the man, going back to his seat.
The woman, recovering from the shock, struggled to her feet and satdown again on her chair. She was silent, looking now neither angry norfrightened, but seemed half-dazed, and bending forward a little shecovered her eyes with her hand.
"Oh, mother, poor mother—are you hurt?" whispered Fan, trying to drawthe hand away to look into the bowed face.
"You go back to your corner and leave your mother to me," he said; andFan, after hesitating a few moments, rose and shrank away.
Presently he got up again, and seizing his wife by the wrist, draggedher hand forcibly from her face.
"Where's the coppers, you blarsted drunkard?" he shouted in her ear."D'ye think to get off with the little crack on the crown I've giv' you?I'll do for you to-night if you won