A Christmas story in time for Christmas

'Anne's Achievement' is available here for kindle and here for paperback  as well as Amazon.uk etc.

Anne is expecting to have a last Christmas house party before she must earn her living as a governess, but Ophelia Sanderville, last seen in 'Ophelia's Opportunity' has other plans for her.  It is a  house party like any other, with some pleasant and some most offensive guests,  and several surprises not usually wished on those celebrating the Season of Goodwill. 

The rewards of research, guest blog from Dawn Harris

Welcome to Regency mystery writer, Dawn Harris, who is my guest today.  Needless to say, her books are on my wishlist!  

                            THE REWARDS OF RESEARCH.

My favourite period in history is from 1789-1820, inspired by the works of Georgette Heyer, Jane Austen, Baroness Orczy (Scarlet Pimpernel), and Winston Graham (Poldark). So, naturally, that was the era in which I set my first book, a mystery thriller, and when I discovered the joys of research.

I started with newspapers published in 1793, eager to see how people lived through the French Revolution and the war with France. And what I read took my breath away.

It brought to life the very real fears of a French invasion, and that some émigrés fleeing from the revolution in France, were in fact spies. There was turmoil over the Corresponding Societies, who were campaigning for all working men to be given the vote, as the Government feared these societies were using this as a cover for starting a French style revolution in Britain.

Smuggling was a huge problem then too, and as this was going to play a big part in my story, I concentrated on researching that first. On the Isle of Wight, (where I set my book), there were so many inlets and beaches where contraband could be taken ashore, that the men whose job it was to catch the smugglers must have had a tough time of it. One of the first things I came across in my search for facts was a memorial tablet in Whippingham church, which read,

 'Sacred to the memory of Wm Arnold, Esq, late Collector of HM Customs in the Port of Cowes, Isle of Wight. A man who by his amiable as well as faithful discharge, justly entitled him to the warmest esteem and affection of all who were permanently or occasionally associated with him in business, society or domestic ties. The public, his friends and his family feel and deplore the loss sustained by his death on March 5, 1801, aged 55.'

I was aware that some officials took bribes from smugglers, but this memorial, and other details I discovered about William Arnold, suggested he had not done so. That made me eager to find out more about him, and his efforts to curb the activities of the large number of smugglers on the Island. And I finally struck gold in a second-hand book shop on the Island. I found a book on his life. Another breathtaking moment.

It told me how he came to be the Collector of Customs at Cowes in 1777, and in the following year was made deputy Postmaster for the Island too. Appointments that meant he was often the first to hear news from the outside world.  Some of the letters he wrote are included in the book, and help to show the kind of caring man he was.

I learnt too that he was the father of Thomas Arnold, the famous headmaster of Rugby school, and grandfather of Matthew Arnold, the poet.

The book made clear that William Arnold was a highly respected, well-liked, honest official, who believed in doing his duty. He had a number of men to assist him, including  Riding Officers and Boatmen, but what he didn’t have at Cowes was a Revenue cutter to help him and his men catch smugglers. The Commissioners of Customs in London repeatedly turned down his appeals for such a boat, and in the end he, and one of his brothers-in-law, used their own money to purchase a cutter.

 Sadly, disaster struck within a month, when the boat, the ’Swan,’ was lost in a terrible gale, when chasing smugglers. Worse still, it had not yet been insured. That was a dreadful blow for him, but it persuaded the Commissioners of Customs to replace the boat. The letters he wrote to his wife’s brother in New York, eloquently showed his feelings at the time.

In those days much of the population either helped the smugglers, or were happy for a keg of brandy to be left by a rear door. A labourer working on the land could earn more in one night’s smuggling than in a week on a farm.

Smugglers needed to be good seamen too, especially if they planned to land their contraband on the Back of the Island. This was one of the quietest areas, but the underwater ledges here caused many a ship to come to grief over the centuries. As they still can.

The wily ways smugglers used to avoid being caught said much for their ingenuity! Some  sunk their illegal goods off-shore and collected them later when the coast was clear. Others hauled the stuff up cliffs with ropes. Or hid goods in ditches, under barn floors, in hayricks, or buried them in sand on the beach. Getting contraband off the beaches to a safe spot could be difficult, but some used ponies, covering their hooves with sacking so that they wouldn’t leave a trail. While a false trail was left in the opposite direction by using a horseshoe stuck on the end of a stick. Smugglers also made excellent spies, for they knew how to keep their mouths shut.

      Finding that book was a great piece of luck and was definitely one of the rewards of research. 

I put William Arnold into my first book. I like to use real people in with my own characters as I think it strengthens the book and makes it more authentic. The fact that he wrote letters to his brother-in-law in New York is also woven into my plot, giving crucial, but (I hope) inconspicuous clues to the identity of the murderer. William Arnold plays a vital role in the story and particularly in the ‘race against time,’ ending.

Sources “At War with the Smugglers,” by Rear-Admiral D. Arnold-Forster C.M.G.

“Smuggling on Wight Island,” by R.F.W. Dowling.

Potted Biography: 

I was born in Gosport, Hampshire, but have lived in North Yorkshire most of my life. I had a lot of short stories published in women’s magazines before I tried books, and still write the occasional one.

My Drusilla Davanish mysteries are:

“Letter From a Dead Man.” available here

“The Fat Badger Society.” available here

And I’m working on a third.

I’ve also written a 1930s thriller, The Ebenezer Papers, and  two volumes of short stories, ,Dinosaur Island and .The Case of the Missing Bridegroom

All books available at Amazon.com as well, and other Amazon outlets. 

Halloween story and holiday blog hop

I've been invited to take part in a holiday blog hop of Halloween stories, and though I intended to write a Regency one, it didn't happen, and instead I was influenced by a pop video called 'Daze' by the Poets of the Fall.  The blog hop more or less grew around the prevalence of scary clowns, and I do actually have a clown phobia.  However the guy in the video is both more and less than a clown ... check it out as well as the stories by the many excellent authors below. 

THIS   will take you to the other Halloween stories including one by Giselle Marks; for my efforts see below


Warning: this is very very dark.  About the darkest thing I've ever written. 

Lord of Fire

She was mortal, she was her own person and she had free will.  Her name was Elaine Rathbone, not Aine. No matter what he called her.

And then he smiled at her, and that smile was more frightening than any other man’s scowl.

“Not thinking of leaving me, my Aine?” he asked. “You know what happened last time.”

She shuddered.  Aodh was his name, born of the fire, and he had drawn strands of flame directly from his hall’s fire to whip her.  She still bore the marks.

“It’s Samhain,” she whimpered, and hated herself for whimpering.  “If I come out with you when you go hunting for pleasure, if I find a replacement…”

“If you leave another time, Aine, you will die,” said Aodh. “I find you too … entertaining … to want another lover.  But you may come on the hunt.”

She suppressed a shuddering sob.

That Halloween night … how many years ago had  it been? … when she had first met Aodh, at a party, she had thought herself the luckiest person in the world to have such a handsome and skilled lover.  It had only been when she had realised time had passed in his arms that she told him that she wanted to go home. She wanted to let her parents know that she was all right, and to return to college.  She told him, she could always come to him in the holidays.

That was when she discovered how jealous he was; and how violent he could be when irritated.  That beating had only been with his fists.  He shouted, as he always shouted,

“You are mine!  Mine alone!  You are my toy, and you are nothing to anyone else!” 

It had been when he had changed her name, though he had been calling her Aine for a while.  Her former, besotted, teenage self had not noticed.  But he forbade the use of her old name.  She was Aine, his toy, his slave, his pet. 

She had plotted to run away.  That first year, he had left her alone when he went hunting.  She had tried to find her way out, only to become lost in a labyrinth, magical and confusing, that surrounded the rath, the fairy hill, in which his halls were built. And he had found her, and marched her back to his bedroom, the hedges moving aside for him to take a straight path through the labyrinth, and then he had whipped her with fire.  Then thrown her upon her burned and agonised back to rape her.   Elaine Rathbone did not believe in magic, but Aine suffered from it, every day of her stolen life.

“You came to me willingly, and ate at my table, so I get to keep you, and you live and die by my whim,” he said.

A choice to risk death was still a choice.  Death could be no worse than this. She stared down at her hands.

“I would like to hunt,” she said.  “If I cannot go home, I need to learn the customs.”

“There’s a good girl,” he raised her chin and kissed her, almost tenderly.  Aine … Elaine … tried not to shudder at caresses that had once driven her wild with passion.

Aodh and his minions gathered for the hunt on Samhain, what most mortals called Halloween.  They needed no costumes, because their everyday garb, tawdry finery of the eighteenth century, was costume enough for most people.  Elaine remembered being impressed by the clothes, and by the jewelled Venetian masks they all wore, all ancient and doubtless valuable.  She was given one too, to wear with the cinch-waisted gown and its panniers, her hair dressed in an updo somewhere between Marie Antoinette and a rat’s nest, by the smaller, low-fae servants who did not get to go on the hunt.  They were servile, disgustingly so, but capable of magic, and had great strength, That she had discovered on the second Samhain, when she tried again to escape.  Too bizarre looking even for Halloween, the little creatures were not allowed to go on the hunt, and they were set to watch her, and their fear of Aodh was such that they pinched her cruelly and sat on her to keep her in her room. 

Now they chattered excitedly.

“The lord’s lady is one of us, now!” said one. “And at the end of this night, you will never be able to leave, you will be all fae, your mortality burned away!”  A small, blue being, with a huge head, and eyes all liquid navy blue, with no whites to them, informed her.

“Hush!” a more senior maid said.  She was as brown as a berry, and heart-stoppingly lovely on her left side, but wrinkled and ugly on the right, her features twisted, leering on that side.  She had more magic power than many, and some said she was Aodh’s base-born daughter on one of the low-fae.  It was only a whispered rumour; it was not done for the high-fae to lie with their servant race, but Aodh was a man of complex and not always salubrious sexual tastes.  Elaine had seen him kiss a servant girl and then have her tortured for not giving enough evidence of enjoyment.  He had then had her tortured again for simulating too much enjoyment when he did it the next time.  Aodh had taken Elaine with enthusiasm, while he watched the torture, both times. 

“I have to accept my fate,” said Elaine.

“We is glad to have you, lady.  When he has you, he doesn’t hurt us as much,” said the little blue one. “He dares not hurt you too bad; mortals break too easily.”

“But after this night?”

“You will heal as well as any of us!” squeaked the little one, and was cuffed by her superior.

“You talk too much, Gormbhinn,” she snapped.

“You are immune, Grainne, even he does not break that taboo,” squeaked Gormbhinn.

“I will tell him,” threatened Grainne.

Gormbhinn whimpered.

“Never mind that, make sure I am beautiful enough to please,” said Elaine.  If she got away … or died … it was a shame that the mostly gentle little servants would suffer, but they had magic, and if they had but stood together, they would be able to overthrow Aodh.  Yet they seemed, mostly, to accept it. 

She wished she could take Gormbhinn, who had been kind to her.

The wild hunt under Aodh turned up, as they had when Elaine had first met them, at a country house where they gate-crashed a party.  Elaine gate-crashed with them, and pirouetted and laughed and flirted her fan.  Aodh of course was impressing all the young women at the party, and after an hour or so was busy indulging in a flirtation with the daughter of the house. She was a pretty, rather silly-seeming girl, and Elaine wondered whether Aodh would choose her as his replacement consort.  Poor girl, but Elaine must think of herself.   Elaine slipped out, heading for the garage.  Sure enough, many cars had been left with their keys in the ignition; a lot of these county types were careless about such things on what they saw as ‘home territory’.  She picked a Porsche, and set off, driving in what she hoped was the direction of a larger town than the village near the mansion.

She laughed in relief, discarding her mask, as she drove, this was technology, something beyond the ken of the fae.

And then she saw that the petrol gauge was running down, the petrol going quite visibly.  Surely it was not such a gas-guzzler?  No.  He could not be removing the petrol could he?  The tank must be holed.

The tank must be holed, and she was leaving a stream of petrol behind her.  And Aodh was the Lord of Fire.

There was a flickering behind her in the mirror, visible above the hedges where it reflected on wet leaves of overhanging trees.

With a whinny of terror, Elaine stood on the brake, and wrenched open the side door, flinging herself across the country lane into the ditch.

The line of flame ran hungrily to the rear of the car, and the night exploded in white flame.  Elaine thought she could hear Aodh laughing as she almost blacked out.

Almost. 

He must not find her. 

She had already kicked off the impractical high heeled satin shoes which were part of her costume, in order to drive, and hardly heeded the brambles and nettles tearing at and stinging her bare feet as she scrambled out of the ditch and ran along the road, searching for someone, anyone.  She leaped out and waved frantically as headlights came towards her.  The car screeched to a halt.

“Have you any idea how stupid that was?” Yelped a male voice. Then, more panicked, “Here, Ruth, help, the lassie is hurt.”

And then there was blessed oblivion.

Elaine woke up in the white sterile atmosphere of a hospital.   Her parents were sat at the end of the bed.

“Oh darling!” her mother cried, seeing her daughter awake.  “Where have you been all these years?”

“I … he kidnapped me,” said Elaine.  “But he thought it was safe to take me to the party … thought I was cowed …”

“Stockholm syndrome,” a white coated man said quietly.  “Elaine, do you remember the things he did?   Those … burns on your back…”

“He whipped me with fire,” she whimpered.

“We believe it was some kind of homemade electrical device,” said the doctor.  “You can tell the police about it when you are a bit better rested, but if he took you to the party at Marston Manor, I think your tormentor might be dead; it burned down, and everyone who was in it died in the blaze.”

“Those poor people…” Elaine started to sob, gently.  “But he didn’t get that poor silly girl.  Better burned than his toy ….”

It was never quite the same, because Elaine had lost seven years of her life; and she could never, ever tell her parents, or the police, exactly what had happened.  They would never believe her.  She spoke of a man who thought he was the king of the goblins, and dressed like David Bowie in Labyrinth;  and her vagueness was put down to a voluntary amnesia to block trauma.  Her parents did not push her to unblock the memories.  She did wonder why the house had burned, and whether Aodh had perished as well, and whether he could hurt her again. She became reclusive, brooding, and throwing herself into the degree she had been taking when she had been seduced by Aodh.

And then, one day, she shrieked in fear as Gormbhinn appeared in her room.  Her parents were out, and Elaine cowered.

Gormbhinn ran to her and hugged her.

“Lady Aine killed him!” she exulted.

“I … I just ran away,” said Elaine.  “And my name is Elaine, not Aine.”

Gormbhinn regarded her solemnly.

“Elaine.  It’s pretty,” she said.  “But that’s what killed him.  He sent fire after you, to burn the rest of your mortality and make you a spirit-slave.  But you wasn’t burned, and at dawn, your immortal part grounded back through him and he burst into flame.  You killed him and we is free.  Gormbhinn would like to serve her lady,” she added.

“Oh, I so wanted to take you with me, but I dared not,” said Elaine.

Gormbhinn nodded.

“Gormbhinn understands.  We does things to stay safe.  Gormbhinn … I … hoped that you would understand my words and escape.  Because if you stayed free until dawn, I knew it would be all over.”

Elaine embraced Gormbhinn, and cried a flood that she had never quite dared to let out before.

Fae magic would mean that her parents never even saw the little creature, and they would have each other, two who knew, understood and had survived.

And Elaine would never, ever go to any Halloween party ever again.

 

Emma's Education with Grace's Gift is live

‘Emma’s Education’ and ‘Grace’s Gift’ are two romantic interlinked stories in the Charity School series. Spoilt Emma Spink is sent away to school in the hopes she will learn to behave.  But the school is harsher than her father intended, and she begs Marianne, now Mrs. Tempest, to put in a word for her at the Swanley Court school as a paying pupil. Her schooling is not without adventure, especially after she befriends Emmie Kovacs. For Emmie has a wicked uncle and a rather handsome older half-brother.

When young Cecil Hasely falls through the door of his father’s London house with a baby in his arms, a wet nurse is needed quickly. Grace Burrel, a war widow, agrees to tend the child following the stillbirth of her son. She swiftly becomes one of the family, helping to nurse the now chronically sick Cecil, and acting as hostess to Chris’s intended bride.  The growing happiness of a damaged family is threatened by ill-intentioned people. Meanwhile, Chris has been dancing attendance on his intended in Bath, where some lively young boys cause disruption on a royal scale.

Kindle available HerePaperback should be out momentarily

Great new Regency - The Fencing Master's Daughter by Giselle Marks

I've had the privilege to watch Giselle grow as an author, and to have the editing of this, her first book, and enjoy the improvements that she has made to it since its first inception.  It's a fun read and my husband agrees, so it's one of those Regencies that a bloke can enjoy, even as many men enjoy reading Georgette Heyer. 

So what is it about? 

Edward, Earl of Chalcombe, has recently inherited his title, and is about to take up the reins of his duties, following the double blow of his brother's death and a wound he took, fighting Bonaparte. 
He does not expect to be set on by footpads who seem to be more interested in causing him harm than in merely robbing him.  His life is saved by the cheerful and ugly Henri, and by Madelaine, who is an expert swordswoman.  They see Edward home, call Bow Street and then leave hurriedly.    Edward is left facing two mysteries; why did someone want to kill him, and who is the beautiful Madelaine, whose acquaintance he wishes to pursue further.
As he finds out more about Madelaine, he is frustrated in his desire to marry her by her steadfast refusal, which confuses him more than a little as he is certain that she is attracted to him.
More attempts on Edward's life occur, and clues are uncovered a few at a time, leading to the time when Madelaine tells all to Edward, and they discover how intimately their lives are linked through  an inimical foe.
Just as Edward believes that things might be going right, a cruel twist of fate separates him from Madelaine, and he must search desperately to find her again.
Although Gelert, the devoted mongrel wolf-hound  is hurt in defence of his beloved mistress, he survives, I hasten to add. 

This is a rip-roaring yarn in the best tradition of Heyer, with adventure and romance, and a good spicing of humour.  I thoroughly recommend it.
Out in paperback and available within the next day on Kindle HERE

The Botanical Gardens, Paris, 1815

The next few posts will be celebrating the release of the fourth Brandon Scandal 'The Wandering Widow' with a few gratuitious pictures to illustrate the notes from the back of the book.

this is the pergola on a hill that Leo speculated might have been a mound of rubbish that couldn't be got rid of it, so they made a garden feature of it

The Botanical Gardens in the 5^th Arrondissment were set up under the direction of Louis XIII for the study of medicinal plants by doctors.  The gardens are large and cover many types of plants.  The director of the gardens in 1815, Jean-Baptiste de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck is the founder of the theory of inheritance of acquired traits on which Charles Darwin built his theory of evolution; indeed, Lamark can be said to be the father of the theory of evolution.  He survived the revolution by changing the name of the gardens from Jardin du Roi to Jardin Des Plantes.  A previous administrator and naturalist, George-Louis Declerc, Comte de Buffon, is commemorated by the pergola on the hill of the labyrinth which the characters visited.  

Plan of the gardens.  Our heroes were staying on the Rue Geoffroy St-Hilaire

A French fashion plate.  The pergola here isn't raised on an eminence, but I wonder if the artist was inspired by the Jardin Botanique? 

 

and here we find Leo and Letty in a Paris which still has narrow streets with medieval buildings, before the redesign of the city in 1848 after the year of revolutions

Names of Georgian and Regency Horses

Here the noble steed Diamond by Highflyer, dam by Matchem.  The pedigrees of horses did not always give much in the way of information about the dam save her pedigree!
Sometimes the names of horses gave some information about their pedigree but as often as not they did not, and I include the next couple of pedigrees to show that these illustrious steeds had relatives whose names did pass down as in the case of Woodpecker who sired Young Woodpecker, who sired Woodpecker Lass.

And here is his sire, Highflyer:

Highflyer was sired by Herod, one of the founding stallions of the Thoroughbred.  Highflyer also sired Florizel and Woodpecker [see below].  Highflyer's dam was Rachel, sired by Blank, her dam sired by Regulus, and both Regulus and Blank sired by Godolphin Arabian, who needs no introduction.  [Wickipedia]


Then we have in 1765 the stud record of 'Forrester' [owned by a Mr Hugo Meynell, husband of one of the early Patronesses of Almack's]  whose dam was Layton, but who has a list of ancestors who are stallions:
Old Forrester
Bloody-Buttocks
Partner
Dormouse
Matchem [presumably the same one who was grandsire to Diamond, above?]
Sweepstakes
Makeless [a medieval word meaning matchless]
Brimmer
Dosworth.

the notice in the Derby Mercury of the stud fees and pedigree Friday 19th April 1765 below:

Other names for horses around the Regency which I have noted down when researching other things between 1800 and 1820:
[these are all race horses, as though there are many advertisements for horses for sale, alas, the names are not given.]


Stallions:

Aeolus
Belianis
Beliante
Billy-The-Beau
Blacklock
Black Triphonius
Bruiser
Bucephalus
Bullion
Bustard
Buzzard
Cardenin
Cerberus [adding insult to injury calling it for a dog]
Claymore
Corregio
Faunus
Ganymede
General
Golumpus
Grampian
Harraion
Hippomenes
Jack Spavins
King Corneus
Lightning
Little Thomas
Lochinvar
Loiterer
Mandeville
Masker
Merlin
Newton
Orville
Radamanthus
Ralph
Reveller
Rifleman
Rover
Slender Billy
Sorcerer
Spartan
Snail
Starlight
Symmetry
Thunderbolt
Torchbearer
Tortoise
Traveller [by Highflyer]
Young Woodpecker [by Woodpecker]
Whiff
Winner
Witchcraft
Wonder
Wood-Daemon
Woodpecker


Mares:

Abermule Lass
Agnes Sorrel
Ally Croaker
Aspania
Aspasia
Banshee
Beggar-girl
Bistirpa
Bittery Anne
Black-eyes
Boadicia
Brown Bess
Cambrian Lass
Cecilia
Celecia
Cestrian
Creeper
Creeping Jenny
Cressida
Duchess
Empress
Esterhazy
Fandango
Fanny
Flora
Folly
Fugitive
Georgiana
Glauvina
Gloriana
Goldenlocks
Grey Highflyer [by Highflyer] 
Hannah
Hebe
Helen
Huncamunca [by Highflyer]
Jemima
Jennette
Jenserie
Josephina
Locket
Louise
Maid of all Work
Maid of Lodi
Marcia
Maritornes
Mary-Ann
Meteora [dam by Highflyer]
Miss Blanchard
Miss Buckle
Miss Frances
Miss Judy
Miss Staverley
Morgiana
Nymphima
Octaviana
Parthenope
Pecunia
Peggy
Placid
Priscilla
Princess Jemima
Rosalind
Rosanne
Saganna
Sheba's Queen
Silenua
Stella
Susan
Sweetlip
The Duchess
Truila
Tulip
Victoria
Woodpecker-lass [by Young Woodpecker racing 1817]
Witch of Endor

a fairly good indication that the age of reason had swept away superstition amongst the horse owning classes at least with names like Sorcerer, Witchcraft, Wood-Daemon and the filly Witch of Endor. Interesting the deprecating names like Loiterer, Snail, Tortoise, Jack-Spavins

Interesting that a greater number of mares seem to bear ordinary female nnames.

A continuation of writing by dice; Servants and tradesmen and naming extraneous characters.

I was asked about extending the personality traits from the table for main characters to those who are more 'throwaway' characters, so here they are.

And underneath, a quick table for first names by social class. 

Servants personality traits

Can also be used for labourers and innkeepers

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	loyal	top-lofty	dirty	skilful	vulgar	plain
2	venal	sporting	efficient	inept	pugnacious	attractive
3	snivelling	flirtatious	clever	curious	quiet	reader
4	resentful	helpful	dim	incurious	inoffensive	religious
5	radical	unhelpful	pleasant	nosy	shy	gambler
6	conservative	fastidious	Surly	sly	bold	nervous

Honesty level

Note; someone with the trait ‘loyal’ would be less likely to betray whoever they are loyal to, whatever their level of honesty

2. thief
3. pathological liar
4. tells lies to escape trouble
5. would keep incorrect change if too much and would take vail to undertake even underhand measures

6. would only take a vail to do something not likely to harm anyone
7. as honest as most people, would not cheat a tradesman but would buy smuggled goods
8. As 7
9. personally truthful and honest but would not betray a fellow servant who was less scrupulous.
10. personally honest, and truthful except in the matter of being tactful. 
11.  honest and sanctimonious about it and likely to rat up others
12. as honest as the day is long and incorruptible, and likely to tell on anyone who tries corrupting him or her

Tradesmen

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Greedy	cheerful	miserable	religious	reader	radical
2	nipcheese	surly	skilful	resentful	quiet	conservative
3	honest	pugnacious	inept	satisfied	stroppy	xenophobic
4	generous	ingratiating	pleasant	oleaginous	educated	Open minded
5	kindly	Well-spoken	friendly	Self-satisfied	ignorant	egalitarian
6	unkind	vulgar	unfriendly	Self-made	prejudiced	Flawed

Much is in reading a combination; someone both radical and religious is likely to be a non-conformist, a Methodist or Quaker, both keen reformists and very much religions of the middle class.

Flawed:  see main table for suggestions

Honesty

1. will engage in sharp practises like adulteration of goods, tax avoidance, and selling short weight
2. would cheat the government and would not tell a customer that he had overpaid
3. would probably refund overpayment unless the customer has been rude
4. honest enough but will use nepotism
5. honest
6. blindingly honest and likely to rat up anyone who is not.

Names by social class

Fun as it is to find a name which fits a character like a glove, sometimes a name is needed for a character who is neither important enough to be well defined, or who is waiting to be defined, in which case the name might change.  And not every character deserves to have their shortcomings on display with a name like Meleager Scrimp,  Bessy Filch [a bessy is an instrument for picking locks], Basil Overtop or Scholastica Readmore

This is by no stretch of the imagination a universal list.  I have included in each table the 10 most popular names across social boundaries, as  80% of people named would have been named from those names.  The lower class versions will have children named by pet versions of those names as well, since the better educated would know that, say, Molly was a pet form of Mary, and might call a child by a pet name, but would christen them by the root of it.

Aristocracy/gentry/educated

Male

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Lionel	Walter	Guy	Miles	Frederick	Stephen
2	Lucius	Julius	Gregory	Virgil	Peregrine	Theodore
3	William	John	Thomas	James	George	Joseph
4	Richard	Henry	Robert	Charles	Peter	Francis
5	Christopher	Ralph	Nicholas	Anthony	Luke	Martin
6	Nathaniel	Arthur	Philip	Laurence	Roger	Jeremy

Female

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Barbara	Marjorie	Bridget	Grace	Deborah	Cecilia
2	Phyllida	Cassandra	Chloe	Alice	Letitia	Priscilla
3	Mary	Ann[e]	Elizabeth	Sarah	Jane	Hannah
4	Susan	Elinor	Marjorie	Charlotte	Harriet	Helen
5	Sophy	Lucy	Isabel[la]	Emma	Catherine	Amelia
6	Frances	Lydia	Caroline	Phoebe	Esther	Amy

 Surnames: Names the Norman lords used were Baskerville, Darcy, Mandeville, Montgomery, Percy, Neville, Punchard, Talbot.    Place names from an atlas are always in order, including corruptions of French placenames like Bagpuss [Bacquepuiss].

Middle Class, pretentious

[names seen to be higher class which they might well be]

Male

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Alexander	Hector	Frederick	Augustus	Horatio	Lionel
2	Nathan	Theophilus	Scipio	Hadrian	Maximilien	Ulysses
3	William	John	Thomas	James	George	Joseph
4	Richard	Henry	Robert	Charles	Michael	Julius
5	Cassius	Earle	Percy*	Neville*	Montgomery*	Darcy*
6	Talbot*	Gabriel	Jasper	Jonathon	David	Roger

*some of the more prestigious surnames introduced by the Normans.

Female

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Priscilla	Fanny	Frances	Cecilia	Jacintha	Camilla
2	Araminta	Leonora	Augusta	Wilhelmina	Charlotte	Caroline
3	Mary	Ann[e]	Elizabeth	Sarah	Jane	Hannah
4	Susan	Martha	Margaret	Charlotte	Harriet	Amelia
5	Henrietta	Cressida	Audrey	Annabella	Marianne	Euphemia
6	Emma	Celia	Sylvia	Everina	Philadelphia	Anastasia

Middle Class, ordinary

Male

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Samuel	Daniel	Josiah	Amos	Joshua	Adam
2	Nathaniel	Nathan	Jacob	Benjamin	Edward	Isaac
3	William	John	Thomas	James	George	Joseph
4	Richard	Henry	Robert	Charles	David	Stephen
5	Aaron	Moses	Luke	Mark	Matthew	Christopher
6	Simon	Timothy	Gedeliah	Philip	Hugh	Abraham

Female

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Fanny	Fancy	Frances	Alice	Amy	Emma
2	Rachel	Judith	Dinah	Agnes	Elinor	Ellen
3	Mary	Ann[e]	Elizabeth	Sarah	Jane	Hannah
4	Susan	Martha	Margaret	Charlotte	Harriet	Lucy
5	Isabel	Dorothy	Jenny	Ruth	Rebecca	Jemima
6	Joan	Bridget	Dinah	Joanna	Nancy	Sophy

 Surnames:  artisan surnames like Fletcher,  Gildersleeves, Orbater, Coltard, Angove

or place names [use an atlas], or names from old given names like Baldwin, Anketel, Elmer, Hancock, Jenkins.

Lower Class

Male

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Jacob	Adam	Joshua	Andrew	Matthew	Matty
2	Edward	Edmund	Ned	Daniel	Benjamin	Abel
3	William	John	Thomas	James	George	Joseph
4	Richard	Henry	Robert	Charles	Jack	Harry
5	Samuel	Amos	Jedediah	Josiah	Billy	Benny
6	Dick	Jake	Tom	Joe	Johnny	Jimmy

Female

	1	2	3	4	5	6
1	Betty	Eliza	Nancy	Sukey	Sally	Kitty
2	Molly	Polly	Peggy	Agnes	Mary-ann	Betsy
3	Mary	Ann[e]	Elizabeth	Sarah	Jane	Hannah
4	Susan	Martha	Margaret	Charlotte	Harriet	Catherine
5	Beth	Minney	Kate	Etta	Fanny	Frances
6	Rebecca	Alice	Ellen	Hesther	Dorothy	Joan

 Surnames: likely to be more common occupation names like Smith,  or names from given names like Jones, Johnson, Williamson, Rodgers, Hancock, or place names from an atlas. 

On Surnames generally see also my post on the development of surnames HERE