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that he was so punctual that they could set their clocks by his visits. But punctuality and enthusiasm
alone were not enough to secure new orders. People could not be expected to buy Cadbury’s goods if they had never heard of them. George was clear. They needed more capital to fund a sales team.
    To finance the extra staffing, they discussed how to manage the business more efficiently. The brothers’ solution was to return to their puritanical roots: “work, and again work, and always more work.” George enthusiastically planned to cut all indulgence from his life: games, outings, music, every luxury would go. Every penny he earned would be ploughed back into the business. This was harder for Richard. He was planning to marry in July.
    A photograph survives of Richard’s fiancée, Elizabeth Adlington, whose classic good looks are evident in spite of her serious expression and the limitation imposed on any enhancement of feminine Quaker beauty. Her face appears unadorned, her hair parted down the middle and pulled back severely. She wears a full skirt and crinoline, covered by a long black cloak and dark bonnet—the Quaker forefathers having deemed this quite enough excitement to attract a male. Richard was drawn to her “bright and vivacious” manner. In preparation for bringing home a wife, he had purchased a house on Wheeley’s Road, about two miles from the factory. Spare moments were spent preparing the garden, transferring cuttings of his favorite plants from the rockery in his father’s garden. “My little home is beginning to look quite charming now it is nearly completed,” he told his youngest brother, Henry. There was just the furniture to buy before his wedding in July.
    During the spring of 1861, the tone of the brothers’ discussion changed. As Quakers they were accustomed to finding answers in silent prayer. They had a duty to the workforce, and there were family obligations to consider. Since their mother died, their sister Maria had taken her place, caring for the younger members of the family. Now their father was in urgent need of help. They too must listen to the clear voice of conscience, mindful of a debt to man and God. They too must endeavour to do their best. Whatever their misgivings, they had no real choice. They made their decision. In April the two young brothers took over the running of the factory.

    There was one last hope. They each had inherited £4,000 from their mother. Determined to save the family dream of a chocolate factory, they staked their inheritance down to the last penny. If they failed to turn the business around before the capital was gone, they would close the factory.

CHAPTER 2
    Food of the Gods
    R ichard and George soon found they were running down their inheritance fast just to keep afloat. The first year was worrying. By the end of 1861, Richard’s share of the loss was recorded at 226 pounds and George registered a similar figure. More capital from their inheritance would be needed. Richard, who had the added responsibilities of married life, imagined the next year’s losses. Perhaps they were not businessmen. Was this the beginning of a slow and inevitable decline to bankruptcy?
    The brothers tried to calculate how long their capital would last. In the absence of any other source of funds, they had to make further cutbacks. Even basic pleasures such as drinking tea and reading the morning paper were now sacrificed. Each day started at six in the morning and did not end until late in the evening, with a supper of bread and butter eaten at the factory. “This stern martyrdom of the senses,” observed one of George’s colleagues years later, “drove all the energy of his nature into certain swift, deep channels,” creating an extraordinary “concentration of purpose.” Any small diversion or treat was dismissed as a “snare” that might “appeal to the senses” or absorb precious funds.
    While George focused on purchasing, policy, and development,