on that, John had given her a thousand pounds. Earlier the same year, on her first visit to London, she had seen the power of the railways to promote the outward growth of cities into regions people thought would always be mere farmland. She longed then for some spare cash to put into land. Suddenly she had it.
Within a week she had driven out along the course of the new line south of Manchester, looking for land. Clever people had already bought up around Cheadle Hulme and Handforth. Some adventurous souls had even gone as far as Wilmslow. Only Nora had had the courage to go on, beyond the valley, up to Alderley Edge. There, she had taken one look at the view, one sniff at the air, and had snapped up a hundred acres for her money.
Already more than half her land was built over with new houses—and such grand houses! There seemed to be a competition among the Manchester merchants to move far out along the line; the richer you were, the farther you went. The richest came to Alderley Edge. And there, on Nora's land, which was to be had only on ninety-nine years' lease, they built their fine mansions, country houses with miniature estates of one, two, at most five, acres. They seemed glad to pay ground rents of ten or even fifteen pounds an acre; it kept out the poor. So in five years, the land had become worth around twenty thousand and when the remaining seventy acres were leased it would rise to some thirty-five thousand. Already it brought in substantial rents.
Alderley Edge had been the first of a number of similar purchases. Not all had worked, of course. She had been too clever over judging the line to Nelson and was now stuck with forty acres of worthless land near the Forest of Pendle. But that, and another fifty near Ayr in Scotland, were exceptions. Apart from Alderley Edge, she now had nearly twelve hundred acres in small estates near Blackpool, Warrington, St. Alban's, Henley, Plymouth, and Bromley. When they were all developed, their value would be at least a hundred and seventy-five thousand. So what could she not do with the money Chambers kept tucking away at a mere two and a half per cent? She seethed every time she ruled the double line under the accounts for each contract as it finished and totted up the profit, one-tenth part of which went at once to Chambers.
John himself had no idea that she had done so well. In a foolish moment, when she had first bought the land at Alderley Edge, the scorn of those who thought she had thrown her money away had goaded her to boast aloud to John that she would see the money back tenfold in as many years. From time to time now he reminded her of the promise, but she was always vague and furtive, giving out the impression that she wished she'd never said such a thing. Of course, he knew that she had made some profit, on that and her other transactions, but she hoped he had no idea of its size. For John had an obsession that if he died, leaving Nora a rich widow and the money loose, she'd fall victim to the first fortune hunter who left his card. She had tried everything—laughter, petulance, ridicule, and anger—to rid him of this absurd notion. But all he ever said was "a grieving woman's easy game." So their finances were a maze of trusts—trusts for her and the children now, in case the firm went bankrupt, and everything into trust if he died. As Chambers said, it made fund raising as easy as raising a gale in a shuttered room with a blocked chimney and no door.
Still, through all their first five years, the market in money had been easy, especially for railways. Even the fools had been able to turn in respectable profits, while a blood professional like John had done well beyond even his own dreams. His specialty was to take the hazardous parts of a contract, the cutting, tunnelling, embanking, and viaduct-building, where both the risk and the potential profit were high. Then, by good management, careful planning, and the use of seasoned
Within a week she had driven out along the course of the new line south of Manchester, looking for land. Clever people had already bought up around Cheadle Hulme and Handforth. Some adventurous souls had even gone as far as Wilmslow. Only Nora had had the courage to go on, beyond the valley, up to Alderley Edge. There, she had taken one look at the view, one sniff at the air, and had snapped up a hundred acres for her money.
Already more than half her land was built over with new houses—and such grand houses! There seemed to be a competition among the Manchester merchants to move far out along the line; the richer you were, the farther you went. The richest came to Alderley Edge. And there, on Nora's land, which was to be had only on ninety-nine years' lease, they built their fine mansions, country houses with miniature estates of one, two, at most five, acres. They seemed glad to pay ground rents of ten or even fifteen pounds an acre; it kept out the poor. So in five years, the land had become worth around twenty thousand and when the remaining seventy acres were leased it would rise to some thirty-five thousand. Already it brought in substantial rents.
Alderley Edge had been the first of a number of similar purchases. Not all had worked, of course. She had been too clever over judging the line to Nelson and was now stuck with forty acres of worthless land near the Forest of Pendle. But that, and another fifty near Ayr in Scotland, were exceptions. Apart from Alderley Edge, she now had nearly twelve hundred acres in small estates near Blackpool, Warrington, St. Alban's, Henley, Plymouth, and Bromley. When they were all developed, their value would be at least a hundred and seventy-five thousand. So what could she not do with the money Chambers kept tucking away at a mere two and a half per cent? She seethed every time she ruled the double line under the accounts for each contract as it finished and totted up the profit, one-tenth part of which went at once to Chambers.
John himself had no idea that she had done so well. In a foolish moment, when she had first bought the land at Alderley Edge, the scorn of those who thought she had thrown her money away had goaded her to boast aloud to John that she would see the money back tenfold in as many years. From time to time now he reminded her of the promise, but she was always vague and furtive, giving out the impression that she wished she'd never said such a thing. Of course, he knew that she had made some profit, on that and her other transactions, but she hoped he had no idea of its size. For John had an obsession that if he died, leaving Nora a rich widow and the money loose, she'd fall victim to the first fortune hunter who left his card. She had tried everything—laughter, petulance, ridicule, and anger—to rid him of this absurd notion. But all he ever said was "a grieving woman's easy game." So their finances were a maze of trusts—trusts for her and the children now, in case the firm went bankrupt, and everything into trust if he died. As Chambers said, it made fund raising as easy as raising a gale in a shuttered room with a blocked chimney and no door.
Still, through all their first five years, the market in money had been easy, especially for railways. Even the fools had been able to turn in respectable profits, while a blood professional like John had done well beyond even his own dreams. His specialty was to take the hazardous parts of a contract, the cutting, tunnelling, embanking, and viaduct-building, where both the risk and the potential profit were high. Then, by good management, careful planning, and the use of seasoned
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