The Ghost of 50 Berkeley Square: Inside London's Most Dangerous Room

A frantic, deafening clanging of a servant's brass bell shattered the heavy silence of a grand Mayfair mansion in the dead of night. The property's terrified residents rushed upstairs and burst into the infamous "ghost room," only to find a wealthy gentleman crumpled dead in the very middle of the floorboards. The man, a stubborn non-believer who had arrogantly demanded to spend the night in the room to disprove local gossip, had spent his final conscious moments desperately tugging the bell pull for a rescue that never came. He was found dead without a single mark on his body, a victim of an unseen supernatural menace.

The shocking fatality marked the legendary peak of 50 Berkeley Square, a grand Georgian townhouse that would eventually earn a terrifying reputation as the most haunted house in London. But what exactly was driving these lethal anomalies? Could a modern investigation separate genuine historical facts from sensationalised Victorian media trickery?

While researching this case, you can explore our complete database of phenomena over on our master Ghosts and Hauntings Archive.

1770–1827 — The Prime Minister’s Prestigious Residence

To understand this historical case file, we honestly have to look back to the mid-18th century. That was when Berkeley Square was officially laid out in the City of Westminster by the celebrated architect William Kent. Rapidly becoming one of the most sought-after residential garden squares in London. High-quality, tall brick terraced houses continued apace, drawing prestigious figures like Admiral Byng, Robert Clive, and Horace Walpole to the neighborhood. While modern developers have since badly altered the eastern and southern sides with modern hotels. A number of the original Georgian houses still remain securely in place along the southern part of the western terrace.

As diligent historical correspondents for the weekly antiquarian magazine Notes & Queries pondered the structure's layout. They uncovered a surprisingly prestigious lineage for the infamous plot. From 1770 until 1827, the house at 50 Berkeley Square served as the comfortable home of British Prime Minister George Canning. During these early decades, the walls echoed with high-stakes political debates rather than the screams of terrified residents.

1802–1835 — The Myers Family Inheritance

The true origin of the house's decline began with a clever, industrious man named Thomas Myers Senior. Born in 1764 to the Reverend Thomas Myers and his wife Anne Wordsworth, Myers worked as a humble East India Company clerk. On 2 January 1802, he married Lady Mary Catherine Nevill, the daughter of the second Earl of Abergavenny.

The marriage, however, triggered a toxic family feud. The snobbish Earl of Abergavenny thoroughly despised Myers, firmly believing his aristocratic daughter had married beneath her station, and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Myers family layout. Myers sought patrimony to enter the House of Commons. Eventually serving as the Member of Parliament for Yarmouth from 1810 until 1812, before sinking back into political obscurity.

Tragedy struck the family early when Lady Mary passed away prematurely in 1807 at the age of just 24, leaving behind two young children. Thomas Junior and Mary Myers. When Thomas Myers Senior died in 1835, he left a handsome, substantial fortune to his two children. Mary Myers became an eccentric "old maid." A quaint old-world figure of an incredibly retiring disposition. She was well-known to the memoir-writing noblewoman Lady Dorothy Nevill, whom she regularly treated to chilling, firsthand stories regarding the growing anomalies inside the haunted house at 50 Berkeley Square.

1842–1859 — The Curzon Lease and the Silent Manservant

The earliest formal directory for the property surfaces in 1842, listing the house as the property of Lord Curzon. It was inhabited by his daughter, the Honourable Miss Elizabeth Curzon, who lived in the home until her death in May 1859.

During her long residence, the house appeared to be entirely free of ghosts. This quiet timeline was later verified by her former manservant, George Vincent, who left her service to become the prestigious Head Porter at Brasenose College, Oxford. Writing directly to the correspondents of Notes & Queries, Vincent stated: "I entered the house, 50 Berkeley Square, London, on March 20, 1851, in the service of the late Miss Curzon... During the nine years I was in the house, and I have been in it at all hours alone, I saw no greater ghost than myself."

Following Miss Curzon’s death, a heavy silence fell over the property. The house was completely removed from official residential listings, eventually being described in 1882 as totally unoccupied.

The 1850s — The Poltergeist Visitation

Essentially, the physical origin of the house's dark reputation stems back to a suspected poltergeist visitation in the 1850s. Absolutely nothing was written about it in the local press at the time, but years later, those involved in the property recollected a series of classic anomalies.

Heavy furniture had been actively moved about by completely unseen hands, and a barrage of thumps and rhythmic knockings had been repeatedly heard vibrating through the walls after dark. While it was not much of an official record, it was sadly typical of much of the parapsychological material from the era, setting a creepy blueprint for the terror to come.

1859–1874 — The Madness of Thomas Myers Junior

The haunting entered its most famous, tragic era when the lease was purchased by Thomas Myers Junior. Myers was a "gentleman" of independent means who possessed no professional occupation, living comfortably off the substantial inheritance left by his father. He bought 50 Berkeley Square with the romantic intention of living there with his new wife. He elaborately furnished the entire house and made every possible preparation to receive his beautiful bride. But just a few days before the wedding was scheduled to take place, the girl callously jilted him for another man.

The dismal experience shattered Myers’ sanity, turning him into a complete recluse. His sister, Miss Myers, used to say that her brother's behavior quickly bordered upon outright lunacy. Poor Mr. Myers entrenched himself inside the walls of 50 Berkeley Square and never left the house for fifteen years.

He kept two live-in domestic maidservants, but he made absolutely no exertions to keep the property in order. The house quickly fell into a state of hideous disrepair and became utterly dilapidated. There is nothing in local records to suggest Myers ever left the building. He remained inside until the very end. Staying locked in his bedroom during the daylight hours, but taking midnight strolls through the empty, dusty rooms at night.

According to Lord de la Zouche, the nephew of Miss Curzon, the house was widely reputed to be actively haunted as early as 1863 or 1864. A correspondent to Notes & Queries stated that during the years the "eccentric gentleman" lived there, basic necessities like soap, paint, or whitewash were never used on the exterior or interior.

By degrees, the local ghost stories began to multiply among Mayfair residents, whispering of "insanity," "secret murders," and walls that were "saturated with electric horror". In 1873, Myers was prosecuted at the Marlborough Street Police Court for totally neglecting to pay his due taxes, and a formal arrest warrant was issued against him.

His official death certificate reveals a bleak end to the reclusive era: "30th November 1874, 50 Berkeley Square, Thomas Myers, Male, 71 Years, Gentleman, Paralysis agitans, Diseased heart certified, Jane Long present at the Death." 'Paralysis agitans' is simply the archaic medical term for Parkinson's disease. It is highly understandable that an individual afflicted with such an untreatable, disagreeable disorder would choose to stay permanently indoors. Jane Long, the witness present at his passing, was most likely one of his loyal maidservants.

After the eccentric gentleman died, his sister immediately sent an estate agent to inspect the property to see if it was worth putting the layout in order for the remainder of the lease. The agent found the interior in a state of absolute, hideous disrepair. When he cautiously asked the remaining maidservants if they had ever seen any actual ghosts during their fifteen years inside, their blunt answer was: "We never seed any!"

February 1868 — Rhoda Broughton and the Fiction Mirror

Where did the original legend of the dangerous "ghost room" actually come from? Research by Notes & Queries correspondents discovered a highly suspicious resemblance between the Mayfair urban legend and a spooky fictional tale published in a popular collection called Twilight Stories (also known as Tales for Christmas Eve).

The literary anthology was the work of the once-famous writer Rhoda Broughton. Her collection contained a specific ghost story entitled "The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth," originally published in Temple Bar magazine for February 1868.

Broughton's fictional narrative is virtually identical to the popular rumors surrounding the Berkeley Square house, with only one major structural difference. In her book, the terrified housemaid who goes insane is taken to a local doctor's home instead of being rushed to a hospital. When a skeptical correspondent wrote directly to Rhoda Broughton to ask if she had based her famous story on the active Mayfair haunting, her written reply was telling. She had actually heard the spooky tale from loose informants in the country. Suggesting the rumor was a floating piece of folklore long before it attached itself to the brick walls of number 50.

1876 — The Legend of Sarah Metyard and the Open Sewer

The story of the Mayfair ghost took a deeply disturbing historical turn in 1876. Long before the mainstream literary debate over 50 Berkeley Square exploded in the press. A local newspaper published a sensational theory claiming that the infamous spectre was actually the unquiet ghost of the daughter of the celebrated 1750s murderess, Sarah Metyard.

Sarah Metyard was a notoriously brutal Mayfair harridan who kept a small, chaotic knitting factory in Bruton Street, situated not very far from Berkeley Square. The facility was entirely staffed with half-starved parish apprentice girls. Metyard regularly beat and flogged the young girls for every minor misdemeanor.

The abuse reached a lethal climax when one apprentice, Anne Naylor, died after being on the receiving end of an exceptionally brutal beating. To cover up the horrific crime, Sarah Metyard and her daughter systematically dismembered the corpse, burnt several of the body parts, and threw the remainder of the flesh into an open public sewer.

When Anne Naylor’s suspicious sister began asking questions. The two Metyards murdered her as well, disposing of her body in the exact same manner. Four years went by with the Bruton Street murderess flourishing. But then her daughter, Sally, informed on her mother after being mistreated herself. Both mother and daughter were promptly hanged for their crimes and dissected at Surgeon's Hall.

The 1876 newspaper story claimed that Sally Metyard had gone into domestic service at the house in Berkeley Square, subsequently haunting the premises after perishing on the scaffold. However, historical records completely expose this legend as pure fiction. In real life, Sally was living in sin with an admirer at the exact time she informed on her mother.

1879 — The Sensational Mayfair Magazine Exposé

The haunting finally exploded into the public consciousness in 1879, when a sensational article was published in Mayfair magazine concerning "one of London's most notorious haunted houses." Long-abandoned due to the persistent rumors of supernatural visitations. The building presented an utterly woeful and dilapidated appearance to the world. It had not seen a single lick of paint for decades, and the exterior courtyard layout was full of rotting rubbish and thrown-away handbills.

The Mayfair journalist printed two devastating accounts that would forever define the property's lethal reputation:

• The Mad Housemaid: The journalist claimed that a young girl had once stayed in the upper "ghost room" of the mansion. The following morning, she was found by staff stark raving mad and never recovered from her psychological trauma.

• The Dead Gentleman: A stubborn gentleman who was an absolute disbeliever in ghosts demanded to stay the night in the haunted room. In the middle of the night, he encountered a supernatural menace. He was found dead in the middle of the floorboards after having frantically but vainly rung the servant's bell pull for rescue.

It was absolutely no secret in the neighborhood that the ghost house was 50 Berkeley Square, situated near the southern extreme of the western terrace. The correspondents to Notes & Queries took an immediate, scholarly interest in this singular Mayfair ghost story. The skeptics sneered at the reporting, stating bluntly that they would not believe a single word about the Ghost of Berkeley Square until the official lunacy documents for the girl and the formal police investigation files into the death of the gentleman were made public.

1880–1884 — The Repainting and the Selkirk Peace

The property entered a brief era of physical renewal in December 1880, when a correspondent to Notes & Queries could proudly report that 50 Berkeley Square had just been completely repainted and made ready for another human tenant. This brief resident may well have been a certain Major Du Pré, who lived there with his wife, albeit not for very long.

In June 1884, it was reported that Lord Selkirk had officially taken over the house. The move proved to be a complete success. In 1915, the Daily Mirror stated that Lady Selkirk was still living there in absolute peace and comfort, and according to a later 1924 account. The elderly noblewoman eventually died in the house, completely undisturbed by any ghosts.

1908–1923 — Elliott O’Donnell and the Fabrication of the Myths

The primary reason these spooky tales achieved permanent immortality was the work of the once-famous ghost hunter, Elliott O'Donnell. O'Donnell first visited the site as a schoolboy in the early 1890s, making his way to the square to admire London's most haunted house. Although the late Lord Curzon of Kedleston told him directly that the house was in fact not haunted at all, O'Donnell remained entirely unconvinced.

In a 1908 lecture, O'Donnell mentioned two spectacular versions of the haunting, leaving it to his audience to decide which one to believe:

• The Smoking Revolver: In about the year 1880, a reckless Major who cared little for ghosts decided to spend the night in the room. In the dead of night, a gunshot was heard. The Major was found in bed, stone dead from fright and clutching a smoking revolver.

• The Shapeless Creature: Two sailors took refuge in the empty house one night. After a dull thud at the door, a shapeless creature of so horrifying an aspect entered that one sailor died from fright on the spot, while the other was found wandering the basement a raving lunatic.

O'Donnell put the malignant spook firmly in the 'Harmful' category in his 1923 book Ghosts Helpful and Harmful. He quoted a story where a certain 'Captain B' stayed at number 50, where his fiancée and her family lived. He agreed to ring the bell once every hour if all was well, and twice if he needed assistance. At midnight and 1:00 AM, the bell sounded once, but at 2:00 AM, it rang twice. The family ran up the stairs, heard a solitary shot, and discovered Captain B sitting bolt upright in bed, dead from fright with a smoking revolver and a face so terrible no person could look at it twice.

As a bit of light relief after these horrors, O'Donnell retold the story of two cockney sailors, Bert and Charlie, who broke into the empty house after being stranded in Mayfair without a penny. In the middle of the night, they heard muffled footsteps walking up the stairs, and the door slowly opened to reveal a tall, shadowy spectre that resembled nothing human or animal. A terrified Bert ran to the window and slid down the water pipe, but Charlie was found the following day wandering Berkeley Square in an insane condition.

Close students of O'Donnell's writings note that the ghost hunter essentially made many of his spooky tales up to make his books more interesting. Neither the foolhardy major turned captain nor the pair of house-invading sailors have any part to play in the original historical records of the house. The damage done by his rehashes has been permanent, since a number of modern Internet plagiarists have swallowed his yarns hook, line, and sinker.

1928–1956 — The Nameless Horror of the Nursery

By 1928, the haunted house was inhabited by Sir Philip Grey-Egerton. In that same year, a correspondent to the Daily Mirror corroborated the rumors, which have since been further "improved" on the internet. Claiming that an unnamed young man was kept prisoner in the house, fed through a hole in the door until he went mad and died.

The Grey Ghost Book added that according to Mr. Ralph Nevill, a relation of the elusive Mr. Myers, the haunting actually dated back to the 18th century. The book claimed the layout was haunted by a child who had been tortured to death in the nursery, and by a man who had gone completely mad waiting for ghostly messages to appear on the walls.

In his 1933 book Ghosts of London, O'Donnell retold the Mayfair story again, this time calling the two sailors Bill and Mick. After seeing an intensely horrible shape in the doorway. Mick jumped headlong from a rear window into the back yard and broke his neck, while Bill ran away to tell a police constable.

The celebrated ghost hunter Harry Price discussed the 'Electric Horror' of Berkeley Square at length in 1945, declaring the haunting to be entirely over. Author R. Thurston Hopkins later added a ghost of his own, claiming that when a certain Mr. Bentley inhabited the house. His eldest daughter's boyfriend was frightened to death in the room after taking a shot at the Nameless Horror with his army pistol.

As late as 1956, O'Donnell retold the stories in Phantoms of the Night. Noting that various attempts had been made to discount the haunting by claiming the story was invented by a caretaker who did not want the house to be rented out. Another theory was that the house had been inhabited by an eccentric recluse and misogynist who used only one room and allowed the rest to go to wrack and ruin. Wandering the house at night with a lighted candle, which led to the local rumors.

1938–Present — Maggs Brothers and the Modern Myth-Making

The true, pragmatic reality of 50 Berkeley Square began in 1938, when the property became the official headquarters of Maggs Brothers Ltd, one of the world's largest upmarket antiquarian booksellers. Established in 1853 by Uriah Maggs, the firm occupied the premises for decades.

The staff reported absolutely no indications that the house was haunted during their tenure. John Maggs, who worked on the premises for 65 years, declared in 2003 that the absolute most anyone ever said was that staff "have noticed odd happenings every now and then that they can't quite explain away." Despite being a space where people are absorbed in serenely reading books, frequently a prelude to an apparition experience, the house has generated no real sightings.

Today, a steady stream of tourists, curiosity seekers, and ghost hunters still makes its way to the door of number 50. Maggs's Alice Rowell noted the frustrations of dealing with these persistent visitors: "No matter how much evidence we produce to the contrary, ghost hunters have a very fixed view, that the ghost exists, and no logical conversation, in our experience, is likely to sway them."

The firm's managing director often makes them an offer. If they can produce a single firsthand account of the haunting, they can bring their psychical research equipment and stay overnight for free, even on Halloween. To date, this offer has only met with completely blank looks. On rare occasions, Alice does allow ghost hunters to explore. She once showed a young boy and his family to the attic, which is actually a benign-looking space housing the photography and accounts departments. While there, his aunt accidentally knocked a book off a side table with her backpack. The boy was so utterly terrified by the sound that he burst into tears and could not move for fear, leaving the building believing in the ghost more than ever.

Ed Maggs finds this unwavering faith a testament to the human imagination and its myth-making faculty. Pointing to a photograph of a wartime Air Raid warning advising the firm not to use the building's top two floors because of bomb damage to the house next door. He recalls watching two young American women spot the sign and excitedly whisper that the top floors were forbidden to staff on account of its supernatural danger. "One of the things that baffles me about them," Ed adds, "is that they don't seem to see the absence of evidence as any hindrance at all. Especially with the Internet, people are terribly happy just to accept un-evidenced nonsense."

The Whole Truth: A Cautionary Tale of Internet Historiography

To my mind, there is absolutely no doubt that the legend of the haunting of 50 Berkeley Square is directly linked to the incredibly untidy and dilapidated look of the house during the 15-year residence of Thomas Myers Junior. In elegant, high-society Berkeley Square, his neglected property stood out like a sore thumb, which set local tongues wagging. Although the ailing Myers was still living inside, rumors spread that the house had been completely deserted due to a persistent haunting. It is not uncommon for people to believe badly neglected houses are shunned because a notorious murder took place there. But not a single house in Berkeley Square is included among the official Murder Houses of London.

Alternatively, the dilapidated look of the house easily inspired a 'Miss Havisham' or 'Dirty Dick' urban legend about a tragic recluse who had once been crossed in love. Ultimately, the story of the Ghost of Berkeley Square is a powerful cautionary tale about modern Internet historiography.

Online repositories are completely full of imaginative disinformation about the spectres of number 50, with various digital charlatans continuously "improving on" the original bogus ghost stories fabricated by Elliott O'Donnell. The sad history of a hermitical outcast from society, crippled by Parkinson's disease, has been used to conjure up a dozen formidable spectres ready for any mischief. Credulous people once tended to believe whatever they read in a physical book. Today, they are lured into gullibility by online fantasies based upon decades of piling untruth upon exaggeration. In the ghostly Internet gloom, no nightingale sings in Berkeley Square, but the malevolent ghosts of No. 50 have attained a digital immortality, looking forward to a long, eventful existence on the margins of London history.

Further Viewing

50 Berkeley Square Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Is 50 Berkeley Square still haunted today?

No. Extensive records from Maggs Brothers antiquarian booksellers, who occupied the building from 1938 until 2015, confirm that their long-serving staff never experienced a single ghost sighting or verified paranormal anomaly.

Who was the recluse who lived at 50 Berkeley Square?

Thomas Myers Junior purchased the lease in 1859 to live with his fiancée, but after being jilted right before the wedding, he became a complete recluse. Suffering from Parkinson's disease, his nocturnal habits and neglect of the property sparked the local ghost rumors.

Did a captain really die of fright in the ghost room?

No. The popular stories of Captain B, a reckless Major, and cockney sailors encountering a shapeless horror were entirely invented by 20th-century ghost hunter Elliott O'Donnell to make his parapsychological literature more sensational.

Why are the top two floors of 50 Berkeley Square forbidden?

The rumor that the top floors are sealed due to a dangerous entity stems from a misunderstanding of a World War II air raid warning sign, which simply advised staff to avoid those floors due to structural bomb damage from a neighboring explosion.

What did Harry Price say about Berkeley Square?

Famed British ghost hunter Harry Price thoroughly investigated the "Electric Horror" legends of the property in 1945 and officially declared the Berkeley Square haunting, if it ever existed at all, to be completely over.

What is the connection to Sarah Metyard?

An 1876 newspaper story claimed the house was haunted by Sally Metyard, who was executed in 1762 for a horrific dismemberment murder in nearby Bruton Street. However, historical archives confirm Sally never had any connection to the Berkeley Square property.

Sources and Further Reading

• Broughton, Rhoda. (1868). Twilight Stories: Tales for Christmas Eve. Temple Bar Publications.

• O'Donnell, Elliott. (1923). Ghosts Helpful and Harmful. Eveleigh Nash & Grayson.

• O'Donnell, Elliott. (1933). Ghosts of London. Philip Allan & Co.

• Whittington-Egan, Richard. (1985). The Mayfair Spectrum: A Sceptical Review of Berkeley Square. Archaeology Press.