The snow slowed and stopped.
The wheels of the carriage crunched through a pristine blanket of snow. When a gate blocked the lane, one of the footmen got down and opened it. The carriage moved slowly forward, stopped, then resumed after the footman returned—his face ruddy in the cold air.
Maggie squinted up the hillside, a mix of white snow, brown bushes and stark outlines of trees. At the end of a road, huge black, leafless trees stood before a monumental block of stone with turrets and walls all capped with snow. A lighted window glowed at the gatehouse near the drawbridge.
The carriage tipped slightly then rose as Wilhelm stepped off. He went through the second gate and headed toward the east, his cloak flapping around his legs. His long legs carried him quickly through the snow drifted over the road on the way to the gatehouse.
Peering again through the slit in the leather flap over the carriage window, Maggie saw beyond the road to the mansion house the snow covered fields were cut by hedges and rows of trees.
Dana King on Leaving the Scene
17 hours ago