In the early February of 1776 a man and a woman walked arm in arm together in Yorkshire. Elizabeth Boardingham and Thomas Aikney looked, to all concerned, like a regular Georgian couple that were in love but there was little that was traditional about their affair. For one thing, Elizabeth was already married and as for another, they were whispering plots to commit a brutal murder. 

At the Assizes at York in April 1776 the court heard an account of the murder of John Boardingham, Elizabeth's husband. He had been arrested and imprisoned in York Castle for smuggling and remained there for some time. With her husband securely detained within the brick walls of the prison, Elizabeth invited a lover, Thomas Aikney, into her home to live with her. Elizabeth lived in the village of Flamborough in the East Riding of Yorkshire, close to the coasts and bays of the county and with sweeping views of the mossy cliffs and the Humber nearby. The couple became so attached to one another that on her husband's release, Elizabeth chose to leave her home and travel to live with Thomas in Lincolnshire. 

Johann Lorenz Haid, 1702–1750, Portrait of a Man and Woman, undated, Mezzotint on moderately thick, slightly textured, beige laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Fund, B1970.3.1374. Public Domain.

The court heard that it was Elizabeth who was adamant that her husband, recently returned to the couple's marital home, should die. Thomas repeatedly tried to put her off the idea, suggesting they run away and get married instead to start a new life together, but Elizabeth would not be convinced.

On 5 February 1776 the plan was set into motion. Elizabeth returned to her Flamborough home to live with her husband, giving the impression that she had reconciled with him. On the night of the 13 February, at around 11pm, Elizabeth woke her husband sleeping next to her, telling him that she heard a noise at the door and that he should investigate. John diligently swung his legs over the edge of the bed, put on a coat and waistcoat and padded downstairs to the door of their home. But Thomas Aikney was waiting for him. In the cold night Thomas stabbed John in the thigh, removed the knife and then plunged the blade into John's left side, leaving the knife in the wound before running away. John staggered into the street, crying 'Murder!', a trickle of concerned neighbours running towards him in the gloom. John was said to have pulled the knife out of the wound in his side, holding the weapon with one had and trying to hold together the gaping injury together with his other hand. Covered in blood, he survived overnight but died the day after. 

Thomas Aikney was a reluctant and somewhat hapless murderer. His pleas for Elizabeth to abandon the plot and the haphazard way in which he committed the act show that this was a clumsy attempt on John's life and not a thought-out attack by an experienced criminal. His actions convey panic, fleeing the scene and leaving behind the murder weapon lodged in his victim's body. It is likely that the neighbours that John called on for help that night knew all abut Elizabeth and her lover. He had lived in her and John's home and would have been noticed by locals arriving and leaving as he went about his business in the village. It is unsurprising then, that he was quickly caught and stood accused of John's murder. The murder weapon was 'proved' to be Thomas', although the account doesn't state how, and when asked to defend his case, he immediately admitted his guilt. Their relationship, the murder plot and Elizabeth's demands that Thomas commit the act were all unravelled in court, and the couple received sentence of death. Later, Thomas' body was taken to Leeds infirmary 'for dissection'. 

We often hear of similar True Crime stories today, but Georgian Britain wasn't all rosy-cheeked women selling apples, fancy ballroom dances and trips to the theatre. It had a darker side, and Elizabeth, Thomas and John's stories wove into one with fatal consequences for all. These are the true stories of eighteenth-century Britain and are crucial to our understanding of the era.

Liked this? You might also like John Conyers and the Copped Hall Robbery of 1775, Mary Edmondson, Accused Georgian Murderess, and LGBTQ Georgian Britain: Mary East

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The open squares and pavements of eighteenth-century Covent Garden in London were alive with conversation and trade. Market stall holders called out their produce to passers by while business was conducted in the nearby alleyways and offices. At the centre of this community stood a large, imposing building with the scent of roasted coffee drifting from its open windows. The owner, Moll King, was well known, feared and respected as one of Georgian England's most successful businesswomen. 

unknown artist, Moll King (Broadside Engraved Portrait of the Notorious Mistress of King's Coffee-House in Covent Garden...), undated, Engraving, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, B1977.14.1294. Public Domain.

Moll King was born in 1696 in a garret (an attic) in Vine Street in the parish of St Giles in the Fields in London. Her father Crispin, a shoemaker, was said to have been preoccupied with his own pleasures while Moll was a young girl, and spent his earnings with his 'boon companions'. A short biography of Moll written after her death points out that while Crispin followed his own interests and spent money with friends he left Moll and her mother to 'shift for themselves'. They sold fruits, fish and vegetables in the streets to raise money for their dinner. Written by someone who knew Moll, the stories in The Life and Character of Moll King may well be accurate, although Moll may have exaggerated her childhood adversity and the personalities of her parents to provide not only contrast to her later success but an 'underdog' image that had people rooting for her. Without further evidence it's impossible for now to say.

At a young age Moll was noticed by a lady named Mrs Atwood who lived in Charles Court in the Strand, who employed her as a servant. But Moll missed everyday life in the London streets, where she had grown up and learned to fend for herself, and she soon left Mrs Atwood to return there as a fruit seller, pushing a barrow around the lanes and alleys and calling out for custom. During this period she met Tom King, a man originally from West Ashton in Wiltshire who was working as a waiter in a brothel in Covent Garden. Tom was nicknamed 'Smooth Faced Tom' by those who knew him, likely reflecting that he chose not to grow a beard. They married and began to save funds towards their joint livelihood, Moll displaying notable business skills after purchasing a batch of nuts just before a price rise. In one season sit was said that she made £60 just selling 'small nuts', an estimated equivalent worth today of around £7,000.

Soon into their marriage though, the couple experienced a setback. Moll found out that Tom had been carrying on an affair with a woman who Moll later claimed 'severely beat her', and seems to have begun an affair of her own in retaliation. The man, named Murray, was described in 1747 as someone 'now in a very high station in one of the public offices' but is otherwise left anonymous. She left Tom, and enjoyed some freedom in the company of men, but always kept her wits about her. Her biographer wrote in 1747 that 'she was not so happy as to have a liberal education, she had very good natural sense, with flighty turns of wit, and remarkably sober... while she saw the town ladies get dead drunk with their sparks [male companions] she took care to keep herself cool'. Eventually Moll and Tom reconciled, and Moll always maintained that 'she tenderly loved him, and would never have left him one hour, had not she been well assured that he kept company with a lewd woman'. The couple went back to working life and living together, Tom at the brothel and Moll now running a stall in Covent Garden Market. 

Moll dreamed of running a coffee house, one of the new fashionable places frequented not just by passing customers but intellectuals and those of wealthy status. She discussed the idea with Tom and they rented a coffee house, called King's, at the price of £12 a year. It was a huge success, and one contemporary remarked that 'persons of every description' visited them, including those in 'full dress with swords and in rich brocaded silk coats' as well as 'chimney sweepers, gardeners and market people, in common with her lords of the knighted rank'. A large section of the couple's customer base came from the market traders, who stopped in for a warm refreshment during a long day of selling. Moll charged a penny for a dish of coffee, and also offered drinks of tea and chocolate. It wasn't long before they needed to enlarge the premises to make way for demand, and Moll and Tom bought the house next door and soon after, the house next to that, creating a large establishment situated opposite Tavistock Row, with one side of the building on Tavistock Street. 

Moll worked incessantly, rising at 1-2am, especially on market days, and the couple slept in a bed on an upper storey accessed by a ladder which was removed during trading hours. But Moll had a keen business sense and recognised a new opportunity and soon offered more than just hot drinks. She noticed that Covent Garden attracted 'young rakes' who looked for 'pretty misses' to spend their evenings with, and it was reported that men could 'be sure of finding a nymph in waiting at Moll's Fair Reception House'. King's Coffee House became a place where men and women could meet, with the lingering promise of more than a dish of coffee. But Moll took care to offer a more luxurious experience than the local brothel. The women at King's dressed like 'persons of quality' and were attended by men dressed as footmen. There were no beds at the house, and so Moll was careful to stipulate that the house was to be used as a meeting place rather than a brothel, but she was equally eager to recommend places to stay for the night locally that would be appropriate. There were instances where the footman who accompanied the woman with a candle would also pick the pocket of the gentleman while he was preoccupied with his new companion, and if not him, sometimes the women themselves. 

Money quickly accumulated, and Moll and Tom bought a country house in Hampstead Heath in North London. On one occasion Moll overheard a group of lads travelling past, one pointing out the house, as 'Moll King's folly'. She yelled back from a window, that it was actually 'your folly... for you know how Fool's pence flew fast enough about, and they helped to build it'. Tom in particular spent more time in seclusion and away from the business in his later years, after he fell in ill health. Moll's 1747 biographer stated that Tom enjoyed drinking, and this, and 'other vices' was the reason for his later decline. Moll worked at the coffee house each day, telling everyone she enjoyed her work and loved to see her customers, who she called 'her pretty birds'. Tom died at their home in Hampstead in 1738.

After Tom's death, Moll appears frequently in court, probably because she was seen as an easy target as a widow, now that she did not have a male figure to defend her. But her resolve and resilience was profound. She embarked on money-lending at a high rate of interest, and was criticised for indecency. On 23 May 1739 she was summoned to receive judgement for keeping a 'disorderly house'. Reluctant to pay the £200 fine, she opted to serve time in prison until the authorities, knowing she could well afford the fine, put pressure on her to pay. She also appeared on charges of violent assault and for 'beating a gentleman' in her house, her only defence being that 'if she was to pay... all the insolent boys she had thrashed for their impudence, the Bank of England would be unable to furnish her with the cash'. To inspectors who received complaints from concerned residents that the house was being run as a brothel, Moll proudly showed them the only bed, which was hers that she had shared with her husband, accessed only by a ladder. She also bribed other critics, joking that she had 'bubbled the Bench' to avoid further legal action. 

However Moll was protective of the women she worked with and who frequented her coffee house and her customers developed a language so that only they would know what was being discussed. These phrases included 'to nap the pad' (to go to bed) and used the word 'daisies' for diamonds. One survives today, 'Old Codger', used to describe an old man. Moll was welcoming to everyone, regardless of her status, but could clearly become physical if disrespected. She liked to be punctual and valued the trait in others, and owned a Bull puppy that was given to her as a gift from a customer. She married again, to a Mr Huff, who it was widely believed had married her for her wealth. Once again, Moll had the foresight and caution to draw up a 'widow's will', which provided her son with an education at Eton after her death, a boy described at the time as a 'very hopeful young fellow'. Moll experienced bad health in her later years and retired to her house in Hampstead - she owned three homes at this point - and died there on 17 September 1747. A mock heroic poem was written after her death, named Covent Garden in Mourning. A 25-page biography was also printed in the year she died, called The Life and Character of Moll King, of King's Coffee House in Covent Garden. Published in 1747, it was printed by W. Price in London and sold for three pence a copy. 

Moll's trace is not often acknowledged, but she shows us that women could be successful business owners in the Georgian era, and even during her marriage to Tom she seems to have been the driving force behind the couple's fortune and notorious fame. 

Liked this? You might also like John Conyers and the Copped Hall Robbery of 1775, Mary Edmondson, Accused Georgian Murderess, and LGBTQ Georgian Britain: Mary East

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Hogarth's London, pictures of the manners of the eighteenth century. Henry Benjamin Wheatley, Constable and Company London 1909 

The Life and Character of Moll King, of King's Coffee House in Covent Garden, who departed this life the 17 sept 1747. Published 1747 by W Price. 

I wrote about Joan and William Canynges in Forgotten Women of the Wars of the Roses and I think of them whenever I'm in Bristol. 

William Canynges was a fifteenth-century Mayor of Bristol and a wealthy merchant. He contributed to the building and upkeep of St Mary Redcliffe Church, and had a house nearby, across today's roundabout just outside the main gate. But while William is commemorated around the city in stained glass and paintings, his wife Joan is usually completely forgotten. In fact there would be no visible trace of her in the city at all if it were not for the couple's joint effigy inside St Mary Redcliffe church.

William was well known in Bristol among the merchant community and local government officials, and was granted a special shipping licence by Henry VI. Shortly after Edward IV's accession he greeted the teenage king at Bristol and was reported to have entertained him at his home for the night. Joan then, was present during this important event and would have had a key role in the household arrangements ensuring everything was in place for the new king's comfort and acting as an ambassador to her family and Bristol.

Their home was crammed into the streets near Bristol's harbour, but it was also palatial, as you'd expect for such an influential and wealthy couple. It had a private chapel, a viewing tower and was decorated with gold on the walls and ceilings and painted with frescoes. Their extravagant tomb at St Mary's Redcliffe also remains as a reminder of their wealth, richly carved and painted. The Canynges also contributed towards the upkeep and building of the church, which is beautifully carved and decorated and well worth a visit.

The close resemblance between William's effigy here and that of his later one also supports the argument that it probably resembles how the mayor would once have looked in life. Similarly, Joan's features are far from generic and may also represent how she would have looked as she flitted through Bristol's fifteenth-century streets running household errands and assisting in her husband's business. Thanks to surviving letters written by families who lived during the Wars of the Roses period (the Pastons, Celys, Stonors, for example) we know women often met with their husband's business associates and acted as unofficial personal assistants while the husband was away on royal or economic business.

A wooden board above William's later effigy states that he was 'the richest merchant of the town of Bristol', was elected mayor five times and contributed to the city's wealth and fortune. After his political career, he became Dean of Westbury where he also had a college built, sustaining over 800 craftsmen's livelihoods for eight years. It also states that he paid Edward IV 3,000 marks, in return for a shipping agreement of 2470 tonnes, an astonishing amount of money for the period. Among the ships he personally owned were The Mary Canynges, The Mary Redcliffe, The Little Nicholas and The Margaret. There is no doubt that the Canynges' enjoyed comfortable, wealthy and busy lives and if you could go back to medieval Bristol you would easily find their trace in their friends and contacts, buildings and business. I also found links between the Canynges' and other influential mercantile families in Bristol of the fifteenth century, showing how well connected they were. Joan died in 1467, and William on 7 November 1474. For a more detailed discussion of Joan and William and their combined and individual influence in medieval Bristol, check out Forgotten Women of the Wars of the Roses where a number of other Bristol women are also mentioned in the context of the war.

In 1809 English men and women flocked to see a celebrity: a 'spotted boy' who had been brought to Bristol from the island of St Vincent in the Caribbean. He had been born on a plantation owned by a man named Mr Alexander to African parents in around June 1808 and was named George. George immediately began to attract attention, having black skin with white markings, something considered unusual for the time. Surviving portraits of the boy show that he had vitiligo, a long-term condition resulting in pale or white patches of skin that can sometimes appear symmetrically on the body. To his contemporaries though, the baby's appearance was a mystery and the writer Abel Bowen in 1840 stated that people visited him on the island, each charged a dollar to see him. Bowen wrote that there was some concern over the baby boy's safety, due, he said, to superstition about the colouring of his skin, and so his passage was arranged to England. However he also pointed out that the decision may also have been made with 'the prospect of a profitable disposal'. 

George Alexander (Gratton), Wellcome Collection, Public Domain

Bristol Harbour today

We all know about the Great Fire of London in 1666, but fires continued to be a pretty regular occurrence in London, even into the next century. Looking through Georgian records, there are reports of a fire in the city every few months, something that is unsurprising when we consider that despite the rebuilding of London after 1666, there was still a large quantity of wooden buildings huddled together in the capital during the eighteenth century. Post-fire building overseen by Charles II and his queen, Catherine of Braganza, was also concentrated most urgently on the areas directly affected, and so surrounding areas were still filled with medieval and Tudor buildings that could cause serious damage if accidentally set alight.

Joseph Highmore, 1692–1780, Figures in a Tavern or Coffee House, ca. 1725 or after 1750, Oil on panel, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, B2001.2.86. Public Domain

In Sweeting's Alley in central London in 1759 a fire broke out at around 5am one morning at Hamlin's Coffee House, near the Royal Exchange. Hamlin's, like other coffee houses of the time, would have been a fashionable place not only to sip a hot bowl of black coffee but to do business, chat with likeminded people and attend the odd auction of goods or property. Next door was another coffee house, The New York Coffee House, and in the immediate community, other shops such as one run by a fan maker named Mr Vaughan, a print-seller's by Mr Withy and a woollen draper's run by Mr Fleatham. There were others, too. Mr Hunt was a linen-draper, Mr Legg a woollen draper and Mr Bakewell a print seller, situated at the front of Cornhill. Nearby was a lawyer's office, another coffee house (The Virginia Coffee House), a barber and a broker. 

All these businesses would suffer on the morning of the fire at Hamlin's, showing how quickly fire could take hold of a small community. The Annual Register noted that thirteen houses stood in smouldering ruins, and two small shops - a shoemaker's and a watch-maker's - had completely burned down. The following day, at 3pm, the fire was said to have broken out again, now consuming the Red Lion and Sun alehouse in Sweeting's Alley. The culprit of the fire was believed to have been a lodger at Hamlin's, a musician who 'played music upon glasses' and who sadly died in the flames. Others died, too, unable to escape the smoke-filled buildings or tragically buried in the ashen rubble as the upper floors and walls crumbled around them. 

The devastating fire at Hamlin's tells us so much about Georgian London. First, the report in The Annual Register details the many businesses that traded here, and although the area is known to have been the centre of London's trading community, barbers, shoemakers and woollen drapers had also set up businesses here. These, and the many coffee shops that emerged in the area were no doubt supported by fashionable merchants, bankers and lawyers who had offices near the Royal Exchange. The report not only describes the premises that were damaged but where they stood, what they offered and who ran them, giving us a fascinating glimpse into the Cornhill area of central London in the mid-1700s. 

The report also underlines the severe fire risk that was still very real after 1666. We tend to focus on the Great Fire during the reign of Charles II and his rebuilding of London in stone and the city's reorganisation into wider public squares and other spaces. But there were still frequent fires all over London during the eighteenth century. Closely-huddled buildings, flammable materials and a reliance on flame for light, cooking and warmth all combined to make London's narrow streets a potential hazard to live or do business in. It's worth adding that it wasn't just London that suffered with fires - Portsmouth Dockyard was damaged by fire in 1770 and 1776, and there are other mentions of devastating blazes in other towns around the country during the period.

Liked this? You might also like What Was it Like During the Great Fire of London and The Old White Hart Inn, Southwark. 

Source: The Annual Register, 1759, via archive.org

While many of you were enjoying the bank holiday weekend sunshine, and lighting up the BBQ, I was peering at seventeenth- and eighteenth-century texts to try to unravel a Restoration-era ghost story. 

'Haunting', Redon. Met Museum, Public Domain.

The story, told in various sources in the seventeenth to the twentieth centuries, concerns a man named Sir Charles Lee. His first wife had died in childbirth, but the newborn lived. A daughter, she was brought up by her mother’s sister the Lady Everard. A marriage was arranged for her with a Sir William Perkins, but until the couple were wed, the young woman lived with her aunt in Waltham in Essex while her father remained at his base in Warwickshire. One night she noticed a glow from her chamber, and called a maid to check whether she had left a lit candle in her room. The maid told her all the candles were out, and so she went to her room and settled to sleep. At 2am she woke, seeing the ‘apparition of a little woman between her curtain and her pillow, who told her she was her mother, that she was happy, and that by twelve of the clock that day she should be with her’. 

She got up, went to her closet and wrote a letter, not emerging until 9am, sealing it and giving it to the Lady Everard. She told her aunt that she was convinced that she was going to die that day, and asked her to send the sealed letter to her father once she was dead. Thinking her niece had gone ‘mad’, Everard called for a physician and a surgeon to come from Chelmsford. Neither could figure out what was wrong, and, to be on the safe side, carried out a bloodletting. The young woman then called for the chaplain, and prayers were said for her. She spent the morning listening to music and singing while the bemused household watched over her, and just before twelve midday, the young woman sat down in a chair, ‘presently fetching a strong breathing or two, immediately expired, and was suddenly cold, as much wondered at by the physician and surgeon’. Sir Charles was immediately informed, and was sent the letter his daughter had written. Inside, it stated that she wished to be buried with her mother at Edmonton. It was said that her father was so upset and affected at the news that he didn’t arrive at Waltham until after his daughter had been buried. He had her body removed from its burial place and taken to Edmonton to fulfil the wishes in the letter. 

The story was told to the Bishop of Gloucester by Sir Charles himself and was said to have happened in around 1662. But is there any trace of this in the historical record? As it turns out, Sir Charles Lee was a prominent man of administration and local justice during the reign of Charles II. 

His father was Sir Robert Lee, from Billesley in Warwickshire. With his wife, Anne Lowe, he had a large family. They had married on 10 November 1600, during the reign of Elizabeth I, at St Peter le Poor church in London, the same year that Robert purchased the manor of Billesley for £5,000. Robert served as Lord Mayor in 1602-3 as well as Alderman of London and the couple had four daughters and four sons, although two of their sons died young. Charles was baptised on 30 June 1620 at the church his parents had married in twenty years before. At the age of 22 he was knighted by Charles I at Oxford on 28 December 1645. In 1637 his father died, and his eldest brother Robert inherited the family estates. However, in 1659 Robert died without issue, and Charles inherited the Lee estates. 

Charles married four times. His first wife was Elizabeth Elwes, who died in 1652, the genealogist George Cokayne stating that she left ‘issue’, but doesn’t mention any sister, only a brother named John, who lived at Barton Court in Berkshire. Another wife was Catherine, the daughter of Sir Lionel Tollemache, and widow of Sir Charles Mordaunt, who had died in 1648. Charles was Catherine's second husband and we can assume the marriage took place fairly soon after both partners became widowed, within four years of one another. Charles married again in December 1679, to Sarah, Viscountess Corbet of Edmonton. She died in 1682. Finally, he married Letitia (or Lettice) Fisher, who was born on 20 July 1659. She is mentioned as Charles’ widow on her later marriage to Bishop John Hough in 1702. He was Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry at the time, and Hough referred to her as the ‘dear companion of my life’. She died of an illness which began in 1722, when doctors were called. Her health improved a little and she died at the end of the year, 12 November 1722. Letitia was buried in Worcester Cathedral, the bishop choosing to be buried alongside her after his death. On 28 April 1719 she wrote her will, and remembered Charles. Bequeathing diamond rings, ruby rings, diamond earrings, a diamond buckle and pearl necklace to various relatives, she wrote, ‘and in token of the respect I bear to the memory of my former husband, Sir Charles Lee, I give to his unfortunate grandchild, Mrs R. Bradshaw, one hundred pounds’.

Charles served Charles II after his Restoration to the Crown, primarily as a juror in criminal cases, such as that of Edward Coleman in 1678, who was charged with an attempt on the king’s life. He was part of the jury again at the trial, on charges of treason, of William Ireland, Thomas Pickering and John Grove in December 1678. In 1680 he appears in a list of the king’s justices at Southampton, alongside George, Duke of Buckingham. In 1689 he sold the family manor of Billesley to Bernard Whalley, a Leicestershire man, who subsequently rebuilt the parish church in 1692. Sir Charles died in the autumn of 1700 and was buried on 18 October of that year at Edmonton in Middlesex. It’s believed that one daughter survived him, named Elizabeth, who married James Mundy. They had a daughter called Catherine, who sold Sir Charles’ lands and properties in Edmonton in 1711. 

It's not clear which of Sir Charles’ wives was the mother referred to in the ghost story that has become so well associated with him. Considering that the story was said to have happened in 1662, it’s possible that it was Charles’ first wife, Elizabeth, who died in 1652. His marriage to Catherine Tollemache could not have occurred earlier than 1652, and so makes it unlikely that it was her. If her mother was Elizabeth, the young girl - who was not named in the Bishop of Gloucester's account - would have been around the age of ten when she was visited by her mother’s spirit. This is also supported by the account stating that she was living with a relative, being too young to consummate an arranged marriage. It’s also possible that the vision that she experienced wasn’t a spirit at all, but neurological or medical symptoms related to the circumstances of her death, occurring so soon after the sighting. With so much still unknown about Sir Charles, and the lives of his wives and children, it is difficult to pin down the source of the legend further, until more secure evidence arises. 

Do you know about the legend of the Lee ghost? Let me know in the comments below... 

You might also like 7 Historic Events That Happened at Hampton Court and Catherine of Braganza's Women.

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Sources consulted

A catalogue of the names of all His Majesties justices ... 1680, archive.org

'Parishes: Billesley', in A History of the County of Warwick: Volume 3, Barlichway Hundred, ed. Philip Styles (London, 1945), British History Online https://www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/warks/vol3/pp58-61 [accessed 3 May 2025].

John Eardley-Wilmot, The life of the Rev. John Hough, D.D., successively bishop of Oxford, Lichfield and Coventry, and Worcester: formerly president of St. Mary Magdalen College, Oxford, in the reign of King James II. Containing many of his letters, and biographical notices of several persons with whom he was connected, 1812, archive.org

The tryals of William Ireland, Thomas Pickering,... 1678, archive.org

Augusta Elizabeth Brickdale Corbet, The family of Corbet; its life and times. 1914. Archive.org

William Robinson, The history and antiquities of the parish of Edmonton, in the county of Middlesex. Comprising an account of the manors, the church, and Southgate chapel ... 1819. Via archive.org

Edward Coleman, 1888. The tryal of Edward Coleman, gent., for conspiring the death of the King, and the subversion of the government of England, archive.org

George E. Cokayne, Some account of the Lord Mayors and Sheriffs of the city of London, during the first quarter of the seventeenth century, 1601-1625. 1897, archive.org

Richard Boulton, A compleat history of magick, sorcery, and witchcraft; ... 1715: Vol 1, archive.org