Creighton went on his way to Scotland in disguise, and in the meanwhile the relations between Elizabeth and Mendoza became more strained than ever. Philip had instructed him in October to address the Queen strongly about the unconcealed encouragement she was giving to Don Antonio. For some time Mendoza asked for audience in vain. Elizabeth was at Nonsuch, and all sorts of excuses were given for her declining to receive him. Mendoza, chafing under what he calls “her insolent and outrageous” treatment of him, at last sent a servant of his to Burghley, positively to demand audience of the Queen when she arrived at Richmond. The reply brought back in Burghley’s words was ominous. “Sir, I must tell you the truth; the Queen is at present alone, unattended by Councillors, and as Don Bernardino is to bring letters to the Queen from so great an enemy of hers as his master, it is meet that he should be received accordingly.” They kept Mendoza fuming for several days longer before he was received; and when he entered the presence chamber at Richmond, boiling over with wounded pride, he found the Queen no longer the smiling coquette she had formerly been with him. Seated upon a tabouret under the canopy, with Sussex and Lord Admiral Clinton standing by her, she refrained from rising and advancing to receive him, as was her wont, and welcoming him with a greeting in Italian. Instead of that she sat frowning as he bowed low before her, the first words she said being to complain that she was suffering from a pain in her hip. Mendoza expressed his sorrow that he should have to trouble her with business in such circumstances, but she made no reply, and left him standing uncovered. “How about the letter you say you have from the King?” she snapped at last, and he handed her the King’s demand for Don Antonio’s surrender, which she read with a clouded brow. “You know very well,” she said, “that Don Antonio has left England; but I can tell you that if I had chosen to help him your King’s fleets from the Indies would not be where they are now, and Portugal, perchance, would not be so tranquil”—all this, as Mendoza says, with much browbeating and vociferation.