Alas, during my genealogical climbs up the family tree, I found this happened all too often IRL. Crappy dates and “let’s call him Henry, or sometimes we’ll call him Charles, his middle name, which is different from the other Henry but nobody will know that because ‘Henry C.’ is the only other reference anybody makes and oh yeah sometimes ‘Henry’ is actually a third Henry that you’ll only figure out from the obituary of his son, John Frederick, who always went by ‘J. Fred’ for some reason but nobody ever asked the old guy while he was alive.” So yeah, totally fits in a Victorian novel.