Penhaligon's Gift

Book 3: Penhaligon Saga

by Terri Nixon

Genres: Sagas; Historical Romance; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

The thrilling third installment in Terri Nixon's Penhaligon Saga series — perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Dilly Court and Rosie Goodwin.

Cornwall, 1911. Freya Penhaligon is eagerly awaiting the return of her beau, the historian Tristan MacKenzie, but the surprise arrival of her mother on the same coach brings uneasiness and suspicion to more than the Penhaligon family.

When Tristan proposes marriage to Freya it feels like the beginning of a new life for her, and an excuse to shake off their troubled past; but not all his family are pleased with the news, and Freya finds herself viewed with hostility and mistrust.

Meanwhile the Batten family is launching an ambitious new building project, but, faced with financial difficulties and family secrets coming to light, they discover that station and privilege are no barriers to intrigue and disaster.

When Freya finally discovers the truth behind Isabel's return, it shakes her to the core and makes her look at life with new eyes. Life in Caernoweth is on the cusp of change, but can she embrace what lies in store?

Release date: December 6, 2018

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 384

Sample

Anna Penhaligon: formerly Anna Garvey. She arrived in Caernoweth to take up the inheritance of the local pub. She and her daughter had left Ireland in the wake of the death of a local banker’s son, killed accidentally by Mairead when he had attacked her on a deserted beach. To protect her daughter, Anna said it was she who’d killed him, and the authorities in Ireland were informed that she herself had died at sea. Anna was almost killed during a terrifying summer storm, and she now lives with the Penhaligons, and has recently found out she is pregnant.

Matthew Penhaligon: a recovering alcoholic, and a lifelong fisherman who was forced to take a job as a miner following the death of Roland, his friend and skipper, when the trawler on which he worked was left to the skipper’s son James. Matthew was caught up in an underground explosion at Wheal Furzy, and badly injured. Later he and James rebuilt their friendship, and James sold the trawler, the Pride of Porthstennack, to Matthew, who is gradually regaining his health and is now able to do limited work in the industry he loves.

Freya Penhaligon: Matthew’s daughter. She was washed off the Porthstennack harbour wall as a child, and nearly drowned, and is only just beginning to lose her subsequent fear of the sea. Her mother Isabel took her to live in London and attend private school there, but she returned to Caernoweth after several years and now works in the struggling family bookshop, Penhaligon’s Attic. She became close to a visiting author and historian, Tristan MacKenzie, and, despite their disagreements over whether he should publish certain findings, they soon realised they were in love. Tristan had to leave Caernoweth, to attend to family business, and neither expected him to return, until Freya received a telegram on Christmas Eve.

Tristan MacKenzie: Author and historian originally from Honiton in Devon. He is researching the English Civil War period, and the discovery of a set of journals has led him to Caernoweth, where he has discovered the town has a much darker history than anyone had believed. Falling in love with Freya put him in a difficult position, due to her insistence that revealing the truth would have a devastating effect on her family. They had just overcome this conflict with his professional integrity, when he was called away to America to deal with a family crisis.

Mairead Casey: Anna’s daughter, who suffers from mild epilepsy that takes the form of absence seizures. Clever and complicated, with a head for figures, she helped Freya turn the shop around and they soon became close; Freya is the person in whom Mairead confided the truth about the murder in Ireland. Mairead spent some time away, getting to know family she had never previously met, and is now blossoming and finding her confidence around strangers.

James Fry: a former friend of Matthew’s, and the only son of popular fisherman Roland. He left Caernoweth at seventeen to train as an architect, and originally returned to try and set up his own business in town. He is now using his stone mason’s skills to help rebuild the parts of Porthstennack that had been destroyed in the storm, but still dreams of starting his own architecture business.

Isabel Webb: Freya’s mother, a wealthy Spanish stowaway who Matthew met in Plymouth, and who fell for the romantic notion of life with a handsome sailor. Sadly the reality of Matthew’s difficult existence did not measure up, and after the accident that almost claimed her daughter’s life, she and Freya left Caernoweth. Isabel later married a politician and moved to America, allowing Freya to return to live with her father.

Lucy Batten: youngest daughter at Pencarrack House. She has been obsessed with dance and theatre all her life, and is determined to find a career that will let her indulge her passion. She became friendly with Tristan’s research assistant, Teddy, and there is an undeniable but unspoken spark between them. Lucy finds herself constantly expected to care for her sister’s son, Harry, who has a habit of running wild at every opportunity.

Various townspeople, including:

Esther Trevellick: she and her husband worked for Anna at the Tin Streamer’s Arms, until Joe’s recent death. Now Esther lives and works there with her eldest grandson, Alan, and her youngest grandson Tommy lives with them and works at Wheal Furzy.

Ellen Scoble: the first person to approach Anna as a friend. A widow with a young son, she is struggling to make ends meet, and works as a bal maiden at Wheal Furzy.

Doctor Andrew Bartholomew: initially disapproving of Anna, but was so taken by the way she turned the town around and created a sense of community, that he was the one who suggested he produce a false death certificate in order to protect her.

Susan Gale: his housekeeper. An inquisitive woman, and grandmother to three unruly youngsters.

Nancy Gilbert: a young widow who now lives in the house that used to be the home of the Penhaligons before Isabel left. She has four children: Gerald, Joseph, Tory and Matty. She works at her parents’ farm and has not bothered to hide either her attraction to Matthew, or her mistrust of Anna.

The Battens: Pencarrack House overlooks the town and is the home of Charles, who owns several of the town’s properties and businesses; his son Hugh, who has formed an attachment to Freya Penhaligon; his two daughters, Dorothy and Lucy, and Dorothy’s illegitimate and adventuresome eleven-year-old son, Harry.

Arric: The pub’s cat. Found as a kitten by Joe Trevellick, by the side of the road, he terrorises the hens and takes every opportunity to show Anna who really owns the Tinner’s Arms.

March 1911. Penhaligon’s Attic, Caernoweth

The clock’s hands inched onward, almost as if they didn’t care that today was special. Didn’t care that, at eleven o’clock this morning, the coach from Bodmin would roll into the courtyard of the Caernoweth Hotel, just as it did twice every day, only this time everything would change. Eleven o’clock was now only fifty minutes away, and after seven months of waiting, fifty minutes was both too long and nowhere near long enough.

Freya Penhaligon smoothed her dress for the hundredth time, and took a deep breath, trying to let it out slowly and give her heart a chance to settle down. She tugged at the tiny frills on the ends of her sleeves, as if Tristan would notice they weren’t lying evenly and climb straight back onto the coach again.

Her stepsister stopped writing, laid down her pen, and shook her head. ‘Stop fussing, you’re grand! He’ll be the one hoping to live up to expectation.’

‘What if he remembers me prettier than I am?’ Freya blurted, and winced at how shallow it sounded.

‘And what if he does? I imagine he likes you for a little more than the way your face is arranged. If he didn’t he wouldn’t be making the journey all the way down here, on the off-chance he might still fancy you.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right. And it could be the other way about anyway – can you remember him clearly?’

‘Sort of. But I keep seeing him the way he looked when I first met him, all puffy-eyed and grim-tempered. That picture’s as vivid as anything.’

‘And you still fell for him despite all that, don’t forget.’ Mairead picked up her pen again. ‘And I know a fella in love when I see one.’

‘You weren’t here when we were fighting about those journals,’ Freya pointed out, ‘you’d already left for Ireland by then. He was so stubborn.’

‘But he realised it eventually, didn’t he? And he took your side in the end, he chose you over his principles. Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know?’

‘It should, I know.’ Freya placed her hands over her stomach as if she could calm the flutters just by pressing there. Hers and Tristan’s history was a short but intense one: hesitant friendship, followed quickly by acceptance of their deeper feelings, their discovery of the one thing that might part them, and their determination not to let it. But in the end it had been something outside the control of either that had driven him back to America, and both had truly believed that what they’d found together was gone forever. But now, after months of delays and disappointments, he was finally coming home.

‘It’s been a long time,’ Mairead said, more gently, ‘and a great deal’s happened since you saw him.’

Freya nodded. There had been the awful storm last August, and the worry over Anna’s injuries, not to mention the devastation of so many homes in Porthstennack, and the resulting disruption in town. Then there was the crushing disappointment of Tristan’s letter, explaining he had been further detained in America after all, and urging her to seek happiness elsewhere.

Worse than all of that, and leaving a cold, empty place in their newly crowded home, Grandpa Robert had been reunited with his beloved Grace during the bitterly cold January just past, a little under a year since his stroke. Papá had steeled himself for it, but it had still hit him hard when it had happened, particularly since they had only recently buried the simmering resentments that had kept them from truly knowing one another over the years. Only the news of Anna’s pregnancy had been able to lift everyone’s spirits.

Freya looked once more at the grandfather clock; if she walked very slowly, perhaps stopped to talk to someone on the way—

‘Of course, that clock might be running slow,’ Mairead mused. Freya’s eyes shot wide, and Mairead grinned. ‘It’s not, don’t worry!’

Freya tilted her hat, using the glass front of the clock as a mirror, and eyed her stepsister’s reflection. ‘I can never tell if you’re being serious.’

‘And you probably never will.’

‘I liked you better before you discovered a sense of humour.’

‘You did not.’

‘No,’ Freya agreed, and tried to imitate Mairead’s accent. ‘I did not!’

‘Go on, then.’ Mairead leaned on the shop’s counter. ‘Away and meet your man. I think you’ll probably recognise him, there can’t be too many devastatingly handsome young men coming to town, after all.’

‘Devastatingly?’

‘Well, passing attractive,’ Mairead amended. ‘Hurry now, if he thinks you’ve forgotten him he’ll be back on that coach before you can blink.’

‘Mairead!’ Freya straightened her shoulders, and resisted the urge to tug at her sleeves again. This was Tristan. She loved him.

And in a little under an hour she would remember why.

Freya stood in her old spot by the stables to await the arrival of the coach. Self-conscious in her Sunday best, she tried to avoid catching the eye of her supervisor, who was scurrying from back door to laundry – particularly since the Caernoweth hotel seemed to be so strangely busy for a Tuesday mid-morning. But her very stillness drew Fiona Tremar’s eye, and she stopped in surprise.

‘Don’t lounge about, get changed into your uniform. Or aren’t you still doing extra shifts?’

Freya shook her head, pulling herself upright. ‘I’m not working today, Miss. Nor tomorrow. I’m just waiting for the coach.’

‘All right for some,’ Miss Tremar grumbled. Her glance travelled over Freya’s hat and dress, and she sniffed. ‘We’ve got a right busy time coming up, so they do say. Something about a new building the Battens are involved in. Likely all the rooms’ll be filled.’ With another cross look at Freya she vanished into the laundry shed, and Freya turned as she heard the sound of the approaching coach.

Her nerves were still strung tight, but now the sensation was accompanied by warmth, and a swelling excitement. The first few people alighted, standing around in small groups with those who had come to meet them, and Freya had to stand on tip-toe to peer past them, but finally she saw him. Dark wavy hair, and an open, friendly face that drew the eye, contrasted as it was with the stern straightness of his eyebrows. The smile wasn’t there now, but when it came it would light the world around him – he couldn’t help but make people smile back. How could she have forgotten that?

She watched him descend the few steps to the ground, rolling his shoulders in a familiar gesture to ease the stiffness of travel, and she crossed her fingers in hope that he would be just as pleased to see her; those seven months sat between them like a foreign land. She seized what remained of her courage, and stepped forward about to call out, then froze.

He couldn’t have been expecting her to have come up today; if he had been he would have instantly scanned the crowds for her, and he would have found her smiling and excited. Instead he turned to help someone down from the carriage: a woman, staring down at her feet so all Freya could see was the top of her rather-too-large hat. Short but shapely, and extremely well dressed, the woman grasped Tristan’s hand as she concentrated on placing her boots carefully on the narrow steps and allowed him to guide her to solid ground. This was no mere fellow-traveller, someone with whom Tristan had engaged in polite conversation on the dull journey from Bodmin; he was looking down at her and laughing, maybe even teasing her in that gentle way he had. Freya’s heart stuck, and struggled to find a beat again, and she twisted this way and that, seeking an escape from the crowd that wouldn’t draw attention to herself. Finding none, she turned hopelessly back to the scene by the coach, to see that Tristan had been cornered by one of his fellow-travellers, and had stepped aside and released the woman’s hand. His companion lifted her hat brim away from her face and peered around, and Freya didn’t know whether to laugh in relief, or cry with joy.

‘Mama?’

Tristan was locked in conversation, and as Freya hurried towards the coach she didn’t know who to greet first, but Mama took the decision out of her hands by coming to meet her.

‘Mi tesoro!’ she whispered against Freya’s cheek. ‘It has been too long!’ She held Freya at arm’s length and studied her. ‘I am so sorry to have missed your birthday, and by only a few days, too! You have grown into such a beauty.’

Freya blushed. From the corner of her eye she saw Tristan absently stroking one of the horses while he chatted, and thought for one moment that her heart would actually burst with the delight of these two people being here. Mama released her and moved aside. ‘Go and greet him,’ she said in a low voice, and smiled. ‘He told me you would be at work today, he will be as delighted as I am to see you. I will wait over here.’

Freya squeezed her hand, and went to where Tristan was bidding farewell to his new friend.

‘You might have to hurry,’ he was saying, ‘they might have been sold by now.’

‘And they’ll give good insight on the land around the fort?’

‘I’m certain of it.’

‘Then I’ll call in this very afternoon. Thank you.’

Tristan shook the man’s hand, and turned, and Freya’s breath stopped, her fear returning in a rush as their eyes met. His friendly smile had fallen away, and for a moment they looked at one another in silence. He stood close enough to touch, but he didn’t reach out. What if he had changed, and no longer wanted her near him? What if he had come back merely out of courtesy, to break things off gently, and in person? He had tried to end things by a letter before, so perhaps this time he wanted to be sure it was over.

Tristan studied her face, and Freya, keeping her own gaze somewhere around his chin, could feel the prickle of sweat along her hairline. Her fingers itched to reach for his, and she kept them firmly curled into her gloveless palms. The last thing she wanted was to make him uncomfortable, and to feel him trying to extricate himself from an unwanted embrace; better never to touch him again, than that. They had been too long apart, too much had happened … They were different people now.

‘There you are.’ His voice was quiet, contented, and she couldn’t speak for the relief that thundered through her. He bent his head to hers, and the touch of his lips awoke everything that had been gently slumbering these past months. As he folded her against him everything else faded, and Freya became lost in the breathless joy of knowing he still loved her. It didn’t matter that people were looking at them, and she didn’t care whether or not there was disapproval on their faces, Tristan was here.

When they parted he was smiling, and she could feel the restless movement of his thumb against her jaw, as if he was still testing the reality of her.

‘Welcome back,’ she said, surprised to hear her own voice sounding relatively normal.

‘Hmm. As welcomes go, that was almost worth the wait. Will you welcome me again later?’

Freya laughed. ‘Of course. It’s only polite, after all.’

‘I look forward to it.’ Day-to-day necessities had no place here, but Tristan looked reluctantly at the coach. ‘I suppose I ought to collect our luggage before it ends up back in Bodmin.’

‘Left to Mama, it probably would,’ Freya agreed. ‘She appears to have forgotten all about it.’

‘Go and talk to her, I’ll join you in a minute.’

Rejoining her mother, Freya belatedly asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’

‘I wanted to surprise you. I think I was the one who was more surprised, though.’ She gestured at Tristan, coming towards them with their cases. ‘Imagine my astonishment when I learned why this particular young man was coming here?’

‘How did you come to talk to one another, anyway?’

‘We played a game on board the Mauretania on the last night of the voyage, and the teams were chosen by our different destinations. We spoke of many things on the journey. He is a very impressive and accomplished person, I think.’

Freya smiled, trying not to look too proud. ‘I did tell you about him when I wrote.’

‘Yes, but you never said he was quite so handsome.’

Tristan put the cases down beside them and cocked an eyebrow at Freya. ‘You didn’t? Might I ask why not?’

‘Because I’d forgotten that part. All I could remember was that you had a face like a street-wrestler – a losing one – and that you were furious with me.’ Her voice softened. ‘And by the time I realised neither of those things mattered, everything else did.’

‘Oh, you two are so sweet!’ Mama caught each of them by the hand. ‘Now, I must check in, and rest a while. I will come to the shop later, when your Papá is home.’ She looked at the hotel with a little frown. ‘Do you know, all the years I lived in this town, I used to dream of staying here.’

‘Why are you here?’

Mama put on a little half-smiling pout. ‘Are you not happy to see me?’

‘You know I am! But why now?’

‘It’s the perfect time for a little vacation. Henry, my husband,’ she added to Tristan, ‘has business that has taken him across to the West Coast. I found myself with a lot of time on my hands, and a daughter I miss horribly.’ She squeezed Freya’s hand. ‘I was so sorry to hear of Robert’s passing. Matthew must be devastated.’

‘He was. We all were,’ Freya said quietly. ‘None of us expected Grandpa to go so suddenly like that.’

‘And your stepmother?’ There was an undeniable edge to her voice as she asked, but Freya ignored it.

‘She and Grandpa were great friends, after a bit of a difficult start.’

‘Yes, you told me how she was there when he had his stroke.’

‘She pretended to be a nurse, just so he’d let her help him. He could be a cantankerous sort, but he trusted her.’

They fell silent, each with their own memories of Robert Penhaligon, who had never really taken to his son’s first wife the way he had taken to Anna, and made no secret of it. Nevertheless Mama’s sorrow seemed genuine, even if it was probably more for Papá’s sake.

As if hearing the thought as it crossed Freya’s mind, Mama spoke again. ‘Freya, tell me the truth now. How is Matthew? He is able to work again?’

‘Yes. He’s healed well. And being back on the boats has lifted his spirits.’ Freya hadn’t told her about Anna’s pregnancy, and didn’t feel it was her place to do so. She would find out soon enough. ‘He’s almost back to being able to do everything he could before, but now and again his arm gives him too much pain, and he has to let Ern Bolitho take over.’

‘I’m glad he has someone to help,’ Mama said. ‘I always liked Mr Bolitho.’ She stifled a yawn, and Tristan picked up the cases again.

‘Let me carry this in for you.’

‘Are you staying here too?’ Freya asked him, watching Mama lead the way into the hotel. She lowered her voice. ‘It’s very expensive. I’m sure if we ask in town someone will have a room. James Fry is in your old room at Doctor Bartholomew’s, but—’

‘It’s only until Friday morning, I can afford it until then.’

Freya stopped, her heart sinking. Tristan was halfway over the step, and turned back. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

‘Friday?’ Her voice came out small and disappointed. ‘Can’t you stay a little longer?’

‘Do you want me to?’

Freya felt words bubbling up that had no place in such a respectable environment, then she saw the glint in his eyes. ‘I could bear it,’ she said dryly. ‘Just about.’

He grinned. ‘Come on. I’ll get checked in, then I’ll explain.’

At the desk, Mama had joined the short queue of new arrivals. She turned to greet Freya and Tristan as they came in, but a frown creased her brow, and Freya twisted to follow her gaze; Hugh Batten and his older sister Dorothy were stepping over the threshold into the hotel’s busy lobby. They must be here to greet guests, something to do with that building project Miss Tremar had mentioned, but even so it was odd to see them together without Harry to bond them; they were not the closest of siblings. Hugh was much closer to his younger sister Lucy. Freya wished, for a moment, she had not told her mother of Hugh’s advances during the storm last year, but there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on that now. She just hoped Mama wouldn’t cause a scene.

Hugh caught sight of Freya, and his face lightened until he also saw Tristan. Then he arranged his expression into one of polite welcome. ‘Mr MacKenzie. Freya.’

Freya felt Tristan tense beside her, at the casual use of her first name, but he didn’t know how closely she and Hugh had worked together in the storm, and how that night had broken down more than physical fences. Once he did, he would understand.

‘It’s nice to see you, Hugh,’ she said, with real warmth. ‘And you of course, Miss Batten.’ She nodded at Dorothy with a more detached politeness, then seized the chance to put the past where it belonged. ‘Hugh, I’d like you to meet my mother, Isabel.’

Mama’s eyes passed over a tight-featured Dorothy on their way to Hugh, and then she smiled. ‘I’ve heard many a kind word spoken about you, Mr Batten.’

‘Likewise,’ Hugh murmured, and took Mama’s hand. ‘How lovely to meet you properly at last.’

In a brief moment of muted memory, Freya recalled the first time she had met Hugh, when he had nearly knocked her off the pavement outside the civic offices. She’d been surprised to learn that he knew who Mama was, after all he’d have been only twelve when the two of them had left town on the same coach as his sister. It was strange to think of her eight-year-old self, staring out of the window and trying to capture the memory of her home, and how her tired and sad gaze would have slid, unseeing, past the boy with whom she was destined to share such a fear-filled night years later.

‘Back to work on the journals a bit more, are you?’ Dorothy said to Tristan, tugging Freya’s attention back to the present. She too put out her hand, and Tristan gave it a brief shake.

‘Teddy Kempton will be joining me shortly,’ he said. ‘So, with your kind permission, yes please. We’d very much like to continue our research.’

‘Mr Batten?’ A loud voice cut across the lobby, and the same man to whom Tristan had been speaking at the coach strode towards them. Hugh and Dorothy straightened at the sight of him, but Dorothy stepped back, allowing Hugh to move forward.

‘Go on then,’ she muttered. ‘Better not let him know he’s dealing with a woman, after all.’

‘I will call on you later, mi tesoro.’ Mama kissed Freya’s cheek, and took her leave before their little group could grow any bigger. As she left she shot a dark look at the Battens, though they were too busy exchanging irritated glances with each other to notice.

Freya drew Tristan away to the desk so he could book himself in. ‘Who is he?’ she asked, gesturing at the newcomer.

‘His name’s Pagett. He’s here to discuss a joint purchase of Caernoweth Fort with the Battens, but he was expecting Charles. He won’t want to deal with Miss Batten.’

‘Well Hugh has absolutely no idea about the family business,’ Freya said. ‘If he’s got to convince Mr Pagett he’s in charge, he’s going to be doing an awful lot of playacting.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be quite good at that.’ Tristan gave his name to the receptionist, and Freya’s spirits dropped as she heard the young man confirming Tristan was only staying until Friday; distracted by the unexpected arrival of Hugh and Dorothy Batten, it had slipped her mind. The formalities observed, Tristan left his case in the lobby, and took Freya’s arm in his as they walked out into the noon sunshine.

‘It must have been quite a shock to see your mother like that.’

‘It was the best kind of shock I could have wished for,’ she smiled. ‘But I don’t know how Anna will feel. Or Papá, come to that. Anyway, what were you saying about Friday?’

‘Yes, I hadn’t really thought about how it might affect Anna. How is she?’

‘She’s well.’ Freya shook at his arm, growing impatient. ‘Friday?’

‘I gather one of the teachers from the free school is getting married?’

‘Tristan!’

He laughed. ‘No, this time it’s connected, I promise. Miss Trethewey, I think?’

‘Yes, she’s marrying James Rowe. Why?’

‘Her cottage belongs to the Pencarrack Estate, and Teddy has been negotiating a nice little rental agreement for us both when she moves into her marital home. With Lucy Batten’s very willing help, of course.’

Freya stopped dead, her heart picking up a quick, light beat. ‘You’ll be living here?’

‘For a while. Until the book’s finished, at least. Teddy will probably leave then.’

But Freya, much as she liked Teddy, wasn’t interested in his plans at this moment. ‘And what about you?’

‘I think I’d like to stay.’ He bent and kissed Freya’s cheek. ‘I think I’d like that quite a lot, actually.’

‘So would I.’ Freya’s smile grew wider. They began to walk again, and the feel of his hand in hers was as familiar again now as if he’d never been away.

‘The cottage has a little bit of land at the back,’ he said. ‘Part of Priddy Farm. That means I can bring Bill.’

‘Bill?’

‘Haven’t I told you about Bill?’

‘I’m assuming he’s not a colleague, or a friend, since you plan on keeping him in a field.’

‘Oh, he’s a friend,’ Tristan assured her. ‘The best of friends. He’s about sixteen hands, and a little bit chunkier than he ought to be, but some good, regular exercise will soon put him right.’

‘Will you teach me to ride?’

‘You can’t ride?’ Tristan affected a shocked look, and Freya pulled a face.

‘I grew up in London,’ she reminded him. ‘There was no need to learn.’

‘Then yes, I’ll teach you to ride. If you’ll do something for me.’

‘Let’s see. Bring biscuits twice daily? Take in your laundry? Stock your book when it comes out?’

‘Marry me.’ He stopped walking, and it took a moment for his words to sink in, and even then Freya thought he was joking, but as he pulled her back to stand bef. . .