5. The Stormont Ritual

Kathy Chatsworth sat back in her chair and exchanged glances with Brampton. It wasn’t quite what they had expected to hear from the owner of the murder weapon.

Gordon Stormont finished his story and sat back, too. He was grinning. He had a flair for bringing the past alive. His imagination embellished the solid facts he gathered from family documents, museums and libraries, and he was delighted to take any opportunity to share his sometimes lurid family stories.

It hadn’t been hard to trace him. Stormont had reported the dagger missing three days before. Kathy ducked out of an editorial meeting to join Brampton at the Stormont mansion. The place was as ornate as the dagger with too many gables, too many windows and a turret smothered in vines.

They listened quietly as Gordon Stormont told them the history of the dagger, which had been in his family for more than 400 years. It had crossed the Atlantic from England to Canada with his great grandfather after the Great War, one of hundreds of family heirlooms.

“So the knife was used as a token of undying love?” Brampton asked. “That’s ironic. Have there been any other unpleasant incidents associated with it?”

Stormont smiled. “Several. About 350 years ago, when Anderson Stormont was laughed at by the lady he wished to marry, he flew into a rage and stabbed her in the heart. No one else was present, and Anderson insisted it was self-defense,” he coughed delicately. “She was, by all accounts, a spirited lady and Anderson went unpunished.”

Kathy was aghast. “Seriously? He stabbed her?” Brampton patted her hand, but she snatched it away.

Stormont continued. “In 1825, Gregory Stormont accidentally hit his beloved’s wrist instead of her palm. There were others present on that occasion, and they all agreed he was nervous and probably drunk. They rushed her to a doctor, she was stitched up and survived, but it left a nasty scar. In her portrait she is wearing gloves. Did you see it as you came in? It’s in the hall, painted by William Matthew Prior. An ugly portrait, too much like folk art for my taste.”

“I’ll look out for it as we leave,” Brampton said drily. “Carry on please.”

Stormont smiled agreeably. “Of course, where was I? Ah yes, Amanda Stormont and her scar. All stitched up, she accepted his proposal, they married and she bore him four sons. She liked to remind him of how he’d botched the ceremony, never pricked her or mingled their blood. I suppose she was suggesting they’d never really sealed the deal.” He rubbed his hands together with glee. He loved family stories. “Family letters tell how she would playfully threaten him with a knife at dinner, but they had a long, happy marriage. Fifty-five years, I believe.”

Kathy snorted with amusement. “So when did the deerskin gloves become part of the ritual?”

Stormont answered readily, “As far as we can tell it was after Anderson Stormont killed his bride-to-be. He grew rather melancholy,” said Stormont and Kathy rolled her eyes. “When he was ready to try another proposal, he stuck with tradition but was understandably cautious about wielding the knife. Three years after the death of his first intended, he proposed to a young heiress who knew nothing about her predecessor. He had the deerskin gloves made so he wouldn’t have to actually touch the dagger and introduced them into the ceremony. Anderson wore the gloves and removed the left one just long enough to scratch his palm and hers. There’s a faint bloodstain inside one glove.”

Stormont steepled his fingers. “He married the unsuspecting girl, largely ignored her and was thrown from a horse 20 years later and died.”

Good, thought Kathy. “Any more incidents? Or did the world grow less tolerant of family ritual as a defense for murder?” Brampton threw her a warning glance, but Stormont was unfazed.

“No more incidents that we know of,” he confirmed, but Kathy wasn’t finished.

“So the Stormont men have been doing this,” she stopped short of saying bullshit, “this ceremony ever since?”

He beamed. “My great grandfather did the ceremony when he proposed to my great grandmother, and she found it quite romantic. She used to show me the tiny scar on her palm. She was rather proud of it.”