This was his death warrant, for Valsen now placed himself at the head of his enemies and determined on revenge. The plan was to kidnap Florence and this was immediately put into action, and when Valsen had Florence in his power he taunted him with what would be done to him and declared that his revenge would be bitter. Before this threat could be carried out, some of Florence’s friends tried to rescue him. The attempt was foiled and in desperation Valsen persuaded his fellow conspirators that Florence must die. He was brutally murdered and his body mutilated.
Young John was declared Earl of Holland.
The general opinion was that Edward had been involved in the conspiracy with Valsen. This he denied and invited the Dutch nobles to come to England and discuss the marriage of their Earl with his daughter. They came and the marriage was agreed on. It should, said Edward, take place without delay.
The King summoned the Bishop of London to Ipswich where the marriage was to take place.
Prince Edward came to Ipswich with a magnificent train and his sister Margaret was also present. She was still in England having constantly put obstacles in the way of joining her husband in Brabant, and the King, knowing the character of her husband, had not attempted to persuade her.
This was an important occasion for the town of Ipswich and the people came out in thousands to cluster round the church and see the royal bride and her groom.
There was a great entertainment and the King had summoned the finest minstrels, tabourers, clowns and lute players from all over the country. There was dancing and feasting, with mummers to entertain the company and wine even for the people in the streets.
When the festivities were over it was intended that Elizabeth should leave for Holland, and preparations were made for her departure.
But Elizabeth did not want to go. She refused to leave her chamber and the King, hearing of this, stormed in and demanded to know what was wrong with her.
She threw herself at him and put her arms about his neck.
‘My dear lord, I cannot leave you.’
‘Now, now,’ said the King, ‘you are no longer a child. You have a husband and your place is with him.’
‘Dear Father, you will be going to Ghent very soon. I want to wait and go with you. Please, Father, let me stay a little longer with you.’
‘My dear child,’ replied the King, ‘everything is arranged. Those who are going with you are ready to leave. You cannot decide at this time that you will not go.’
‘I cannot bear to leave you.’
‘Your love gratifies me,’ said the King, ‘but you must go, my child. Mayhap we shall meet in Ghent. There. How is that?’
She stood back from him. She looked very beautiful with her long fair hair flowing from the coronet which crowned it.
‘I shall not go,’ she said firmly.
‘You are to go,’ he replied.
‘I cannot. I will not.’
‘How dare you disobey me?’ cried the King.
‘Dear Father, I do not wish to disobey you. But how can I leave my home? If our mother were here …’
It was too much. There were so many burdens on his shoulders. He was suddenly furiously angry. His daughters defied him all the time. He had been too lenient with them. They thought because they were pretty and he and Eleanor had always made much of them, they could do what they liked with him. In an access of anger he snatched the coronet from her head and threw it into the fire.
She cried out in dismay. It was her most valuable piece of jewellery.
‘My lord,’ she cried and dashed to the fire.
He held her back. ‘You will see,’ he said, ‘that you owe everything you have to me. All I ask in return is obedience. Oh, God, who would have daughters!’
Elizabeth burst into tears. ‘You do not love us any more. You do not love me. You have thrown my coronet into the flames. Oh Father, you cannot love me.’
Then the thought of the valuable jewels which the coronet contained was too much for her. She rushed to the fire and retrieved the coronet. It was blackened and two of the stones were lost.
She dropped it for it was very hot and it fell to the floor between them. The King kicked it aside and was about to stalk out of the room when she caught his arm.
‘Father, it is because I cannot bear to leave you.’
He felt himself softening. ‘Have you burned your fingers?’ he asked.
‘A little perhaps.’
‘Foolish child.’
‘It was my finest jewellery,’ she said and she began to laugh.
He could never resist their laughter. Eleanor had once said that few things made her as happy as to hear their children laugh, and he had agreed with her.
‘Oh, dear Father, you are smiling. I think you are no longer displeased with me. If you are not I am so happy … and if I can stay with you a little longer … just a little longer until you go to Ghent …’
He frowned. Then he said gruffly: ‘Very well. You shall remain until then. And when I leave,’ he went on sternly, ‘you will have to remain with your husband.’
She was disobedient like her sister Joanna, but they loved him and he was pleased that she so hated to leave him.
He longed to be in Ghent where, he trusted, Eleanor, the dearest of all his daughters, would be with him. Dear Eleanor, who was herself in such a tragic situation. He would be able to talk to her of his coming marriage. She would understand.
At last he had arrived and she was there waiting for him. He forgot all ceremony at the sight of her, his dearest child.
‘My sweet child,’ he said, embracing her.
‘Oh dear Father, how I have longed to see you.’
‘You are unhappy, I know.’
‘There is no news of him.’
‘We must bring about his release.’
‘Oh Father, if only you could. I and the children long for his return.’
He would do everything within his power, he told her. He thought that after his marriage he might be able to do something.
‘Eleanor, my child,’ he said, ‘you do not think I am wrong to marry again?’
‘I have often wondered why you did not before,’ she answered. ‘You are a man who loves a family life and it has been hard for you since our mother died.’
He had known she would understand. Eagerly he told her of his hopes for Blanche and how the King of France had deceived him and was offering Marguerite.
Eleanor shuddered. ‘The King of France is a ruthless man,’ she said. ‘I have reason to know that. They say the first thing that one notices about him is his handsome looks. Then one realises that he is harsh, cruel, vindictive … and ambitious.’
‘I have learned that he is not to be trusted and I shall remember that.’
‘Dear Father, it may well be that you will be happier with Marguerite than with this renowned beauty, whose praises have been sung throughout Europe. That could well have made her a little conceited. Marguerite in her shadow may well be the wife for you. You remember how gentle and kind our mother always was. My grandmother had a reputation for great beauty, and although we loved her dearly we all knew how she thought it always right that she should have her own way. I have heard my mother say that she could never compete in looks with her mother-in-law. But we know, dear Father, how sweet was her disposition.’