The tree boughs were covered over with snow, the blanket of it thick and heavy on the ground. Frost had made all the statues even prettier, and the frozen pond left the house's children laughing as they slid across it.
She was dusting in one of the attic rooms, doing her duty, but for a few moments she allowed herself to stand at the window and look. The snow was thick indeed - the poor children had to stagger in it.
The rabbits in the garden had been taken from their hutches and moved inside, for truly it was far too wet and cold for them to be out in the garden.
The snow was predicted to last. Every winter she'd known in the house - and that had been seven dutiful years - had left thick snow over the grounds for this month and sometimes the next.
That was alright, of course, the children were schooled by the mistress, and no one had any place to be. The snow was wonderful really, in more ways than one.
She smiled a little to herself, turning away from the window and picking up the duster. No one would be using the flower shed.
No one would find the bodies until spring.