Bespoke House History Research

When House History Turns True Crime

This house history took me to the beautiful, historic market town of Petworth in West Sussex. Known today for its antique shops, handsome Georgian facades and character cottages, the streets are full of charm — but I could already sense there were deeper layers of history waiting to be uncovered.

While tracing the background of a property linked to a street not far from town, I found myself pulled into a very different kind of story — one that would have sent shockwaves through the community in 1862. A young girl was murdered in her bed, in the cramped upper rooms of a butcher’s shop, by someone no one could have imagined capable: her own grandmother.

This wasn’t the history of a grand manor house or a celebrated local figure. It was the forgotten story of a small slum dwelling in Ayres Yard — long since demolished, but once accessed through a gated passage still visible today. What happened there one spring evening was disturbing, even by Victorian standards.

This was a story of family tension, grief, instability.., and tragedy. It brings to light the realities of Victorian poverty, mental health, and the kind of truths people don’t expect to find in a house history.

But that’s the thing with house histories: you don’t get to choose the stories. You just have to follow them.

Thankfully, this particular house was not directly associated with the story below – however, it is possible that in some cases, I uncover sad stories or gruesome details that are. I know that’s not everyone’s thing – and so that’s why I offer the option for these particular details to be left out of your house history, if you would prefer.

Ayres Yard: The Slum Behind the Church

In 1862, Ayres Yard sat tucked behind Petworth Church, just off Lombard Street. Today, the surrounding buildings have been renovated or replaced, but if you walk past the gate near the top of Lombard Street, you’re standing at the former entrance to the community of the town’s most notorious slum.

Most of Ayres Yard was reportedly owned by Mr. Gadd, a butcher. Alongside his butcher’s shop, there were a few small cottages, pigsties, and a slaughterhouse. The conditions were poor even by mid-Victorian standards. Residents were working-class families packed into narrow homes, often with large families living in small spaces, with shared courtyards and minimal sanitation. The houses backed onto what had once been the Crown Inn and sat between Lombard Street and what is now Park Road, creating a tight, enclosed community.

Elizabeth Steer, a seamstress, lived here with her husband Thomas, a shoemaker, known to have a heavy drinking habit. The upper floor of their modest dwelling, located above the butcher’s shop, was where they slept — and where the tragic events of May 1862 would later unfold.

The Family

Elizabeth Steer was born in 1803 in Petworth, Sussex. By the early 1860s, she was in her late 50s, living with her husband Thomas and continuing to raise grandchildren within the tight confines of Ayres Yard.

Her eldest daughter, Jane Hill (née Steer), had married Charles Hill — a general servant — and they had moved to Hampshire. This may have been for Charles’ work, as he was employed on the domestic housekeeping team at the old Hincheslea estate. The couple had three children: Jane, Charles, and William. Charles, the father, suffered from tuberculosis and sadly died just before Christmas, on December 23rd 1861. Only a few months after the birth of their youngest son, William. Jane returned from Hampshire to her parents home in Petworth, as a young widow, with three children and very few options.

It’s not hard to imagine the desperation she might have felt. In those days, widows with children relied heavily on extended family or parish relief. George Wells, a local man twenty years her senior, had lost his own wife and was working as the Petworth relieving officer — the official responsible for assessing local families’ eligibility for support under the Poor Law. A decent job. By December 1861, a year and a day after Charles Hill’s death, Jane and George were married.

Though the reasons for their quick union can’t be confirmed, the circumstances could suggest a marriage of mutual convenience. He gained a wife to help manage a household; she gained financial and social security. But this new chapter would also mark the start of growing tensions with her mother — tensions that would later have devastating consequences.

Ayres Yard and the Night of the Attack

Jane Hill’s nine-year-old daughter, also named Jane, had spent most of her young life under the care of her grandmother, Elizabeth Steer. From infancy through to the age of five, she lived with Elizabeth full-time, and even after returning to her mother’s care in Hampshire, the bond remained strong. When Jane returned to Petworth after her husband’s death, little Jane once again began staying regularly with her grandmother — eventually moving back in permanently.

By May 1862, things had seemingly reached a breaking point. Elizabeth, reportedly suffering from worsening headaches and emotional distress, told her daughter she could no longer manage the younger children. Jane had agreed to remove both of her children from her mother’s home entirely — including the granddaughter she had raised since birth. This caused Elizabeth some distress – perhaps understandably. This would have been the second time that little Jane would be removed from her care. She reportedly begged Jane not to take her away, but despite this, it was arranged for the children to move in with their mother — and her new boyfriend, George — on the 12th May.

On the night of 10th May 1862, something in Elizabeth broke.

She left her home in Ayres Yard around midnight and approached PC Puttick, a policeman out on patrol. It was a dark night, and none of the gas lamps in the street were lit. Elizabeth confessed to the officer that she had murdered her grandchild, directing him to the yard behind Lombard Street. There, he found a small candle burning on the kitchen table and followed Elizabeth upstairs, where the body of nine-year-old Jane lay on the floor at the foot of the bed.

There were visible wounds, and blood was found around the room and on Elizabeth’s arms and hands. A table knife — which she handed to the officer — had been used in the attack. Elizabeth made no attempt to run and instead remained calm, even cooperative, as the events unfolded. Her husband Thomas, was awoken by the commotion, and is reported to have said: “You have done for yourself now, my girl.”

You have to imagine the chaos of this all unfolding within the confines of a small dwelling above a butchers shop, in a notorious slum. No paramedics. No ambulances.

Poor Little Jane Hill was still alive when Superintendent Kemmish arrived. Without emergency medical services in those days, and the way her wounds were described, it’s really a miracle that she survived for any time at all. She was taken to the Petworth workhouse, where she managed around two weeks before succumbing to her injuries. This was now a case of murder.

The Inquest & The Trial

The inquest into Jane Hill’s death was held at the Angel Inn in Petworth, a venue that still stands today. A jury of twelve local men was sworn in, and then Jane’s body was formally viewed.

It’s fair to say that, by today’s standards, holding a child murder inquest in a local pub, having twelve men act as the jury, and having the body of a deceased 9 year old out on display feels quite shocking and wildly informal. Almost surreal. But back then it was common practice. The 1860s had not yet seen the introduction of clear legal safeguards, psychological considerations, and institutional boundaries when it comes to sensitive cases, like this one. It was also common practice back then for inquests to be held in inns, public houses, and even private residences, partly due to the lack of suitable civic buildings, but also because death was handled in a far more public way than it is today.

Witnesses at the inquest included police officers, medical staff, and most heartbreakingly, Jane Wells herself — the mother of the victim and daughter of the accused. She fainted upon being sworn in, and gave her statement with great difficulty, describing the complex living arrangements and emotional strain that had built between herself and her mother.

Dr Turner, who had cared for the child in her final days, described her suffering as acute. Jane had been unable to swallow or take in any food or nourishment due to the severity of her wounds, yet had still apparently asked her carers not to punish her grandmother.

When brought before the magistrate, Elizabeth Steer declined legal representation and gave a full confession, claiming she had “many reasons” for her actions. She said, “Sooner than I would see my children ill-used, I would rather take their lives and follow them to the grave.”

Initially, her husband Thomas Steer may have been under suspicion for involvement, but evidence showed he had been heavily intoxicated that night and unaware of the tragic incident that had taken place right next to him, in the room where he was sleeping. 

Elizabeth Steer stood trial for wilful murder at the Summer Assizes on 1 August 1862. A guilty verdict could have meant a sentence of death by hanging. However, after hearing medical assessments and testimony from the governor of the Petworth House of Correction, she was not considered to be sane of mind at the time of the incident, or enough to even understand the charge. The judge ruled her unfit to plead. She was ordered to be detained “during Her Majesty’s pleasure” — the Victorian way of saying “you’ll spend the remainder of your life in a lunatic asylum”. An indefinite sentence handed down to those deemed criminally insane.

Soon after this decision, Elizabeth was admitted in September 1862 to Fisherton House Asylum in Wiltshire.

Fisherton House & What Came After

Fisherton House Asylum in Wiltshire was one of the largest private mental institutions in the country at the time, housing both pauper, private and criminally insane patients. While conditions varied between wings, those confined as a result of criminal proceedings were often kept in the more secure, and more isolated, sections of the institution.

Records from Fisherton in this period are scarce and lack detail, and while her admission is confirmed, I am uncertain of her eventual fate. 

Just a year after her arrival at Fisherton, Broadmoor Hospital opened in Berkshire as the first dedicated criminal lunatic asylum in England. Designed specifically for cases like Elizabeth’s — where the accused were found not guilty by reason of insanity. It’s possible that she may have been transferred there later in life. Like many women in similar circumstances, she may have lived out her remaining years in institutional care, far from the family and town where her story had begun.

 Life Moves On

It was actually this part of the story where I began my research for this house history. Naïve to what I was about to uncover, I had started by looking into the census records for historical residents of a property in the Mount Pleasant area. Learning that in 1871, there was a family living here who, even at first glance, seemed intriguing. I noticed the Head of the family, George, had an interesting occupation as the Relief Officer for the Parish. He was living with his wife, and several children who had different surnames.

I had stumbled upon a moment in time captured in the years after the 1862 tragedy. This would have been just under 10 years on, and life for Jane Hill and her husband, George, had certainly moved on. Now living in Mount Pleasant, Jane was far removed from her parents’ old home in the notorious Ayres Yard. Their household included both of Jane’s surviving children from her first marriage — Charles and William — as well as three new children of their own: Albert, Rose, and Percival.

Whatever the motivations or circumstances that brought Jane and George together — be it practical necessity, emotional support, or simply the convergence of two lives in a tough time period — it’s clear they had managed to rebuild. From the outside, at least, their home life appeared stable and settled.

But I can’t help wondering how Jane was really feeling. She had lost a husband to illness and a daughter to tragedy, and had been forced to publicly testify against her own mother – all in very quick succession. George, too, had celebrated his new marriage by giving evidence as a witness in a murder trial involving his own mother-in-law. Their shared past wasn’t just difficult — it was infamous.

And yet here they were, raising a blended family in a quiet corner of town, carving out something new. Petworth had moved on, and seemingly so had they.

What Lies Beneath the Surface

Every home is more than just bricks and mortar. This story uncovered not only a forgotten tragedy, but also the quiet strength of those left behind.

The murder of young Jane Hill shocked Petworth in 1862, yet the town — like the family — carried on. Today, few walking down Lombard Street would ever imagine what once happened behind the gates of old Ayres Yard.

That’s the power of house history. It reveals the full depth of human experience — the tragic, the unexpected, and the remarkable.

You never quite know what you’ll find — only that every home has a story.

Let’s discover what secrets your house is hiding, Take the first step by booking a Pre-Research Check today!