“Miss Vanderhaul,” Joan asked, “what criteria do you use to decide if a baby is taken in or not?”

“Call me Corinne, please.” She lowered her voice. “Unfortunately, the majority of them are either true orphans or by-blows. It’s no fault of the babe, so we take in as many as possible. We’ll keep some here, foster some to other families, and some go to stay with foster families in the countryside, but all will return here by the age of five.”

“Do you name them? Or does the mother?” Miss Bronson asked.

“Every child is baptized and given a new name,” Corinne responded, nodding to a row of cribs.

Joan noted that some of the cribs held tokens of various sorts tied to the wood. “And what are those?” She studied a faded blue handkerchief.

“Ah.” Corinne nodded. “That is a token left by the mother. In case she were to return and collect her child, she would know which one belonged to her.”

“But wouldn’t a mother recognize her own child?” Miss Bronson asked.

Corinne shrugged. “Sometimes it’s months later, and babes tend to change quickly.”

“Ah, I see. Do…do the mothers usually come back for their children?” Miss Bronson asked.

Corinne gave her head a slow shake. “No. Oh, on rare occasions it happens, but if a woman has given her baby to the Foundling Hospital, she’s in dire straits. Those don’t often change.”

Joan’s heart pinched at the thought of the sacrifice of the mothers.

“We have fewer orphans than we used to, I’m told. Back seventy-five years ago or so, they had an ‘indiscriminate admission’ policy, and babies and children were taken in by droves. Though I can’t say if fewer admissions are a pity or a blessing. So many often end up as thieves on the streets if they don’t wind up here.” Corinne sighed. “We help as many as we can.”

“It’s the Lord’s work.” Miss Bronson nodded, her words empathic.

“Indeed it is,” Corinne agreed. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the chapel where famous George Frideric Handel held a concert to raise money for the hospital.”

Joan’s brows rose. “I wasn’t aware.”

“It was a while ago…before you were born, I’d wager,” Corinne replied. “After you’ve seen the chapel, I’ll introduce you to the older girls, the ones you’ll be assisting.”

Miss Bronson and Joan shared a look of excitement, and Joan couldn’t suppress her amusement. They traveled through the other courtyard and into a modest chapel, with its glass windows and wooden pews lining the stone aisle. Corinne’s voice echoed softly, and Joan imagined the sound of voices raised in chorus to one of Handel’s masterpieces. It would be heavenly to experience.