The dining room was loud with revellers, well into their main courses. Tables were littered with the remnants of cracker papers and empty bottles. I peered through the kitchen door and couldn’t help notice how the Kingston Party took up most of the dining room. We’d pushed several tables together along the wall and every seat was occupied with stable staff. Eric, his paper crown set at a rakish angle, presided at the head of the table.
“Put your tongue away,” Becky whispered. “Mr. Kingston might want you to save it for later.”
“You dirty cow.”