Her husband had died in 1722 and since then she had lost the zest for life except when she was quarrelling. Consequently she gave herself up to this, which was to her an exciting pastime.

She had had a glorious quarrel with John Vanbrugh over the building of Blenheim; she had others with all the members of her family in turn and especially her only two living daughters. She had turned her attention to her grandchildren and the story was current that she had blacked the face on a painting of Anne Egerton, her granddaughter, and scrawled beneath it: ‘She is blacker within.’ She had quarrelled with Lord Sunderland, her son-in-law, because he had remarried; she had indulged in several lawsuits, but these were minor matters and Sarah could not forget the days when as chief adviser to Queen Anne she had been at the centre of the nation’s affairs. That was where she longed to be and only that could give her something to live for now that her husband, her dear Marl, was no more.

Therefore she must quarrel with the most important man in the country; and no quarrel meant quite so much to Sarah as her quarrel with Sir Robert Walpole.

It was galling for her, who had been the wife of the greatest General of his age, who had ruled him and ruled Queen Anne, to find that Walpole dismissed her as a silly old woman of no importance to him. Gone were the days when she could have marched into action against him, could have undermined his power, could have set her own men around him to pull him down. Now she was just a feeble old woman, or so they thought.

Marlborough was dead and she had to be doing something all the time to forget that depressing fact. The only time when her face softened, when she felt lonely and defenceless was when she thought of him in the days of his prime—the handsomest man alive she had thought, and a genius among his fellows—and remembered then that he was gone for ever.

But she never allowed such moods to continue. She would stamp through her house—either at Windsor or Marlborough House next to St James’s—harry her servants, summon whatever members of her family were at hand, berate them, scorn them, and tell them they were unworthy to be the offspring of the great Duke.

Only when she was angry could she find a reason for living.

There were a few people who did not irritate her. Of her grandchildren, most of whom she had quarrelled with, as they grew older, she cared most for Diana Spencer, her dear Lady Di as she called her. Lady Di was young, handsome, and intelligent. Her family thought her extremely clever to be able to keep on good terms with the old lady, but Di seemed to manage it without much effort. She had always seemed to be able to please her grandmother, even from the days when as a child she had been so much in her household, for Diana’s mother, Anne Churchill, had died at the age of twenty-eight and had left her children to her mother’s care.

Di was spirited and yet tactful; she was beautiful, and Sarah was reminded of her own youth through the charms of this lovely young girl.

Sarah liked a woman to have spirit as long as it did not dash with her own; this of course rarely happened, but she had managed to keep on good terms with Lady Mary Wortley Montague, as much a character in her way as Sarah was in hers.

Lady Mary had almost as many enemies as Sarah had, for while Sarah blundered through with her frankness Lady Mary could not resist displaying her satirical wit. Lady Mary was a traveller and an eccentric and like Sarah cared little for opinion and went her own way.

When she was in London she occasionally saw the Duchess; she had a fellow feeling for a woman who had once been in the thick of affairs and now found herself living on the perimeter. ‘Poor Sarah Churchill!’ she would say. ‘I must go and call on her.’

It was always interesting to hear Sarah’s views of the latest scandal, particularly when one had been away. Sarah would put forward her forceful views and of course believed that she knew everything.

So Lady Mary called on Sarah and the old lady was delighted to see her.

It was very pleasant to hear Lady Mary’s accounts of her notorious quarrel with Pope, who had hated her since she had laughed at his declaration of love for her. Now of course the little man was using his pen to attack her and that unpleasant Irishman Dean Swift was helping him. There was always a controversy going on around Lady Mary.

They discussed Lord Hervey with whom Lady Mary was on friendly terms, although she disliked Hervey’s wife.

‘I never could endure Mary Lepel,’ she said. ‘The woman seems only half alive to me.’

Sarah agreed with her. She could not endure people who were only half alive.

‘Wherever we look there are always quarrels,’ said Mary. ‘Everyone seems to indulge in them.’

‘Ah, that’s true. Do you know my dear Marl and I never quarrelled.’

Lady Mary forced herself not to show a little impatience, for once Sarah started on her favourite subject she was inclined to indulge herself to the boredom of her listeners.

‘Only rarely,’ she amended. ‘Oh, yes, there were rare occasions when even we quarrelled. He was jealous of me ... and I admit, I of him.’ She looked fiercely at Lady Mary. ‘Although of course there was no need. I remember once I cut off my hair to annoy him. He loved my hair. Oh, it was very fine in those days. Such a lot of it and golden colour. Lady Di’s hair reminds me of what mine was when I was her age. Mind you hers hasn’t the colour ... nor do I believe the fine texture ... but it reminds me.’ The Duchess’s old face lost a little of its grimness. ‘He said nothing at the time and I thought he did not notice, but on his death, my dear, I opened the drawer of his cabinet and there I found ... my curls. He had kept them all those years. That was devotion for you.’

‘Very touching,’ agreed Lady Mary. ‘There must be very few women who were loved as you were.’

‘There is no one on earth like him. As I told Coningsby and Somerset when they asked for my hand after his death. The heart and hand which once belonged to the Duke of Marlborough shall never be given to anyone else, I said ...’

‘I know. I know. You have heard, of course, the latest scandal from Court. The Prince is now in open defiance. Who can blame him? They have treated him very badly.’

‘They are an impossible lot . . . these Germans. Would to God we had never let them in. I used to say to Marl what’ll happen when the Germans come, and we both thought that James across the water might have served the country better.’

‘Well, we let them in and here they are. They are dull and stupid ... except, of course, the Queen.’

‘That woman! ‘ spat out Sarah. ‘I took a dislike to her as soon as I saw her. Jumped up piece! Who is she? Where is Ansbach? And tell me what would she have been if George hadn’t married her? Some petty count or other would have taken her up perhaps. And the airs! And the graces! And she goes around with that coarse crude humbug. Don’t talk to me about Robert Walpole. I could tell you something of that man. I could tell you what sort of parties he gives at that place of his ... what is it, Houghton? And filled with valued treasures which a man of crudeness couldn’t appreciate apart from the fact that they cost good money. And where did he get his money? Out of the South Sea Bubble. His fortune represents the losses of others....’

Sarah paused. She and Marl had done very well out of the South Sea Company. But she never allowed such considerations to bother her.

‘And that woman he lives with. Moll Skerrett. Queening it there at Houghton at his table. And where is my Lady Walpole all this time? Oh, she is consoling herself with Tom, Dick, and Harry, and George. For they say our gracious King was one of them. And this is the man, if you’ll believe it, who governs all our lives. If Marl had lived ...’

Lady Mary nodded sadly, but she was thinking that Marlborough had been out of favour before the arrival of the first German George and there had been rumours of certain shady deals which did not enhance his reputation. But she refrained from mentioning these matters; it was such restraint which enabled her to keep on moderately good terms with the old warhorse.

‘Oh, they have their troubles,’ she said. ‘The Prince is a real thorn in their sides.’

‘Poor boy! ‘ Sarah was always temporarily on the side of her enemies’ enemy.

‘They say his debts are enormous.’

‘And do you wonder at it! Those misers bribed Walpole to see that the Civil List benefited them ... and they kept the Prince’s share for themselves. Robbers! Harpies! I wonder the people don’t send them packing. Let them go back to Hanover. I hear they think so much of the place.’

‘The King praises it, but the Queen I think does not share his opinion.’

‘She knows what side her bread is buttered. Madam Ansbach is fond of England. Of course she is! She was a pauper before she married so well. And then she comes here and she takes her place on the throne and she and that old fox Walpole put their heads together and between them they rule. Of course she is satisfied! And the little bantam struts about thinking he is a king. Bah! Send the whole boiling back to Hanover, I say.’

‘The Prince is ready to rebel, I heard. He wants his debts paid, a place in the government of affairs, and a wife.’

‘He’s entitled to them.’

‘At the moment he is seen often at the house of his mistress. They say the child could take his pick of several fathers.’

‘The young man should be married.’

‘The difficulty is to find a princess. She has to be Protestant, remember. She would have to have a big dowry. But where is she?’