As soon as I was alone with Miss Courtenay, in the corner of the drawing room, she decided that she needed to have the last word. Miss Barlow’s beautiful playing floated through the whole room, and Mrs. Barlow fluttered about looking for some special color of thread. But Miss Courtenay could apparently think of nothing better to do than to continue the conversation that should have ended at the table.

“I must confess, I do not agree at all with what you were saying at dinner, Miss Quinton,” she said, hovering over me as I attempted to read a novel called Love, Marriage, and Passion. Since it was French, Miss Courtenay could probably not make out what it was about, or she doubtless would have complained of that as well.

“It displays an ignorance about marriage that I suppose is understandable,” she was saying of my comments, touching at her perfectly formed curls as she did so.

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, really? Well, Mr. Barlow seemed inclined to agree with parts of what I said, so I suppose that shall have to console me.”

This seemed to be exactly what Miss Courtenay wished to hear. “Oh, my dear, let me tell you that my fiancé would never stand for such foolishness in his own wife.”

“Well, I am glad you are aware of this,” I said, smiling as I recalled that Mr. Barlow would have to make peace with a great deal of defiance from his wife, since he himself was choosing not to marry Miss Courtenay. “You are well matched.”

But instead of accepting my little olive branch, Miss Courtenay thought that she must go on. “I really must speak with you about putting such ideas in dear Lillian’s head,” she said. “You are to provide an example to her, and even if you never marry yourself, you at least ought not to teach her improper ways to behave with a husband.”

I smiled. “I believe that my behavior as governess is my own concern, Miss Courtenay.”

It was the very best I could do, because I was finding myself clenching my jaw to keep from shouting at the woman. But apparently, even my relatively peaceful admonishment was not enough for her.

“Miss Quinton,” she said. “There are different sorts of governesses that are appropriate for a young girl. One type is a companion, an excellent example, the sort of woman who might be employed by a household for many years. The other is the sort of girl who might do very well for the present, but isn’t worthy of long-term employment.”

“Why,” I said to her, “These two categories seem rather extraordinary. I must confess, I was unaware of them.”

Miss Courtenay did not seem quite sure of where the joke was, but she still forced a poisoned smile. “Well, you may have been unaware, but I know what my duties will be as mistress of the household. And if you continue to teach my sister all the wrong things, I’m afraid that you will not be employed here for long.”

At first I was angry, but then I realized that the case was rather simple. “That is disturbing news indeed, Miss Courtenay,” I said. “Let us go and discuss it with Mrs. Barlow.”

The lady of the house was sitting by the fire, squinting at her work, and I marched right over with Miss Courtenay.

“Mrs. Barlow,” I said. “Miss Courtenay has just raised objections to the way that I comport myself. She says that I should consider myself a temporary fixture in the household, and that any further mention of marriage could get me sacked.”

It quickly became clear that Mrs. Barlow was not the best possible person to mediate our conflict. She looked down at her work, then back up at us. “I’m sure that Miss Courtenay could not have said such a thing,” she said gently. “Is not that right, Miss Courtenay?”

The wretched little woman smirked. “I was simply talking of my upcoming marriage with Mr. Barlow. You’ll have to forgive a young bride for being excited, Miss Quinton. Indeed, the happiest day of my life is approaching, and though I know that this might make other women feel jealous, I am afraid that I cannot quite keep the anticipation to myself all of the time.”

This let me smile a little bit, as I knew that the silly girl’s wedding day was not approaching, but I was still galled by her distortion of our conversation.

“So Miss Quinton misunderstood you,” said Mrs. Barlow, looking very relieved that there was no conflict to be found. “She must have taken your words as a slight when that was not at all what was intended.”

“Indeed,” Miss Courtenay simpered, “I never meant any offense. I am very sorry that you got that idea in your head, and ashamed that you would think of me in such a light.”

The music in the background stopped, and I realized that Lillian must be listening in to our conversation. But neither of the two woman seemed aware. Miss Courtenay was smug with her triumph, Mrs. Barlow surprised by the entire conflict.

“Of course you are,” said Mrs. Barlow, plainly flustered. “Miss Quinton, apologize to Miss Courtenay.”

“Pardon?” I said, as if I had not heard. “Apologize?”

“Yes, for saying that I threatened to banish you,” said Miss Courtenay, grinning. “It hurts my feelings that you would believe such a thing of me, dear Miss Quinton.”

There was nothing for me to say. I simply stood there, struck dumb with all of it. I knew that the wisest move would have been to eat my words, but I was unable to force myself to grovel to the woman who had just insulted me.

The more I hesitated, the wider Miss Courtenay’s grin became. Eventually, Mrs. Barlow grew so uncomfortable that she decided to end the exchange rather than continue to endure my stony silence.

“We’ll be out all day tomorrow,” said Mrs. Barlow. “I am taking Miss Courtenay to meet a friend of mine, a Mrs. Curtis. We shall return late in the evening, and I expect you will have your apology prepared by then, Miss Quinton.”

Coming from a woman with no backbone, this was a serious threat. She had essentially informed me that I would be sacked if I did not apologize for telling the truth.

And before I could tear out her hair, or possibly my own, she had taken Miss Courtenay’s arm and left the room.