Jonathan Balls was born in 1769 in the tiny coastal village of Happisburgh, Norfolk. He stayed in that same place for his whole life—fairly static, quiet, isolated, and marked by hardship. Not much is recorded about his early years aside from his frequent brushes with the law over minor offenses—he had a reputation as a “bad character” and was often in trouble with the local magistrate.

He married a woman named Elizabeth and together they had three daughters, who eventually married and gave Jonathan several grandchildren. But life remained rough: the family never escaped poverty and were supported by parish relief—part of England's Poor Laws. As he aged, Jonathan increasingly depended on his children’s charity to get by. Historians suggest that this dependency might have fueled a chilling motivation: poisoning close family members to redirect funds and inheritance his way. 

Starting around the early 1830s, Jonathan Balls began quietly acquiring large amounts of arsenic from nearby towns—always with the plausible excuse of needing to rid his home of rats. But almost immediately after, the deaths began stacking up with a chilling regularity. First, his daughter Maria Lacey—only 24 years old—died under the shadow of unspecified illness and household mistreatment. It wasn’t until later that suspicion focused on possible poisoning.

Then, over the next decade, tragedy visited his grandchildren in heartbreaking succession. On 25 December 1836, 13-month-old Maria Green passed away mysteriously. Little more than two years later, 8-year-old Ann Peggs died on 7 June 1839. Then, on one chilling day—31 October 1841—13-month-old Martha Green and her 3-year-old brother William both succumbed.

As time passed, additional losses followed. In 1843, a granddaughter, Ann Elizabeth Pestle, died at the age of two. In September 1845, her brother Samuel Pestle, aged three, joined the roll of the deceased. Just a few months later, in December of the same year, Jonathan’s bedridden wife Elizabeth died. Only days later, Elizabeth Anne Pestle, yet another granddaughter, passed away on 17 April 1846.

The mounting number of deaths finally sparked alarm among neighbors. They pleaded twice for inquests—but in an era when child mortality was tragically high, their concerns were dismissed as unfortunate misfortune. That changed only after Jonathan himself fell ill. On 20 April 1846, he died in a manner eerily reminiscent of his victims—prompting immediate suspicion that he had in effect poisoned himself in the same toxic way he allegedly did others.

Instructing his daughter to include odd items in his burial—such as a Bible, plum cakes, a fire poker, coal tongs, and handkerchiefs—possibly to prevent his return as a vampire, Jonathan’s death triggered a long-overdue investigation. The coroner, Mr. Pilgrim, responded by ordering the exhumation of Jonathan and his granddaughter Ann Elizabeth Pestle. Under the watch of churchwardens, clergy, and police, both bodies were examined—and high arsenic concentrations were detected. Investigators then extended exhumations to other victims, looking for similar evidence.

Adding a real human layer, one of Jonathan’s servants, Sarah Kerrison, came forward with disturbing observations. She reported seeing him sprinkle white powder into his wife’s teacup shortly before her health began to deteriorate. When she sampled the family’s food in concern—and maybe out of suspicion—she fell gravely ill, vomiting and suffering chest pain—textbook signs of arsenic poisoning.

Word of the bizarre case spread fast. A media frenzy began, and the story landed in Parliament. Mr. Wakley formally raised the “Poisoning Case at Happisburgh” on 20 May 1846, noting that while the verdict confirmed poisoning, no perpetrator had been identified. Home Secretary Sir James Graham expressed his horror and willingness to assist with further investigation.

The inquest jury went on to deliver a verdict: that Jonathan Balls, along with Elizabeth Balls and grandchildren Samuel Pestle and Ann Elizabeth Pestle, had died from poison.